Bound by Danger

by Danielle M. Haas

  Panic squeezed the air from his lungs and he stood, turning to stare at the busy lanes of traffic leading out of the airport. “How long ago? Did she have red hair?” He turned back around to face the woman who had spoken to him.

  The woman hesitated and took a step back. “It happened less than five minutes ago. And I didn’t get a good look at her hair.”

  “I saw her,” a man next to him said. “She had long red hair, very pretty. I called the police, but it looks like airport security is coming now.” He nodded past Graham’s shoulder.

  Airport security? Graham snorted. What the hell could they do? And he didn’t have time to wait for the police to show up and go after them. He had to act now. “I’m Agent Graham Grassi with the FBI. The woman who was taken is in grave danger and I need to go after her now. Does anyone have a car I can take?”

  The crowd stared at him with concern etched on their faces…and their mouths closed. Fear clouded his mind and his blood thundered through him. “Please,” his voice cracked. “I have to find her. I can’t lose her.”

  Screw it. He pushed past the crowd and ran toward the taxi line. Cutting to the front, he rounded the corner of the cab, grabbed the startled driver from his seat, and tossed him to the ground.

  “Hey! What the hell, dude?” The man yelled as he stood and brushed dirt from his jeans.

  Graham held up his badge. “FBI. I need your car. Now get the hell out of my way.”

  He jumped into the idling car, slammed the door shut, and peeled away from the curb. He glanced in the rearview mirror and the cabbie stood on the sidewalk, his fist hoisted in the air. He refocused on the road in front of him. Worrying about the cabbie was pretty low on his list of priorities right now. Scanning the cars in front of him, he blasted on the horn to get the slow-moving traffic out of his way.

  It didn’t help.

  Brake lights flashed in front of him and angry drivers blocked his path as he tried to snake between them to get out of the congested traffic. His eyes darted in every direction, willing the black SUV to come into view.

  Come on, dammit. Where are you?

  He slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel and hopelessness oozed into him. He’d never find the car, not like this. He needed to figure out where the car had taken Mickey, but how the hell could he do that? He didn’t even know who he was looking for anymore.

  Yanking his phone from his pocket, he dialed Eric. Maybe he’d have an idea.

  “Hey, man. Did you land?” Eric asked, his voice heavy with fatigue.

  “Someone took Mickey from the airport.” He jerked the wheel to the left and came around a slow-moving van. He had nowhere to go, but for the life of him, he couldn’t stand still. He had to keep moving or his heart would explode from his chest.

  “What? When? Where are you?” Confusion laced through Eric’s words.

  “I don’t know. Pete told me he was working for someone else, but he wouldn’t give up a name.”

  Eric whistled through the phone. “Sonofabitch. Did he give you any clues? Do you want me to talk to him, or have the guard rough him up a little bit?”

  “He’s dead. And the only clue he gave was the person he worked for had a lot of knowledge about what’s going on with the investigation. He told Pete where to find Mickey last night.”

  “Holy shit, dude. This isn’t good. Do you have any idea who it could be?”

  His stomach dipped and his mind worked. The entire flight home he’d gone over every piece of information they’d uncovered. His gut had told him something was off, and he needed to follow his instincts. “Did you find out where Harper is?”

  Silence filled the phone and he blasted his horn to make the bastard in front of him get out of the way. “You don’t think he has anything to do with this, do you?” Eric asked.

  “I don’t know what to think. All I know is I need to find Mickey and I have no clue where to look.”

  “I’m on my way to the office now. Let me do some digging. We’ll find her, Graham. I promise.”

  Eric’s oath rang hollow in his ears the farther away from the airport he drove. His eyes never stopped scanning the busy streets, but nothing caught his attention. The hard leather bit into his calloused hands and he fought to keep panic from controlling his thoughts.

  His gaze landed on a green traffic sign overhead. The exit for Old Town loomed on his right. The house he and Mickey had found flashed in his mind. It might be a long shot, but it was the only one he had. Cranking the wheel hard, he cut off two lanes of traffic to get to the exit. Gritting his teeth, he held his breath as horns blared all around him and a car spun out, barely missing being hit by his back bumper. His tires skid and a pile of trash in the musty cab slid across the floor.

  Graham glanced behind him at the havoc he’d left behind and winced. Thank God no one had been hurt, but he couldn’t dwell on it. He had to get to Cleveland Avenue. He had to get to Mickey. Traffic died down once he got off the highway, and the lights of the city whirled by in a haze. All the scenarios of what could happen to Mickey pushed to the back of his mind, and he called up all the training he had to keep his breath even and his nerves steady.

  Streetlights cast shadows down on the empty streets of the neighborhoods around Old Town. His knuckles turned white as he pulled onto Cleveland Avenue and slid beside the curb of the old Victorian house with the dark gray porch and green raining down the sides. A shiver ran down his spine. He’d never understand how Mickey thought this place was beautiful. Even the paint cried for the sins that happened inside.

  Putting the car in park, he cut the engine, stepped into the night, and ran toward the house. Glancing around, he checked to make sure no neighbors loitered on the porches or watched him from down the street. The last thing he needed was some nosy pedestrian questioning his motives. He crouched down low and slithered alongside the overgrown shrubs. No cars sat in the driveway and no lights beat back the darkness inside the house. But that didn’t mean no one was there. Staying low to the ground, he climbed the creaking porch steps and walked up to the door. He ran a hand around the edge of the doorframe and relief washed over him. Still broken.

  With one more look over his shoulder, he opened the door and stepped inside. Stale air mixed with the smell of rotted food assaulted him. Nothing had changed since the night he’d been there with Mickey. His gut told him Mickey wasn’t here, but he had to check. Pulling the gun from the waistband of his jeans, he crept up to the second floor and checked every room. Cobwebs and dust bunnies greeted him everywhere he looked, and he cleared every room in the house in ten minutes.

  Except the basement. The one place he’d never wanted to set foot in again, but the only place that held the secrets he needed. With his gun positioned in his hands, he stepped down the old stairs and onto the dirt floor. He ducked his head low and walked straight toward the opening in the wall. The bookcase stood away from the opening, just where he’d left it. But something was different. He shifted his gun to his right hand and turned the flashlight on his phone on. Boot marks imprinted the tightly packed dirt. He moved the light across the floor toward the stairs and sucked in a breath. Someone had been down here.

  Adrenaline spiked in his veins. This was it, the way to the girls…and hopefully Mickey. With the light from his phone shining in front of him, and his free hand gripped around his gun, he made his way down the narrow tunnel Mickey believed was used as part of the Underground Railroad. A tunnel he was convinced led straight to hell. Dust lifted from the ground with every frantic step, coating his skin and seeping into his mouth. His lungs burned and sweat poured down his back.

  Just a little bit further. Keep going.

  The low ceiling grazed the top of his head and something fell into the front of his shirt. Without breaking his stride, he pulled his shirt from his chest and shook whatever the hell was in there out. He didn’t have time to stop. The blast of cool air rushed at him, cooling his skin and lifting his spirits. The opening was near. He prayed it
’d be clear what set of tracks to take once he reached the open cavern. Whispers of bats echoed around him, and he hurried toward them. The corridor opened wider, little by little, until he finally stepped into the wide cavern with three sets of tracks.

  He walked to the closest tracks and crouched down to study them. The light from his phone tried to battle against the dark, but it hardly made a dent. His face was inches from the ground, his knees pressed against the hard steel of the tracks, but nothing appeared out of place.

  He hurried to the middle tracks, keeping the light trained on the ground. A scattering of loose pebbles caught against his foot and flew into the dark pit of the track. He glanced down, noticing the small stones for the first time. They littered the floor in small clumps, except when broken up and randomly cast around the ground as if carelessly kicked about.

  That’s it! The stones.

  Graham ran back to the opening of the first tunnel and crouched down to study the stones. Nothing but small groups with only a couple of loose pebbles thrown here and there. He stood and ran past the middle tunnel to the last set of tracks. Leaning down, he lifted the light and his heart pumped wildly against his chest. Stones scattered all around the ground, no groups or small clumps of pebbles lingered undisturbed over the dirt floor. This was it.

  Keeping himself in the center of the tracks, he ducked his head and ran in at full speed. The light bounced around the stone walls, lighting the way down the mouth of the tunnel. He took it all in. His eyes searched every crevice they landed on, every inch bathed in the soft light of his phone for a sign of where this path would lead him. He slowed his pace, taking in air to fill his lungs. His hands fell to his knees and he doubled over, gasping for breath. A sharp pain jabbed into his side and he straightened to pinch the pain away. His head fell back and his hands dropped to his sides, the light shooting upward and settling on a vent on the ceiling, an old piece of plywood pushed to its side.

  What the hell?

  He stretched his hands over his head and ran them along the rusted grates of the vent. His fingers brushed against the plywood, and it fell to the ground at his feet. Using the palms of his hands, he pushed up against the vent and it popped out of place. Standing on his tip toes, he squeezed his arms through the vent and pulled himself up through the tight space. The sharp edges scraped against his sides and the muscles in his arms screamed as he burrowed through and brought himself through the floor and into an old, deserted room.

  Dirt and dust clung to his face and stained his clothes. The cold air blasted up from the hole he’d just come through, giving a chill to the eerie room. Gooseflesh danced on his skin and he stepped farther inside. A large hole took up the far end of the room, but a wooden stage sat proudly in front of it. Rows of red velvet chairs faced the gaping hole, with aisles leading through the chairs. An old movie theater.

  Something shifted on top of the stage, and he ducked down behind the last row of chairs. His breath caught and his blood pounded so loudly in his ears he was surprised it didn’t bounce around the high ceiling above him. A beat passed and he lifted his eyes over the seat. The stage was too far; he couldn’t see what was on it. Staying low to the ground, he walked on the balls of his feet and moved as quietly as possible toward where the screen must have hung years ago. The dirty carpet on the aisle muffled his footsteps and he squinted his eyes to see clearer. A tiny light illuminated the first few rows, along with the stage, but he was still too far away to make out what was up there.

  Row by row, inch by inch, he moved closer. He held his breath, afraid even the whisper of air from his lungs would be heard in the large space. As he approached the third row, the silhouette on the stage took shape. His cheeks puffed out as he held his scream trapped inside. On the stage, huddled together on a blanket, were the three missing girls. Becca sat in the middle, her arms wrapped around a girl on either side of her. She held her chin high, and when she caught sight of him, her eyes widened.

  He lifted his finger to his lips, but it was too late. A beast of a man sitting in the front row stood and turned toward him.

  “Run! He has a gun!” Becca shouted.

  Graham stood tall, pointed his gun at the man, and pulled the trigger. The shot rang loud in the stillness of the room. The girls shrieked and the man dropped to the ground. Graham ran up the aisle and paused long enough to make sure the man was dead before leaping onto the stage. The two girls shrank away from him, and his heart broke, but Becca met his eyes with a defiant sneer. Pride blossomed in his chest.

  “I’m with the FBI. I’ve been looking for you three. Is there anyone else here with you?”

  Her face softened and tears hovered in her blue eyes. Dirt caked her round cheeks and her blond hair fell limply past her shoulders. She shook her head. “He’s been the only one here for a while. There’s a woman that’s usually here, but she left a while ago. She said she’d be back soon to take us to a new house. He was supposed to make sure we didn’t run. And Pete.” Becca’s face crumbled as she mentioned his name and Graham fought the urge to pull her into his arms. That might scare her right now.

  “I already found Pete. He won’t hurt you anymore. Was there ever anyone else? Any other name mentioned in front of you?”

  Becca sniffed back a sob and shook her head. The other girls buried their heads in Becca’s side and their little bodies shook from the force of their tears. Even though all the girls were close to the same age, Becca had obviously become their safe place to hide in the last few days.

  Dammit. Where the hell is Mickey?

  “Okay,” he said and glanced at his phone. No service. “I need to call the police and they will be here soon to help. The man down there is dead, so don’t look at him, okay?”

  Becca’s gaze flickered to the floor and then back up to Graham. Her pupils dilated with fear. “Aren’t you staying with us until the police come? What if someone comes back?”

  “No one’s coming back. I promise. But, Becca, the woman who was here, she has Mickey. I have to find them.”

  “Mickey?” Becca’s voice broke and fat tears slid down her dirty cheeks.

  Graham blew out a breath. He couldn’t leave them here. “I want you three to come with me. We’ll walk outside and I’ll call for help. I’ll wait with you until they get here, okay?”

  Becca nodded and whispered into the other girls’ ears. All three stood and slowly walked toward him. His blood pumped furiously as they walked down the stairs and he ground the heel of his foot in the ground to keep from kicking the sonofabitch on the floor. “Follow me.”

  Turning around, he walked back up the aisle and into what used to be the lobby. Broken glass littered the floor and beams of moonlight shone in through cracked windows. He led the way to the front door and kicked it open with his foot. Fresh air welcomed him outside, and he held the door open for the girls to walk through. Once the door was closed, he unlocked his phone and called the police.

  “911, what’s your emergency?” The dispatcher’s no-nonsense tone spoke through the phone.

  “This is Agent Graham Grassi with the FBI. I’ve found three missing girls who were all taken by Pete Bogart within the last three weeks. The latest being Becca Stanley taken on Sunday morning. I need backup ASAP, as well as their families notified.”

  “Okay, Agent Grassi. What is your location?”

  That’s a good question.

  He turned in a circle and tried to find a street sign or landmark, something to tell him where in the city they were. The tree-lined streets were quiet, not a pedestrian in sight. Brick townhouses and mom and pop restaurants came into view and the world shifted under his feet. Fury tunneled his vision until only one thing stood out in his mind.

  Lieutenant Harper’s townhouse.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A door banged shut and Mickey flinched as the sound penetrated through the darkness of her mind and assaulted her pounding head.

  A groan rumbled deep in her throat but stopped before she could let it es
cape her cracked lips. Her tongue moved against the dryness of her mouth and nausea rolled around in her stomach. Her eyelids fluttered and her stiff muscles ached for relief. Shifting to the side, she rolled her shoulders and arched her back. Joints cracked with the movement, and she stretched her arms high above her head.

  Her shoulder screamed in protest and her wrists refused to come apart. Reality crashed down on her and her eyes flew open. Fear bit into her with the strength of a pit bull, quickly turning her nausea to bile. Her head spun and dizziness blurred her vision. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkened room, and her gaze fell on a woman curled into a ball in the corner.

  Paula!

  Pushing away the blinding pain piercing through her, she shifted her body weight from side to side and anchored her joined hands on the ground to push herself up on her knees. She inched her way over, swaying as she tried to regain her equilibrium. Was the room spinning, or was that her head? Saliva pooled in her mouth and she pushed it back down her esophagus. She couldn’t lose it, she had to push on and figure out where the hell she was. The carpet rubbed against her bare knees as she made her way across the room to Paula.

  Leaning down to whisper in her ear, Mickey said, “Paula, are you okay?”

  No response.

  She leaned closer and Paula’s breath caressed her cheek. Mickey sank down so her bottom rested on her heels. At least Paula was alive, but how could she get them both out of here?

  “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine,” a hard voice said from behind her.

  Mickey craned her neck around, taking in the bare room. Gauzy curtains on the lone window let the moonlight shine through its thin material. At the open doorway stood Connie. Her thin lips pressed into a tight line and a nasty purple bruise circled around her eye.

  “What happened to you?” Mickey asked. Connie’s battered appearance made her less threatening somehow.

  Connie snorted and cocked her head to the side. Her arms crossed tightly across her chest. “A little punishment for not killing you when I was supposed to.”