Serial Escape

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  And if he wanted to kill Raven, he would’ve done it by now.

  The thought was dark, but also true. Hanes had had both the opportunity and the means, and Lucien had meant it earlier when he told her that he believed the serial killer didn’t want to harm her. Whatever his endgame was, it wasn’t to see Raven dead. Lucien’s own surety of that fact was the only thing that stopped him from pulling out the spare cuffs he kept in his glove box and snapping them to her wrist.

  Admittedly, as the SUV slowed, then came to a stop, the temptation to do it was still high. His hands practically itched to secure her, and he had to force himself to look away from where she gripped the wheel in order to stop himself from following through on the urge. He focused on the big building in front of them instead.

  It was exactly as it had looked in the online picture. Barbed wire, chain-link fence. Yellow caution tape twisted across the entrance, and the concrete building loomed up behind it.

  “It’s ominous-looking, isn’t it?” Raven’s question had an audibly nervous quaver.

  “You can still opt for waiting in the car,” he reminded her.

  In response, she lifted an eyebrow, then clicked open her seat belt and swung the door wide. She jumped out and started up the drive toward the concrete structure, and his only choice was to follow her. He popped open his glove box, cast a half-wistful glance at his cuffs, then reached around them to grab his holster and weapon before hopping out, too.

  Chapter 11

  Raven’s heart was beating so hard it hurt.

  She wasn’t sure what scared her more—the thought of being wrong and not finding Jim at all, or the thought of finding him too late. She was glad when Lucien caught up to her, and she didn’t protest too much when he overtook her to place himself as a shield between her and the big building. But even his presence couldn’t quite buffer the fear. Her legs wanted to slow. Her body wanted to turn back. And her mouth wanted to tell Lucien that he was right—she’d be better off letting him do the police work while she waited in the SUV. Like the good civilian she ought to be. She made herself stay the course anyway.

  The gray building only got bigger as they got closer, and by the time they reached the metal gates, the processing plant seemed huge. There was an unpleasant, lingering odor in the air, too. Every time the breeze picked up, it drew the scent with it. Raven didn’t consider herself to be particularly squeamish, and she knew well where the meat she ate came from. But at the moment, she wondered if she’d be able to stomach a piece of bacon ever again.

  “I won’t judge you if you want to back out,” said Lucien softly, his voice alerting her to the fact that she’d paused in her walk in spite of her resolve to keep going.

  Raven breathed out and looked up at him. There was nothing acrimonious in his statement, and his face was open. She knew he really wouldn’t judge her if she asked to lock herself in the car. He’d probably prefer it. But she didn’t detect any pressure in his voice, either. He wouldn’t gloat if he got his way. She started to concede. But her mouth no more than opened before the sound of shattering glass cut her off. And Lucien went from being just a man to being a cop.

  “Get behind me,” he ordered, his hand already at his waist, reaching for a weapon she didn’t even know he’d retrieved.

  With shaking limbs, she did as she was told, then whispered, “Should I go back to the car?”

  “Too late. Don’t know who can see us from where.” He paused. “Unless you’re willing to give up looking for Jim and leave altogether.”

  “No. No way.”

  “Then put your hand on my waistband, and move with me.”

  His grim tone scared her even more. She tucked herself closer against his back and slipped fingers to the spot he suggested. Together, they took a few steps forward. The air was almost silent now, with no more glass breaking, no follow-up voice calling out, the only sound their own muted footsteps and the far-off trill of a bird. But the quiet was as nerve-racking as the noise.

  Raven had to work to keep from gripping Lucien too tightly. She didn’t want to impede his movement or make him think he needed to pay more attention to her than he did to the task at hand. Willing herself to appear calm even if she couldn’t be calm, she followed behind. Under the caution tape. Through the surprisingly unsqueaky gate and up the cracked path. He led her past the front door to the side of the building, then kept going.

  Lucien didn’t look around as they walked, but Raven could feel that his body was on clear alert anyway. He stayed that way until they hit a small set of descending stairs. There, he guided her down to the bottom and at last paused in front of the door. His gaze went up first—checking to see that they were out of sight, she thought—then came to her next.

  “I want to give you my gun,” he said, his voice low.

  Raven blinked. “What? Why?”

  “I want you to stay in this spot while I go inside, and I want you armed.”

  “I’m not staying here! You literally just told me I couldn’t go back to the car.”

  “Up there, you’re exposed.”

  “Down here, I’m trapped.”

  Lucien’s mouth was set in a stubborn line, visible even in the darkened doorway. “Trapped with a weapon. If someone gets this close, you can shoot them point-blank.”

  Raven’s throat tried to close at the suggestion, and she had to clear it in order to answer. “If I try to shoot someone, I’ll probably hit my own foot instead.”

  He surprised her then, by reaching out and placing his free hand on one of her arms, both his expression and his tone intense. “I need you to stay safe, Raven. Nothing matters more to me than knowing you’re okay.”

  Her throat tightened again, this time for a different reason. “How do you think I feel, Lucien? You want to give me your gun and walk into God knows what completely unarmed while I stand out here alone having absolutely no clue if you’re safe or not?”

  For a second, he said nothing. An unnameable tension roiled between them. The air was so thick with emotion that Raven could practically feel it. She half expected Lucien to drag her in and kiss her for all he was worth. And she mostly wished he would. So long as it didn’t equal a goodbye. But after a few more moments, he just muttered something incomprehensible and dropped his hand to his side.

  “Have you got a bobby pin hidden in that hair of yours?” he asked, sounding annoyed and resigned at the same time.

  “A bobby pin?” Raven echoed. “No. Why?”

  “Because if we’re going in, I’d rather not risk walking back out in the open.” He jerked his thumb toward the door behind him. “Need to find a way through there.”

  “Oh. Why don’t you just try it first?”

  “What?”

  “Like this.”

  She leaned past him to grab the door handle. She gave it a twist, then nearly lost her grip in surprise when it actually turned and clicked. As the door started to swing open, Lucien’s arm snaked around her body and his hand landed on hers, stopping it.

  “Guess they’re even less keen on security than I would’ve thought,” he said, his voice beside her ear and even lower than before. “Hang on. Let me do it.”

  She yielded to the suggestion, shifting a little so that he could ease the door the rest of the way open. A dim hallway stretched out in front them, silent and even more foreboding than the building as a whole. It made Raven’s pulse quicken nervously. She had an urge to ask if Lucien was sure he wanted to go this way—being exposed abruptly seemed more favorable. But she was afraid that saying anything would echo down that long hall, so when he gave her the smallest nudge, she took a few steps in. Lucien moved more quickly, obviously feeling a confidence she couldn’t muster up herself.

  “You good?” he murmured from somewhere near the top of her head.

  She forced a nod, but couldn’t quite make herself utter an affirmative aloud.
It would’ve been a lie. She hated the way she couldn’t see her feet when she looked down, and how she had no idea if she was going to stumble into a wall or thump down a flight of stairs or crash into some unseen person just ahead.

  Why hadn’t she grabbed her cell phone before running out of the house? Even putting aside the need to call for help, its flashlight app would’ve been enough light to illuminate their way. She started to ask Lucien if he had his, then remembered she’d seen it sitting in the center console before she ran off for the second time. She was sure that if he’d taken it with him now, he’d be using it. There was no choice but to keep going the way they were.

  But the dark pressed down on Raven. It reminded her far too much of her own harrowing, near-death experience three years prior. The bad memories hovered on the edge of her mind, much closer to the surface than she liked. It was a physical pain. One she had no interest in enduring all over again. Her flight instinct was rearing its head, and she didn’t know how long she could resist it.

  Then, like he’d read her thoughts, Lucien’s warm, strong hand shot out to take hers, and his touch grounded her. Just as he had been three years ago, and as he’d continued to be for the two months that followed, he provided her with the means to overcome the darkness.

  Using one of the techniques she taught her clients, she focused on the immediate, concrete sensation of their intertwined fingers. She noted the pinpoints of heat, and how their hands fit together perfectly. She inventoried the rough patches of his palm, and let herself enjoy the vaguely scratchy feeling against her own soft skin. Each detail let her breathe easier, distracting her from the trap her own mind tried to set. And in just a few moments, they reached the end of the hall that had previously seemed never ending. Another door waited there, its outline extremely faint in the blackness.

  But this time, when Lucien leaned close and again asked if she was okay, Raven was able to nod and mean it. She even squeezed his hand and took the first step.

  * * *

  Lucien would’ve preferred to be in front of Raven. Just the thought of her walking into the potentially dangerous unknown was enough to set his teeth on edge. He could tell, though, that she needed this moment to flex her emotional strength. She was fighting hard against her fear—which was evident in just how tightly she clung to his hand—and he wanted her be able to face the terrible memories and move past them. He’d be a support beam where needed, but he knew she really had to do it on her own. He didn’t have to be a grief counselor himself to understand that. So he didn’t fight to get past her as her fingers gave the door handle a tug; he settled for gripping his weapon with his own free hand. Preparing for the worst. Bracing for anything but.

  Thankfully, as the door inched open, the only attack came from a miniscule amount of light and a gust of rot-tinged air. The scent was just shy of gag inducing, and Lucien suspected that any plans the processing plant had put in place for reopening, they were a long way off now. Maybe abandoned altogether. Whatever the case, by the time the door was fully widened to reveal a landing and two flights of stairs, the pungent aroma was dominating the space. It made him want to be anywhere but there even more than he already had before.

  Raven let out a little cough, then pulled her hand out of his to cover her mouth. “Oh, God. It almost makes the abandoned mine seem like a spa.”

  Lucien chuckled, then immediately regretted it, because the smell permeated his mouth as well as his nose, and a gag threatened harder.

  “C’mon,” he said quickly, trying to draw in as few breaths as possible as he spoke. “Let’s head down.”

  Raven’s attention flicked from the ascending staircase to the descending one. “You’re sure that’s the right way?”

  “Hanes likes dark, deep holes. And even if he didn’t, I have a feeling that smell is coming from upstairs, and I’d like to avoid getting closer if possible.”

  “Good point.”

  They moved toward the steps, then started down. The bad smell didn’t disappear completely, but each stair lessened its strength somewhat, and by the time they hit the bottom, the air was more stale and damp than it was putrid. The dark was thicker again, though, and Lucien automatically reached for Raven’s hand. She moved a bit closer, her gaze swinging back and forth.

  “Which way now?” she asked.

  Lucien swiveled his head in either direction, just as she’d done. He frowned. They stood on a concrete platform, which was exactly like the one on the floor above. Only instead of any doors, there was simply a blank wall in front of them and corridor on either side of them.

  “It’s not helping the horror-movie feel, is it?” Raven said, her worried tone at odds with her attempt at humor.

  Lucien tightened his grip on her hand. “Hanes knows how to pick them.”

  Her responding exhale was audible. “Yes, he does. So I guess whichever way is the most horrible will be the right way, and we just need to—” She cut herself off abruptly, and her head swung to the left. “Did you hear that?”

  He tipped his ear in the direction of her gaze and strained to listen. After a second, he shook his head.

  “I don’t hear anything but a little bit of a breeze,” he admitted.

  “But there shouldn’t be any wind, should there?” she replied. “This basement is mostly underground. I mean, there could be windows. But why would one be open right now?”

  Kicking himself for not making the connection himself, he nodded. “Good deduction again. I swear you’re a better detective than I am.”

  Her mouth tipped up. “Not even close, Lucien.”

  He stared down at her curved lips, overcome with a desire to kiss them. It felt like the natural thing to do, but he fought the urge, and gave her hand a squeeze instead.

  “Let’s go left, then,” he said. “But carefully, with you behind me again, okay?”

  “You can’t always be my armor, Lucien.”

  “Maybe not. But I can damn well try to do it as long as possible.” His hand dropped hers, then came up to touch her cheek. “I know you don’t need me to get by, day-to-day, Raven. You’ve been fine without me these last three years. But I’m here right now, and you’re not going to get rid of me.”

  Her expression was hard to read in the dark, but he saw her eyes find his mouth—like maybe she was thinking the same thing that he had a moment earlier—and he willed her to make the move that he hadn’t.

  But she just let out a tiny breath, dragged her gaze back up, then said, “All right. Lead the way.”

  Covering his disappointment, he turned to face the hall on the left. She positioned herself as he’d suggested, her hand on his waistband and her body close enough that he could feel its warmth. As their slow, careful walk up the hall progressed, regret clouded Lucien’s mind, and their pace gave it time to fester.

  He hated the back-and-forth between what he wanted—which, simply put, was Raven and nothing else—and what he knew was right. Which was something he couldn’t put simply. Raven deserved the very best. He was thirty-eight—nearly thirty-nine, if he was being honest—and if he hadn’t yet found a way to manage a relationship, how could he give her that perfection? She was just barely thirty. Plenty of time to fall in love with someone else. To take it slow and make mistakes and figure out what she wanted. Even if it shattered him in the process.

  But if it’s so right to keep fighting it, then why does it feel so wrong?

  The question nearly made him stumble. It was a stupidly obvious one. Something he’d only managed to avoid asking himself because of the space between them. Now that they were together again, it seemed like the thing he should’ve started with.

  So stop fighting it.

  Once again, his feet threatened to trip over themselves. It was a solution, though, wasn’t it? Let go of his self-doubt and embrace the fact that three years had done nothing to quell his desire. Put it all out there, and let
Raven make the decision. If she didn’t choose him, at least he’d have given it a shot.

  No time like the present.

  He could’ve argued against the thought. Pointed out the obvious details. Like the fact that they were in the basement of a meat-processing plant in the midst of searching out the latest victim of a serial killer. But an old flicker of impulsivity drove him to ignore those facts. He started to spin, a declaration on his lips. He only got as far as a half turn—just enough to send Raven bumping into his back—before the rattle of something loose under his feet made him stop and pivot back. He was glad that he did. Under his feet, the ground crunched in a way that it definitely shouldn’t have.

  Surprised, Lucien looked down. He was even more surprised to note that visibility had improved. He could see that the tiles were a sandy color, and also that they were cracked. A glance a little farther up told him that it got worse. Pieces of flooring were broken and spread out, the wreckage extending all the way from where they stood to a corner about fifteen feet ahead. And at that corner, the concrete under the tiles was exposed. As Lucien frowned at the destruction, a bit of crushed ceramic lifted up, blew forward in a small cloud, then settled again.

  “Raven,” he said, careful to keep his voice to a murmur, “I think we’ve found the source of that wind.”

  Her hands—which had moved from his waist to his shirt when she bumped into him—tightened on the fabric, and her reply was just barely audible. “Okay.”

  He wanted to offer to let her wait where she was, but he knew she’d say no. He’d try to convince her. She’d argue. Then win. So he forewent the hushed fight, and instead nodded toward the shattered floor ahead.

  “We’re going to move even more slowly,” he said, his words still a whisper. “I don’t want to be surprised by whatever it is that’s waiting around that corner. And when we get there, I want to have a quick, careful look before we turn. Work for you?”

  “Slow, careful, no surprises,” she replied just as softly. “Yes. Definitely works for me.”