Into The Dark Part 7

And then there was Jimmy. Nathan was only fourteen years old when he'd held Jimmy, trying in vain to stop the blood as it poured from the stab wound. Jimmy had died in his arms. Nothing he ever experienced as a cop could be worse than that.

But this crime wasn't like any of the others he'd seen. Emilie's attempted kidnapping was the result of an extremely calculating individual, someone so obsessed with another human being he would involve the lives of innocent people just to get to her.

The partner made everything SWAT had accomplished seem worthless. No matter how many criminals they got off the streets, more were out there just like the masked man: normal, quiet people who had the time and intelligence to plan heinous crimes. And police could do little to stop them until at least one life was shattered.

Jimmy would tell him to stop being a p.u.s.s.y and man up. He'd go on about how one man couldn't save everyone, and all anyone could do was his best.

Look where your best got you, Jimmy. Six feet under.

Nathan pushed the memories of Jimmy out of his mind and focused on the case. Surely Avery was smart enough to realize the partner had help from inside. No way did the escaped man just stumble across that tunnel during a leisurely stroll in the storm drains. Who had access to the bank? Who would have known about the hidden door?

Employees. Contractors, repairmen, cleaning service. Ex-employees.

Emilie said the bank had been built on top of an older foundation, one that was original to the city. Anyone with knowledge about the original building had to be included on the list. Who knew how many people had worked in the old building over the past century?

Avery wouldn't have time to interview all potential suspects. He needed to take full advantage of the FBI's resources. He and the agent a.s.signed to the case needed to focus on the most obvious candidates: current employees and ex bank employees. It was unlikely someone Emilie didn't even know would help kidnap her.

Of course, maybe the person didn't realize what he was doing. Maybe this partner just happened to find out about the pa.s.sage and used it to go after Emilie. The informant could be anyone with a connection to either the old building or to the bank.

Nathan rolled over and stared at the wall. Last year, Avery had botched a drug bust the FBI and narcotics had been working on for six months. Then he'd lost crucial evidence in a murder case that resulted in a mistrial.

Avery can't handle this.

"Jesus, Em." Jeremy Vance guided Emilie to his waiting mini-van. One of the few people she called a friend, he was also the bank president. Without his support, Emilie would have never gotten back on her feet after her divorce.

"That's a nasty bruise."

"I haven't looked at it." Emilie glanced at Jeremy. Her boss was short and pudgy with dirty blonde hair rapidly being taken over by arctic highlights. Too much sun had turned his plump cheeks bright rouge. "I'm sorry your vacation was interrupted. I take it you came straight from the plane?"

He smoothed his wrinkled, blue polo s.h.i.+rt and khaki shorts. "Don't worry about it. I would have been here sooner, but I've been dealing with the police."

Emilie snapped her seatbelt into place. "Feel like you're in the Twilight Zone yet?"

"By the time I got to WestOne, the police had set up construction lights in the tunnel so the forensic team could do their thing. The bugs-holy s.h.i.+t. Saw one of the biggest crab spiders I've ever seen." He stopped short at the horrified look on Emilie's face.

"d.a.m.n, Em, I'm sorry. You know I rattle off without thinking. How are you doing?"

"I'm here and not in the stinking storm drains with the mole-man." She shrugged. "That counts for something, right?"

"You really think Lisa could be involved?"

"You know she hates me. And she didn't look sick when she left."

"But do you really think she'd do something like this?" Jeremy raised both sun-bleached eyebrows. "Just because she resents you doesn't mean she would help some crazy man kidnap you."

"Who else is there?"

"The police are also looking at anyone previously affiliated with the old building."

"People who used to work at the hotel?"

"They would have knowledge of the original foundation. For all we know, the guy who tried to kidnap you could have worked at the old hotel. Maybe he didn't have an accomplice."

"That's true," Emilie said. "You and I didn't even know about the door, so why would Lisa? Although I wouldn't put it past her to go digging around in storage looking for freebies."

"Come on." Jeremy rolled his eyes. "You've never had any proof she's stolen supplies."

"Did I accuse her of stealing? No. I simply said I wouldn't put it past her."

"Em, don't turn this into a witch-hunt because you and Lisa dislike each other."

Emilie bit her tongue. Jeremy had been so good to her, humoring him was the least she could do.

"Let's say the partner did work at the old hotel." She changed the subject. "Why me? How did I get involved? And I still say it would have been much easier to kidnap me from home. Maybe the guy's a drama queen. Maybe he liked all the attention he got from staging the bank robbery."

"You're being awfully matter-of-fact about this."

"That's how I roll these days. What should I do, sit in a corner and cry?"

Jeremy smacked a meaty hand against the steering wheel. "You need to take this seriously. The cops may not find this man, and he's shown he's willing to do whatever it takes to get to you."

"Jeremy, I am taking it seriously." She couldn't stop the angry edge from creeping into her voice. "Trust me; I know he's still out there."

"I just want you safe."

"So do I."

"I don't like you being alone." He switched lanes and took the exit for Henderson. "Why don't you come stay with us? Sarah and the kids will be home in a few days."

Emilie had no desire to burden Jeremy and his family. Lisa resented their friends.h.i.+p, and staying with the Vances would give her more ammunition. "Cops said the building was safe, and there's a patrol outside. If the partner didn't try to take me from home before, I doubt he's going to do it with the cops hanging around. I can't leave Otis anyway."

"You could always bring him."

"He doesn't like to travel. He gets carsick and then he's usually so p.i.s.sed off he won't eat for a day or two."

"Of course." Jeremy sighed. "Then do me a favor, will you?"

"Depends."

"Text me whenever you leave from somewhere and when you get home. And don't even think about coming back to work right now."

"I need to work."

"Bank's going to be closed for a few days. The police have to process for evidence, and they want to explore that dug-out tunnel and old room some more."

"How long until the bank reopens?

"At least the rest of the week. We can't open until the police give us the go-ahead. Then you're taking a week off."

"No, thanks." Emilie crossed her arms and glared out the window. Hot tears built in the corners of her eyes. Sitting at home with only her thoughts was worse than going back to the bank.

"You've been through something horrible. No arguments. And I know this will p.i.s.s you off, but do you think Evan would want to know?"

"I don't give a d.a.m.n what Evan wants." Emilie's nails dug into her arm. "My life is no longer his business."

"I just don't want you to have the same problems you did after the divorce. You've come too far to end up back in that miserable place."

Her throat ached as she struggled to conceal her emotions. "I'm fine, really. Will you let me know when I can come back to work?"

"Of course. And you'll be paid for the time off."

Awkward silence hovered between them until Jeremy pulled into her condominium community. "I'll walk you up."

Tucked between Las Vegas, Lake Mead, and the Hoover Dam, Henderson is only a twenty-minute commute from downtown and a popular retreat from the rowdy lifestyle of the city. Emilie had lived in a second-floor, two-bedroom unit in Big Horn Condos since her divorce. She enjoyed the peace and quiet and the incredible view of the Black Mountains.

Her fat, orange tabby had greeted her with loud yowling, demanding food. While she fed Otis, Jeremy checked the apartment and then pleaded with Emilie to stay with his family. Half an hour later, Emilie shoved him out the door. She was finally alone.

The condo waited in silence. Anxiety washed over Emilie. The door's gold lock suddenly looked flimsy. Maybe she should reinforce it.

Emilie's sore shoulder screamed in protest as she grabbed the side of the oak table standing along the west wall. She heaved it across the hardwood floor until the heavy wood rested firmly against the door. Better. At least she would hear the table crash to the floor if someone tried to break in. She left the entryway light on and headed for the master bath. Behind her, something scuttled across the kitchen floor. Emilie froze. Her heart pounded in her ears. The sound came again.

Sickness built in her gut. Emilie forced herself to face the dark kitchen. "h.e.l.lo?"

Stupid. As if Creepy Guy would answer her.

As if he could even get inside her apartment.

But he got inside the bank.

Otis meandered out of the kitchen carrying his frayed, toy mouse. The cat stared at her with unblinking eyes.

"G.o.d, Otis. You scared me to death." Emilie turned on the standing lamp in the corner and headed for her master bath. Cold sweat broke out across her upper lip as darkness engulfed her. She slammed the light switch on.

Otis promptly jumped on the edge of the large garden tub, prancing across like a fat acrobat.

"Time to a.s.sess the damage." She stared at the oval mirror in horror. Her already fair skin looked sickly, making the bruises stand out. A large, purple contusion covered her left cheek, and a smaller discoloration adorned her temple. She touched the spot with trembling fingers. The man had hit her with the gun. Another inch to the right and she could have ended up blind.

Her gaze traveled to her exposed left shoulder. It too was bruised, courtesy of the concrete floor. Two of her fingernails were broken, and her knee was skinned.

Otis hopped onto the porcelain sink and appraised her.

"You didn't tell me I looked this bad."

The cat blinked his large green eyes.

"Well, it could have been worse. At least I'm here to feed you, right?"

She left the light on and padded across her bedroom's plush carpet. Emilie had gone to great lengths to make the s.p.a.ce as relaxing as possible. The walls were a calming green, and underneath the bay window was a cozy chair covered in a rich, brown fabric. Next to it sat an accent table with a cherry veneer finish and a bottom shelf-perfect for a few books.

Emilie climbed into her queen-sized bed, her thoughts overwhelmed by her present trauma and miseries of the past. Even after all the efforts she'd made to put the past behind her, hearing Evan's name was still like pouring acid on an open wound. She had wasted years of her life on that selfish, manipulative jacka.s.s. Catching him in their bed with a barely-legal brunette had been the clincher.

Emilie reached for the faded picture on her nightstand, cradling it to her chest. It was one of the few treasures she possessed from childhood. "I wish you were here, Meme. You would make it all better."

Chapter Eight.

Emilie expected the squad room of Las Vegas Metro's downtown command to be dank and grimy, full of grouchy cops talking to foul-mouthed criminals. Instead, the bland room was well organized and clean, with a wall of windows providing plenty of natural light. A hum of conversation hung in the air along with the sounds of hunt-and-peck typing, fax machines, and ringing phones.

A baby-faced officer led her to an office on the far side of the room. "Agent Ronson and Detective Avery are working in here."

Emilie knew at once the s.p.a.ce belonged to Avery. Several certificates and awards hung on the wall behind his desk, all arranged so that when Avery sat in his enormous leather chair, the accolades were just above his head.

Agent Ronson greeted her at the door. "How are you?"

"Okay," Emilie lied. She took off her sunhat and sat down.

"Did you get any rest?" Dark circles rimmed Agent Ronson's eyes. She clutched a cup of coffee.

"I think I got more than you did."

"Well, some of us have a hard time leaving the job when a case is fresh." She glanced at Avery reclining G.o.d-like in his ridiculous seat. "And some of us can sleep like babies no matter the circ.u.mstances."

Avery tossed his styrofoam coffee cup into a steel wastebasket. Hadn't he heard of recycling?

"Agent Ronson never stops. That's why she's got one of the best records in the Las Vegas field office." He looked admirably at Ronson and adjusted his gaudy red tie. "I'm honored to work with her."

Ronson ignored him. "Emilie, have you remembered anything else?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"That's okay," Ronson said. "Working with the sketch artist may help you remember more."

"I didn't see the man's face, just his eyes."

"We need something to distribute among area commands on the off chance he's committed other crimes," Avery said. "It's a long shot, but we have to do everything possible."

"Did the search teams find anything?"

"No." Avery played with a crystal paperweight. "We did manage to locate his point of entry into the tunnels from the refurbished sewer pipe, but he was gone by then."