Stolen. Part 16

Hunter's dead. Shot in the head. Brighton is here with a partner, Gannon.

She's shooting at me. I'm running but might be trapped.

The last thing Sean wanted to do was shoot a cop, but Brighton wasn't giving him much confidence that he could turn himself in without injury. He was having a hard time accepting that she'd fired as he ran, and he hadn't had his gun out, hadn't returned fire, or given her any cause to shoot.

Escape was his only option.

Sean s.h.i.+ned his light around the tunnel but didn't see much of anything except algae growing on the damp brick walls. The foul, dank smell reeked of mold, over and above decaying rodents. The floor, that may have been cement or worn stone, was damp. Water dripped all around, and in the distance it flowed. Pipes? A sewer? He followed the sounds. They became louder as the tunnel narrowed. He'd never been claustrophobic-except when he'd been in jail-but this pa.s.sage would give him nightmares.

The tunnel curved slightly and cold air washed over him. There must be an opening up ahead. He walked as fast as he dared over the slippery, uneven ground. The pa.s.sage narrowed as it curved until both his shoulders touched the walls. He s.h.i.+ned his light and saw his escape hatch-a slim opening twenty feet away. Sean had to turn and go through it shoulder first, but he made it.

Sean paused in the wider tunnel and s.h.i.+ned his light around. An old, rusting metal staircase went thirty feet down. Sean had never explored the underbelly of Manhattan, but he'd heard of it. There were utility doors, subway exits, sewer access, and hidden pa.s.sageways that led to the river. He just needed to find one that got him far from here.

Rodents scurried away from his light.

s.h.i.+t. He hated rats.

It was surprisingly warm and noisy as Sean descended farther down into the sewers. Rus.h.i.+ng water he couldn't see or feel, behind walls; electrical equipment humming, churning, working 24/7 to keep the city running. A subway train rumbled down unseen tracks, echoing throughout so Sean almost couldn't tell where the sound came from.

He could hide in here, but he didn't know the tunnels well enough to elude a full-scale manhunt. He needed a way out before Brighton could call in a SWAT team or NYPD, who might know ways to shut down parts of the system. He couldn't go back to his apartment; Deanna Brighton might have located him. And until Noah could get her off Sean's a.s.s, he had to disappear. Why had she started an investigation into Colton for mortgage fraud? That made no sense; it wasn't Colton's game. Why was she after Colton and not the rest of the group? Why had she been at Hunter's? Was she primarily going after Colton to get to Sean? Did this have something to do with what happened at Stanford? Dammit, how long could someone hold a grudge?

Would she follow him in here? Not if she was smart, not without backup. But she had proved that she didn't have all her screws in place. Shooting at him-that p.i.s.sed him off. And scared him. Stupid and against all FBI protocols.

Sean stepped in something wet and sticky, glad he couldn't clearly see it. He kept moving forward. South? He hoped. There was a subway stop at 33rd, and there should be an access point. If he was going north, he was screwed, because north would take him into Grand Central Station. More cops, more people, more cameras.

"You're not thinking," Sean muttered to himself. He reached into his bag and took out his compa.s.s. He'd never been a Boy Scout, but he packed like one-thanks to his brothers. Between Kane, Duke, and Liam, Sean had been well prepared to do just about anything-including navigating an old tunnel under New York City.

He confirmed that he was headed south, and the sound of the subway increased exponentially the closer he got.

Sean picked up the pace. The faster he got out, the better off he'd be.

Somewhere behind him, a radio cut in and out. Sean immediately turned off his flashlight.

Brighton had followed him.

The tunnel forked; to the left was darkness, to the right security lights and electrical panels.

She was close. Too close.

He wanted to go toward the security lights, but he didn't know if there were locked doors or people or another dead end. And Brighton might be able to see him.

He turned left, feeling his way down the dark tunnel. He went down as far as he dared. He couldn't see anything but didn't risk turning on his flashlight. He took out his phone and set the light to the dimmest setting, then s.h.i.+ned it briefly around the tunnel. It narrowed but was pa.s.sable. There was an old doorway ten feet in. He pocketed his phone and slipped over the threshold.

He heard Brighton at the fork where he'd been standing not two minutes ago. The radio cut in and out again.

"Dammit, Gannon," Brighton said in a coa.r.s.e whisper. "I'm trying to find the b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Gannon said, "You shouldn't have gone down there alone! Backup is on its way-"

She cut him off and called out into the tunnels, "Sean Rogan! I will find you!" Her voice echoed. "You ruined my career; you embarra.s.sed me in front of my colleagues and my boss! You think you're smarter than everyone, but you're not smarter than me. I know everything about you. I know everything about your girlfriend. I will destroy you both."

Sean's fists clenched. She was baiting him.

Get your head together, Rogan. It won't do Lucy any good if you get thrown in prison. Or killed.

Brighton was moving away. Her radio clicked in and out again.

"What?" she said.

"Torres says get your a.s.s out of the tunnels now. I'm here at the entrance. Backtrack."

"But-"

"Now!" Gannon said. "I'll protect your a.s.s, but you need to get here and secure the scene. We'll get this guy, but you can't take him down alone."

"I'm coming," she snapped.

The radio clicked off, and Brighton let out an angry cry. "f.u.c.k!" she screamed. "I hate you I hate you I hate you!" She fired her gun and Sean jumped but remained in his hiding place. She fired a second time. "f.u.c.king rats. Rogan, you're nothing more than a f.u.c.king rat!"

She was losing it. But, by the sound of her voice, she was moving away from him. The radio clicked on.

"Deanna! Report!"

"I'm fine. That b.a.s.t.a.r.d shot at me." Sean could barely hear her now.

"I'm coming to you."

"No. He ran; I took cover and didn't see which way he went."

The lying b.i.t.c.h! Sean didn't move. No doubt she'd shoot him before she arrested him.

"I'll meet you."

Sean could hear the echo of voices but couldn't make out the words. He stayed put. She could be setting a trap.

He wasn't going back that way. He waited as long as he could stand, three minutes, and didn't hear anything but water and distant machinery. He s.h.i.+ned his light down the dark tunnel and saw a door at the end, fifty feet from his location. E33AC-4.

He had no idea what that meant, but E33 was likely East 33rd Street.

The wall rumbled in front of him, a roar growing louder until his ears rang. His heart raced and he froze. He hadn't realized how far down he'd gone, but that subway train was right next to him, on the other side of the wall. As it pa.s.sed he took several deep breaths to collect his bearings.

This must be a subway access door, a way for transit employees to get around in the bowels of the system.

He had to risk it. If he spent any more time down here, the FBI would be sending dogs and their head b.i.t.c.h, Deanna Brighton, to track him.

He opened the door. There was a slim metal walkway that hugged the wall. A blue security light s.h.i.+ned over the door. The subway track was practically in front of him. How much time between trains? Five minutes? Seven? He couldn't waste any time.

He looked right and left. The train had been moving south, by the sound, which meant it was coming from Grand Central. To the right was the station.

He walked as fast as he could toward the platform. The lights became brighter as he rounded a curve.

He had to find a place to change out of his filthy clothes and contact Noah. He needed to warn Colton. Screw the warning, he needed Colton to tell him to his face that he had nothing to do with Hunter's murder.

A train sounded at the far end of the tunnel. Sean didn't know how much time he had, but he ran. There was a metal door at the end; he prayed it wasn't locked. It looked like it was to keep people on the platform from accessing the walk.

The door was locked, but it was a simple industrial lock. Sean picked it quickly as the train sped toward the station. It wouldn't hit him-he could push his body against the wall-but the driver would certainly see Sean, call security, and the cops would be waiting for him.

The lock sprang open as the train's headlights reflected off the wall across from him.

He stepped onto the platform. A couple looked at him oddly, but he kept going, ready with an excuse if anyone questioned him.

No one did.

As he strode up the staircase, he pulled on a baseball cap and adjusted the brim low, to make identifying him on security cameras difficult. He exited on East 33rd Street and kept moving. He entered a bar three blocks from the subway and slipped into the bathroom. He changed quickly, putting his filthy clothes in the garbage, burying them at the bottom. He washed his face and hands with water as hot as he could get it.

Sean took a deep breath and left the sanctuary of the john. He scouted the bar, which seemed quiet for a weekday evening. He sat in a poorly lit corner where he had a good view of the room and entrance while having the added benefit of being close to the emergency exit. While waiting for the c.o.c.ktail waitress to bring him his beer, he studied the mirror behind the bar, coolly a.s.sessing the patrons and staff to make sure no one was giving him unwanted attention. So far, so good.

After the waitress deposited his beer, he pulled out his cell phone. Three missed calls, all from Noah. He returned the call. Noah answered on the first ring.

"What the h.e.l.l's going on, Sean? I got your message fifteen minutes ago, but you weren't answering your phone."

"When I got to Hunter's, his front door was open and he was dead. Bullet to the head, laptop gone. I heard someone in the living room and didn't know if it was his killer. I bolted down the back staircase. Deanna Brighton was there-"

Noah cut him off. "You ran from a federal agent?"

"Noah, she shot at me. I was running, didn't have a gun out, and she would have hit me in the back."

"Are you sure?"

"That she shot at my back? h.e.l.l yes, I'm sure. Twice in the stairwell-the bullets will be in the walls-one on the fourth floor, outside Hunter's apartment, and the second somewhere between there and the bas.e.m.e.nt. I locked the door, went out through an old tunnel-the bas.e.m.e.nt had been used during prohibition. Took me a while, but I exited the maze. Then-"

"Meet me and we'll go in."

"No."

"Sean, this isn't a f.u.c.king game."

"She called me by name."

"Did she identify herself?"

"Yes."

"And you ran. I don't believe this!"

"Dammit, Noah, she shot at me! Not just in the stairwell, but she followed me underground without backup and she completely lost it. She fired her gun twice more, probably at the rats she was screaming at, and when her partner demanded an update she told him I shot at her! I swear to G.o.d, Noah, I did not fire my gun tonight."

"I believe you, Sean, but you still need to come in."

Why didn't Noah understand? "Hunter is dead. We talked this morning, remember? I don't know what I said that had him snooping, but he sounded scared when he called me. And now he's dead and his computer is gone. I don't know if Brighton followed me there or was staking out Hunter's apartment or what, but I'm not going back to my apartment, and I'm not going into the FBI office. You have to trust me on this, Noah."

"It must have been a misunderstanding."

"You weren't there," Sean said, drawing out the words. "She is a f.u.c.king lunatic. She was ranting about how much she hates me, how I ruined her life. No way am I getting anywhere near that psycho b.i.t.c.h."

Sean glanced around, lowered his voice. "Noah, we're so close; I'm not going to sit in an FBI interrogation room for the next two days while Jonathan Paxton gets away with yet another crime. We found his connection to PBM, now we need to find out what's so important he's willing to risk his career to steal it."

"This has become too dangerous. You're wanted by the FBI-"

"You have to find a way to fix it. I'm going to disappear for the next forty-eight hours."

"Sean, don't-"

"I have to. I'm going through with this. Colton will expect me to, even with Hunter gone." He paused. "I have Hunter's phone."

"You took evidence from a crime scene?"

"I think I can crack his code and get a history of what he was doing on his computer before he died. I might even be able to find out where his computer is."

"Let me think-" Noah sounded as frustrated as Sean felt.

"I'll call you only on the cell phone I gave you, every couple hours."

"I have to talk to Rick."

"I know you don't owe me any favors, and this is a biggie-"

"Sean-if Rick says you need to come in, you need to come in."

"All right." But Sean wasn't certain that he would. Not until he had answers. "Thank you, Noah."

"Be careful, Rogan. I'll see what I can find out."

Sean hung up and drained his beer. It wasn't even ten at night. He really did need to disappear, but he had one person he wanted to see first.

He wasn't confident he'd get out of this alive, and no way was he dying without explaining everything to Lucy.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

Noah called Rick Stockton while on the way to Hunter Nash's apartment.

"You need to rein Sean in," Noah told Rick after he repeated what Sean had told him.