Haven 1: How to Save a Life (39 page)

Using the flashlight, he wound around the tables and finally reached a wall covered with bare shelving units. He followed the wall and came to an opening large enough for the van to have driven through. In the next room there was still no sign of any windows or doors. Just more metal workbenches and empty shelves.

Then he heard it. Someone whistling.

It sounded like it came from all around Kevin, bouncing off the walls and the concrete floor. Then it grew faint. To his left. He clicked off the light to avoid detection and moved in that direction, his hand out in front of him guiding his way. The farther he went, the louder the whistling grew. Heavy, solid footsteps accompanied it.

Kevin forced his legs to go faster, following the sounds into the darkness of the empty building, clutching the flashlight in his fist.

* * * *

The Protector descended the stairs that led to his rooms and smiled. Kevin Price was following him, just as he’d hoped when he’d left the boy in the van.

Everything was working out perfectly, despite the nasty business of taking care of Henderson.

The Protector’s smile grew as he slowly continued down the dark, narrow staircase. He liked the chase, liked the minute when they realized they were not getting away—that they were home—and he wasn’t planning to miss it with Kevin.

He’d known the minute Kevin had offered to go with him, his boy was really going to attempt releasing the others. Kevin had no intention of staying with him. But Kevin’s offer presented the Protector with the opportunity to get his new boy on his turf without any fuss. Here, he could take his time, enjoy the moment.

So he’d left him alone in the van. The exterior doors of the building were all locked, the windows all boarded up. Kevin wasn’t going anywhere.

Not that Kevin would’ve tried. If the Protector had learned anything about him, he knew Kevin would come for the others, no matter what.

The Protector slowed his progress down the stairs. No need to rush. He’d waited patiently for an opportunity since the first time he’d spotted Kevin. Waiting a little longer wasn’t a hardship.

He needed to get packed and out of that building before too long, but he had no intention of leaving until the next morning. Nothing would ruin their first night together. The initiation was his favorite time.

Only when that was done would they leave behind the heat, the crowds, the life of Porter Logan Prescott III.

The mountains were going to be much nicer. Cooler temperatures, fresh water, a slew of trees surrounding the cabin, and no one around for miles. Their begging and pleading would sound lovely in the otherwise silence of the wilderness.

He’d been beaming since he’d come up with the idea. These boys would be his forever. No one would take them from him this time.

He reached the bottom of the stairs. Time to draw Kevin into his world. He punched in the code on the lock and swung open the solid wood door. He entered the basement, purposely leaving the door open behind him.

He’d let Kevin have a look around. Then he’d show his new boy where he belonged.

Chapter Thirty-One

Walter banged on the front door of the Haven for the third time. Once more and he’d bust the door down with his bare hands.

“Go away,” came a muffled response. “We’re closed.”

“It’s Simon. Open up, Vargas.”

After a delayed rattling of the door handle, a curse, then another delay, the door to the club finally opened. An unshaven Vargas stood swaying inside. He wore jeans and nothing else; even his feet were bare. His eyes were half-closed and bloodshot. “What do you want?”

Walter had never seen his friend looking so unkempt, so emotionally raw. He’d also never smelled Vargas like this. He must’ve spilled as much scotch on himself as he’d obviously chugged down his throat.

Too bad Walter didn’t have time to offer support. Later. He stepped inside and kept on going, the sound of Vargas’s uneven footsteps trailing behind him.

“Simon, what the hell’s going on? You look like shit.”

Vargas should talk. Although Walter had to look worse. What with the bruises and cuts and smeared blood. Never mind the anger and fear coursing through him.

There was only one light on in the club, near the bar, barely enough to walk around by, and not enough to see into the dark corners of the first floor’s open space. It didn’t matter. The Haven wasn’t where Walter would find Prescott.

He headed into the dining room. The tables still held plates with half-eaten meals, linen napkins strewn about, and glasses half-full of water, wine, and liquor. Taking a shower hadn’t been the only thing low on Vargas’s to-do list.

Walter kept on moving through the club, darting around table after table as he explained. “I know who was behind everything. Detective Henderson. His father owns a company called H&H Holdings. They hired Prescott to harass you so you’d sell the club. Only Prescott decided to kidnap those men, and then he killed Henderson. I’ve called Gibson and asked him to meet me here.”

A thud came from behind Walter. He stopped. Vargas lay face-first over a table as if he’d walked right into it and fell forward. He pushed himself up, plates and silverware clanking together as he scrambled for leverage. When he stood upright, he asked, “What about the missing men?”

“Still alive from what Prescott told us.” Walter got moving again, hurrying through the rest of the dining room. “He’s with that bastard. I have to get to him.”

Vargas followed. “Who’s with what bastard?”

“Kevin’s with Prescott. He had this crazy, fucked-up idea to go with him to where he’s got the men hidden. He’s going to get taken away or worse if I don’t get to him in time. I have to find the tunnels and see if they lead me there.”

“What tunnels? Walter, wait.” Vargas calling him by his first name had Walter stopped in his tracks again. But only for a moment. He got going as Vargas added, “You’re not making sense, and you’re giving me a headache.”

“I don’t have time to explain. This sick bastard is fixated on Kevin. Who knows what he’ll do when he gets him alone?” Only he did know. The photos Gibson had described of what Prescott had done to the men he’d abducted before were very specific.

Walter checked his phone. Nothing from Gibson yet. He grabbed a chair from a table on his way by and dragged it with him past the staircase to the elevator on the first floor. “There are tunnels leading from your basement to locations all over this city. The exits were sealed up years ago, but I’m guessing the one here in the Haven is open for business, and I’m finding it.”

“Tunnels? Under my club?”

Walter reached the elevator and hit the Call button. The doors opened. “This elevator used to go down to the basement, right?”

“Yeah.” Vargas kept talking as he stumbled to catch up to Walter. “When I renovated, I changed it to stop at the first floor to keep the guests upstairs and keep them from heading down to the basement for some fun.”

“Good.” Walter hauled the chair inside the elevator with him, then pulled out his GLOCK and gave it a last check.

Vargas swayed as he came to a stop before the open elevator doors. His eyes widened at the sight of the gun. “What are you doing? I thought Gibson was coming.”

“I’m not waiting.”

“Okay. I’ll come with you.”

“No.”

Vargas could barely walk. He wouldn’t be much help in the elevator shaft.

“Wait for Gibson and Tucker at the front door. I’ll call you when I find the entrance to the tunnels. Let them know how to find me.” Walter hit the Close button and gave a nod to Vargas as the doors slid shut.

* * * *

Sweat poured off Kevin as he took the last step and stopped in the open doorway at the bottom of the stairs.

He waited for his eyes to adjust to the low light of the basement. He’d used the flashlight at first to peer down the staircase but had clicked it back off almost immediately, too afraid he’d give away his approach down the stairs otherwise.

His breathing picked up the longer he stood still, listening for Prescott. Low light now came from somewhere ahead of him. He could make out more of his surroundings. There was a keypad attached to the lock on the open door. The electronic equipment was in such contrast to the wooden door and dank surroundings of the basement that Kevin had to stare for a minute to make out the keypad for what it was.

He moved forward into the basement, took a chance, and clicked on the flashlight to get a better look. He was in a room with stained concrete walls and a dirt floor. Two narrow passageways were the only other exits. One at each corner of the wall facing him. A lone, bare bulb hung from the ceiling several feet inside each passage.

The whistling began again. Kevin couldn’t tell from which direction. The sound bounced off the walls and the earth at his feet.

He waited a moment, then inched forward toward the corridor to the right. The whistling halted. The only sound now was the faint clanking of metal. Kevin forced his feet to keep moving. On his next step, his foot caught the edge of a board that slid away as he plunged forward. The flashlight hit the floor and rolled, the beam of light disappearing as he landed. His palms skidded in the dirt, and his chin smacked the cold ground.

He held still again, waiting to see if Prescott had heard him. The clanking had stopped, and the silence stretched on. Kevin flipped over. At his feet was a narrow opening in the ground. No light came from the opening. The flashlight must’ve fallen through and switched off or had broken on impact. He moved closer, feeling around with his hands. An inch of dirt covered the board he’d tripped over. He cleared it off and wrenched the board aside, revealing a four-by-four-foot opening with a metal ladder leaning just inside. Had he not tripped on the board, he would’ve missed the hole.

This had to be an entrance to the tunnels. Prescott couldn’t have gone down there, or how would he have covered the board with dirt? Something told Kevin he needed to check anyway. With his first movement down the ladder, the rung under his foot creaked. He paused. He was heading ass-first into the darkness below with no weapon and no way to defend himself.

Great idea, Kevin. Your best ever.

He had no other choice. He started down again, wincing with each rickety creak from the ladder.

Finally, he reached the end of the ladder, but he couldn’t see a thing. As he took a step, his foot collided with something hard that rolled around. The flashlight. He flipped it on. Sure enough, he was in a tunnel. And he’d bet anything it led to the Haven’s elevator shaft.

The whistling started once more, the clanking mixed in with the whistles. From far off above him.

Kevin scrambled back up the ladder, going as quietly as he could, despite the metal clanks and off-key whistling now covering the sound of his own movements.

Back in the basement, a brighter light had been turned on farther down the right corridor. Kevin flicked off the flashlight but didn’t dare let go of it. Even the cheap plastic would be better than no weapon at all. He inched forward.

Closed wooden doors flanked the passage on both sides. Some of the doors were ancient and rickety, like one good shove would send them falling off the hinges. Others had updated hardware and locks.

Then he came to a newly constructed steel door and frame. The door was open and a light was on inside. Kevin breathed deep, summoned his last bit of courage, and peeked around the corner into an open room about the size of his entire apartment. Although this room had less clutter, less of a disastrous vibe than his place. Orderly. Neat.

A place for everything and everything in its place.

In the center of the room sat a bed covered in a white fitted sheet. No blankets or pillows. The bed had four short metal posts, one at each corner. The mix of the pristine white bed in the dank basement was a disturbing image.

Even more disturbing was what sat beyond the bed.

Metal cages lined the back wall.

Like oversize dog crates, they were tall enough for only the shortest of men to stand upright inside. All but two of the cages housed a naked man, each sitting on a pillow inside his tiny prison. In the first cage to the left was Dylan, leaning against a side wall of the cage. He had his head tilted back, and he stared up at the bars above him, his knees bent, his arms wrapped around his calves.

Kevin darted into the open doorway and almost called out to him. He forced down the sound. Prescott had to be nearby.

Another
clank
. More whistling. Closer now.

There was movement to the far left of the cages, directly next to Dylan’s. Then out of the shadows came Prescott. He moved to a wooden workbench along the wall perpendicular to the cages and laid down a long stretch of heavy-duty steel chain—the kind you could tow a car with—across the surface of the bench. He bent forward, his entire focus on a circular object at the end of the chain, some kind of clasp or ring.

Kevin couldn’t move.

He needed to, though. He should be running down the corridor, up the stairs to find a way out and to call the police.

It was just that his body wouldn’t cooperate. He couldn’t leave Dylan and the others there. If he had a chance, he could get them out of those cages, and they could all escape together.

The whistling stopped. Prescott picked up the chain and hung it from a hook on the wall beside the bench. The wall was covered in hooks holding more chains, handcuffs, and ropes.

Prescott adjusted the hanging chain so it lay flat with the others, then turned away from the wall to face the door. Kevin ducked out of sight. The dull thud of footsteps on the packed dirt told him Prescott was headed his way. Kevin scrambled down the passageway for the last door he’d passed earlier and took cover inside. Darkness engulfed him.

Keeping his ear pressed to the closed door, he listened. The thud of Prescott’s footsteps passed by, then faded.

Kevin flicked on the flashlight. Another closed room. This one empty. It also offered no other exit. He faced the door. Where had Prescott gone? Back to the van to get him? And how long before he returned?