Into the Dark (11 page)

Emilie sat straight up in bed, her skin soaked in sweat. Just as her mind finally slowed down, the memory had overtaken her.

She did know all about burdens. She’d spent most of her life as one. The feeling that the partner knew about her past returned. There were too many coincidences in his words, too many hints that he knew more about her than he let on.

And the Blake poem. How had he known?

Bach’s “Prelude in C Major” filled the room. Wary of the early hour, Emilie picked up her cellphone.

Bile rose in her throat.

Her mother was calling.

Chapter Twelve

“Hello?”

Emilie waited for the voice she hadn’t heard in sixteen years. Would her mother’s two-pack a day smoking habit finally have caught up with her?

“It’s Sam.”

Unexpected disappointment washed over her. Her mother hadn’t called. She’d had her husband do her dirty work.

“Emilie, you there?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat in an effort to dislodge the lump that had formed. “Sam. How are you?”

Her stepfather wasn’t a bad person. She had been eight when Claire remarried, and when he wasn’t working a seventy-hour week, Sam tried to keep the peace between mother and daughter. He’d even taken Emilie to the zoo once without Claire. Those three hours were the happiest Emilie had known since
Mémé
had died.

“Fine,” Sam answered. “I—we—read the papers. It’s awful what happened to you.”

“Claire did more than read.”

“I told her to keep quiet about all that. She’s got a mind of her own, though.”

More like Claire wore the pants, and Sam didn’t have the guts to put his foot down.

“Are there any leads?” he asked.

“No.”

“Do you need protection? I could get a full-time security team out there today.”

“Does Claire know you’re calling?”

Silence.

“I guess not. Are you hiding in the closet?”

“She’s out.”

“Ah, it’s Thursday.” Emilie smacked her forehead. “Brunch with the girls. How could I forget? Guess some things never change.” Her bitterness oozed out in the form of tears. She rubbed them away. Claire wasn’t worth the effort.

“I’m sorry. I knew calling would upset you, but I wanted to hear for myself you were all right. What happened between the two of you…please know I had no idea what your mother had hidden. If I had, I would have made her tell you, I swear.”

She doubted that. Sam couldn’t even stop Claire from running her mouth to the newspaper. Her stepfather had good intentions, but Claire was a skilled manipulator and would have likely convinced him keeping the secret was ‘for the best,’ just as she had done with
Mémé
.

“I know you didn’t, Sam. You were good to me when you were around. You deserve better than my mother.”

“Let’s not talk about her,” Sam said. “I was sorry to hear about your divorce.”

Emilie could imagine her mother’s glee when she heard that juicy detail of her daughter’s life. Her big mistake had ended exactly as Claire had said it would. Then again, Claire could easily spot her own kind—selfish and controlling.

“Don’t be. I’ve moved on.”

“You’re not alone out there, are you? You’ve got friends to stay with?”

“I’m not alone. Thank you for calling, Sam.”

“It was the least I could do. I kept an eye on you the first few years, you know.”

“What?”

“I had a private investigator check on you from time to time. Make sure you were all right and all.”

“You had someone follow me?” Her heart drummed inside her chest. “For how long? Where is he now?”

“Easy, kid. I called him off after about three years. He’s definitely not your guy. He died a year ago.”

Damn.

“Did Claire know?”

“God, no. Your mother would have skinned me. She likes to pretend…”

“That I don’t exist,” Emilie finished. “It’s okay. She’s done that all of my life.”

“You deserve better than her too. For what it’s worth, I always thought you were a good kid, and I told her so. She just wouldn’t listen.”

“Why are you still with her?” Emilie burst out. “How could you love someone so nasty and calculating?”

“It’s complicated. And familiar. She does her thing, I do mine. Easier that way.”

“Easier than a divorce settlement, you mean.”

“That too.”

An awkward silence followed until Sam spoke again. “Listen, my office number is still the same, kid. You change your mind about that security or need anything, please call.”

“Vi still your secretary?” Emilie remembered the cranky, middle-aged woman who pissed Claire off every time her mother called Sam at work. Emilie had secretly enjoyed seeing her mother rebuffed by Vi.

“Yeah. Don’t worry; she won’t say anything to Claire. Vi still hates her.”

“Feeling’s mutual.”

“Emilie—”

“Listen, I have to go.” The dam in her throat was nearing its breaking point. “Thank you for calling, really. It was good to hear from you.”

“You too, kid. Please take care of yourself. Watch your back and carry mace.”

“I will. Goodbye.”

She pressed the red ‘end’ button and covered her face with the pillow. Maybe if she drowned out the sobs, her breakdown wouldn’t count.

* * * *

Nathan flashed his badge and stepped under the yellow crime tape. WestOne Bank was still sealed off, and Metro had placed officers at its front door to ward off would-be crime solvers and nosy civilians.

Little had changed. The broken glass had been swept into the corner and bullets had been retrieved from the drywall for ballistics testing, leaving the wall pockmarked with holes. Adam’s blood had been cleaned, but the stain remained. Crime scene tape was a puddle on the floor at the basement’s entrance.

Nathan went down the stairs and into the storage room. The air still smelled stale, but the stench of mildew was less overwhelming. A tall, lithe woman stood near the broken door peering into the exposed hole in the earth.

“Agent Ronson?”

She turned, hand on her chest. “Madigan, you creep like a damned cat.”

“SWAT training.” He grinned. “How’ve you been?”

Nathan’s first experience with Sia Ronson had been a year ago when she tracked a child prostitution ring in central Las Vegas. Ronson enlisted the help of SWAT to apprehend the suspects. Her skills as an agent and her devotion to the suffering children had impressed Nathan.

“Good. Heard you were the star here the other day.”

“What?”

“Your boss said you figured out the partner’s motives before anyone else.”

“Guy still got away.”

“He’s smart.” Ronson motioned to the tunnel. “Thanks for meeting me here. Sergeant Johnson said you were the one to guide me through this mess.”

“Sure. But plenty of officers have been down here.”

“None with your observation skills. I’ve seen you work, Madigan. You’re talented. Walk me through this place. Give me your first impressions from that night, thoughts on the perp, whatever comes to mind. Right now, you and Davis know more about him than anyone else.”

“Has she remembered anything more?” Nathan knew he was probably breaking protocol, but he had to ask. Emilie’s frightened face remained foremost in his thoughts since watching her lose control at the station.

Ronson narrowed her eyes, gauging his interest. “That’s right, you were at the station when she had a flashback the other day. Not much. Thinks the partner knows about her past.”

“She mentioned that. It’s definitely possible.

“I agree.

“Did she tell you about her parents?”

“Not in any detail. You probably know as much as I do.” Ronson cocked her head toward the tunnel. “Ready?”

An orange extension cord led to the shop light hanging from one of the redwood posts.

“Watch yourself.” Nathan led the way inside. “Don’t get your heels stuck in the dirt.”

“I’m going to call that chivalrous instead of sexist.” She slipped on a pair of running shoes. “I came prepared.”

“Just be careful.” Nathan looked around the walls. “Looks like the light got rid of most of the critters, anyway.”

“Was that your first impression? The bugs?”

“My first impression was ‘What the hell?’”

“And then?”

“Then a sinking feeling I wasn’t going to like what we found. That this guy wasn’t an amateur.”

“You think he’s done this before?”

“Don’t you?”

“Absolutely. But so far, I can’t find any similar crimes within a three-state radius.”

“They’re out there.” Nathan brushed a dangling cobweb out of the way. “No newbie pulls this off.”

“So he runs in here and blocks the door with a piece of wood he’s previously placed. Then he enters–”

Ronson whistled as they rounded the corner into the circular room with the distilling machine. Another makeshift light gave the room a dim glow. “That’s kind of awesome. Wonder how many gangsters sat in that very chair?”

“Maybe Bugsy himself,” Nathan teased. He pointed to the smaller tunnel where a blue tarp had been laid down. “This is as far as I’ve gone.”

Ronson turned on her tactical light and knelt down on the tarp. “Good thing I wore pants today.” She shimmied her narrow body into the hole.

She emerged minutes later and dusted the dirt off her clothes and hair. “The pipe with the hatch doesn’t look much bigger than this tunnel. I can’t believe the city didn’t notice the hatch when they decided to reuse the pipe for the storm drain system.” She focused her light on Nathan’s face. “You game?”

“To go into the pipe?

“I want to follow his trail.”

“You want me to go with you?”

“I said I wanted your opinion, didn’t I? Besides, I shouldn’t go alone. Capable female I may be, I’m not stupid.”

“Where’s your partner?” Nathan smirked. “Too dirty down here for Avery?”

Ronson’s mouth twitched. “Following a lead.”

“Interesting how fast Emilie’s medical history appeared in the paper, isn’t it?”

“We may have a leak.” Ronson spoke through tight lips. “I’m looking into it.”

“You don’t need to look far. We both know someone close to the case who’s own personal gain comes first.”

“Trust me. If I can prove Avery’s leaking information, I’ll have his ass.” Ronson pointed to the tunnel. “Dig in.”

Nathan dug out his own flashlight and crawled into the tunnel. “I don’t even know if I’ll fit through here.”

He stretched out his arms, dug his elbows into the tarp-covered dirt, and slithered slowly through the earth. His shoulders caught on the sharp edges above and snagged his T-shirt. When he reached the sewer pipe with the rusted, open hatch, there was no choice but to crawl in face first.

He shined his light into the hatch. The pipe was empty, but the soft trickling of water warned Nathan he was about to get wet.

He grabbed the outside of the hatch and pulled, easing his head into the pipe. His hands were next. Nathan grimaced as his skin touched the cold water. He regained his footing, but the pipe was so shallow he had to crouch down several inches.

“I’m in the pipe,” he called to Ronson. “Come on.”

She crawled inside. “It took you more than five minutes to make it here. No way it took the partner that long. Granted, he’s traveled the route before, but he’s definitely lankier.”

They traipsed through the pipe until they reached a fork. To the right was a manhole that led to the surface, while the left drain continued into the storm drain system.

They followed the second pipe about fifty feet until it opened into a large culvert. There, the tunnels began to branch out giving them three choices of direction.

Ronson looked at her watch. “Five minutes. That’s ten minutes total, and I didn’t count the time in the tunnel before the distilling room.”

“He had that long. Four or five minutes before SWAT established contact with Emilie and then at least another five before the guys breached the door.”

“Then he disappeared into one of these mazes.”

“And he’s gone.”

“Not gone,” Ronson said. “Hiding. Waiting. Watching. He’s not through yet. His prize is still out there.”

* * * *

Emilie stared at the newspaper clipping she’d found stuffed in with her mail. The elevator doors opened and closed, jarring her. It was the same article Ronson had shown her at the station.

Her mind whirled as she wandered into the hall. How had the clipping gotten into her mailbox? Surely the Taker hadn’t…no, he wouldn’t. Too risky. She’d hung up on the reporter and hadn’t answered any more calls. Was this her childish way of getting revenge on Emilie?

She unlocked her apartment door, ignored Otis’s greeting, and read the article’s final sentences out loud. “Only one thing is certain: the Taker is somewhere in the city, no doubt watching and waiting. Will he strike again?”

Pain shot through her temple. Suddenly Emilie was back in the bank lobby, trying in vain to ignore Taker’s odd stream of dialogue:

“The past has always fascinated me.” His face hovered over her left shoulder. “When I was a small child, I spent hours exploring the countryside. History was everywhere: the aged buildings, abandoned houses, the people’s stories. I wanted to learn everything I could. Understanding the past is the only way to accept who we are as individuals and as a culture. So many lessons from our ancestors can be applied to our own lives, and in some cases, the road ahead has already been paved. We just have to find it. Do you understand, Miss Emilie?”

Her knees ached as she fell to the hardwood floor.

He moved in front of her as he spoke, each slow breath magnified by the filter of the black facemask. “The past is an important part of life, isn’t it? Our past can affect us forever. A split-second decision can change everything.”

She stared into his dark eyes. Framed with thick, black lashes and a smattering of fine wrinkles, they were too beautiful to belong to someone like him. “You know what I mean, don’t you, Miss Emilie? Isn’t there a single moment from your past that defines you?”

A hand rubbed her back. “Emilie, are you okay? It’s me, Sarah.”

Emilie summoned her strength and rolled over. She forced herself to open her eyes. Color flooded her vision. Jeremy’s wife knelt over her, put together as always, in a red sundress. Her thick, honey-blond hair flowed around her shoulders like a halo.