Into the Dark (7 page)

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 shirt 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 shit. Saw one of the biggest crab spiders I’ve ever seen.” He stopped short at the horrified look on Emilie’s face.

“Damn, 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 friendship, 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 pissed 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 piss you off, but do you think Evan would want to know?”

“I don’t give a damn 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. “Hello?”

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.

“God, 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 assess 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 space 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 jackass. 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,
Mémé
. 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 space 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 God-like in his ridiculous seat. “And some of us can sleep like babies no matter the circumstances.”

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.”

“You couldn’t follow his trail?” Emilie asked.

“What trail?” Avery snorted. “The two inches of standing water washed away any footprints, and police aren’t exactly equipped to go trolling in the tunnels. We don’t know the system very well. We focused the search on the culverts and washes—the drainage ditches—in hopes of catching him or finding a witness.”

“And you found nothing?” Emilie couldn’t keep the anger out of her voice.

“I promise we’re exhausting every resource to find this man,” Ronson said. “The sketch is the first step. I’ll go get Officer Mallory.” She left, and Emilie was stuck alone with Avery.

He hefted the crystal paperweight off his desk and rolled it around in his hand like a squish-ball. “Let’s talk about past acquaintances. Is there anyone you can think of that made you feel uncomfortable? A customer that acted inappropriately? A date you refused?” The detective’s gaze slipped to Emilie’s bare calves. “A man you may have shunned at some point?”

“No.” She stood up and walked to the window. “There’s no one like that.”

“You weren’t seeing anyone? What about the bank president? Lisa Craig said you two are close.”

“Excuse me?”

“What’s your relationship with Jeremy Vance?”

“We’re friends.”

“That’s not what Ms. Craig thinks.”

“She’s a vindictive bitch.”

“So you’re not having an affair with your boss?”

Emilie couldn’t believe the detective’s brazenness. She snapped her head back and forth, unable to speak.

Avery set the paperweight back down and folded his hands in his lap. “We need to know about your relationships.”

“Jeremy’s a good friend. So is his wife, Sarah. I’m not sleeping with her, either.”

“We can’t help you if you don’t cooperate. Acting like a smart-ass isn’t going to get you anywhere. Is this part of your psychosis?”

“What are you talking about?” Emilie ground her teeth in an effort not to shout.

“We got a warrant to pull your financial and medical records yesterday. Protocol since you were in charge of the bank–you could have been an accomplice. You had a stay in a psych ward shortly after your divorce. Care to elaborate?”

“I spent three days in a psychiatric ward, self-admitted.” Emilie felt violated. Her fingernails dug into her palms. She loosened her clenched fists. “And no, I don’t. It’s none of your business and irrelevant to the case.”

“On the contrary, it’s very relevant. You were in a psych ward exposed to individuals with serious disorders. Any one of them could be a suspect. And of course, we have to consider your mental health now. Are you currently seeing a psychiatrist?”

“No.” Emilie barely got the words past her pinched lips. “But you already know that since you’ve no doubt scoured my charts. And I wasn’t in the part of the facility where they were treating the most serious patients. I was depressed, not psychotic.”

“Doesn’t matter. You were there. We’ll be tracking down as many people as we can, but you need to think about the people you came in contact with there.”