Into the Devil's Underground (23 page)

“They’re my favorite.”

“Very pretty.”

Emilie stretched her legs, turning her face toward the setting sun. “I went into the basement the other day. Don’t ask me why. I was leaving, but somehow I ended up at the stairwell. The door’s locked.”

“What happened?” Nathan tried not to stare at her, but she looked so relaxed and peaceful it was like seeing a new person. “Another flashback?”

“No. I got pissed off.”

“At who?”

“At Creepy. The cops for not being able to find him. Myself for being so damned weak.”

“You’re not weak.” Nathan rested his arm on the back of the bench. He wanted to wrap it around her.

“I have been since I left Portland. I’ve hidden away from anything scary or challenging. I didn’t want to face the truth. I’d just ignore it and move on.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Nathan said. “You can’t blame yourself.”

“I don’t. Not for what’s going on right now.” Her flushed cheeks made her smile even more charming. “But I spent a lot of time running from my mother, and even more time pretending my ex-husband wasn’t a jerk. Ignoring the problem is kind of what I do.” Emilie shifted, and her leg brushed against Nathan’s. He didn’t move.

“What happened today?”

“I found a picture of Creepy in a box of my grandmother’s.” Emilie said the words casually, as if she were sharing a recipe.

Nathan nearly fell off the bench. “What?”

Mind creating one scenario after another, Nathan listened as Emilie described the picture and her conversation with her mother.

“I gave Agent Ronson all the information I have about my grandparents’ shop. She’s contacting someone in her New Orleans office to see what they can find, but chances are it’ll be a dead end.”

“A lot of time has passed,” Nathan said. “But that’s still something. If she can get an idea of your grandparents known associates—”

Emilie giggled, a girlish noise that didn’t fit her and yet sounded perfect. “You make them sound like they were mobsters. My grandparents were working class people who ran a small antique shop. They invested their money wisely. I doubt there’s going to be anything for Ronson to find, unless by some miracle Creepy was a frequent customer.”

“That’s going to take a while. What about your mother? Any chance she’ll change her mind?”

“Unless there’s something in it for her, no.” Emilie twisted to face him, taking the last of his personal space. “I’m sure you’re wondering exactly why I asked you to meet me.”

“Yes, but I’m glad you did.”

“Good.” Emilie’s lips twitched into a smile. “I really hope you don’t think I’m crazy.”

“I’ve seen your ‘crazy’ in action, remember?” Nathan teased. “I can handle it.”

“I hope so, because I need your help.”

“With what?”

She hugged her knees to her chest. “I can’t sit around anymore. I need to do something.”

“Like what?”

“I want to look for my stalker.”

20

E
MILIE STOMPED UP
the steps to the Las Vegas library. Her hair stuck to the back of her neck and moisture pooled on her upper lip.

Stupid heat
.

She was still smarting from Nathan’s refusal to help her.

He’d sat on the park bench beside her, listening as she laid out her plan. And then crushed it. “You’re a civilian. It’s not safe for you to run around town. If Creepy’s following you, he’ll figure out what you’re up to pretty quickly. Then he’s going to be pissed.”

“I can’t do ‘nothing’ anymore.”

“You’re remembering things that are helpful, Emilie. That’s not doing ‘nothing.’”

Sitting around on her butt all day having her mind probed wasn’t her idea of helping. She yanked the library door open and sucked in a breath of cool air. She’d just have to investigate on her own.

She had chosen the downtown branch as her first stop because it housed local history. She wandered through the tables feeling stifled. Libraries always gave her the creeps. They were too quiet, too structured. People sat at their study tables waiting for someone to talk too loudly.

A gray-haired woman sat at the information desk working on a computer. She looked over her glasses at the screen, her upper lip raised and her eyes narrowed.

This should be fun.

“Excuse me.”

“Can I help you?” The woman didn’t look up.

“I’m doing some research about the storm drain system. Could you help me?”

Cranky Librarian Lady rose from her chair with a sigh. “Follow me.”

She led Emilie to an imposing section of binders and documents. “All city information is here.” The librarian pulled an overstuffed binder off the shelf. “This has maps, engineering documents, city hall records.”

Emilie sat down at a table and started leafing through the binder. “Do you have anything more specific to the storm drains?”

No one answered. The librarian had already gone back to her computer.

“Christ.”

She pulled out a confusing looking flood map. Every tunnel of the city’s extensive storm drain system was coded, but she couldn’t make sense of it. Where were the entrances? How did she figure out what building a tunnel ran under?

This is a waste of time.

Emilie heaved the binder back to the reference desk. “This isn’t what I need. Do you have any kind of history on the storm drains? Or a map that’s easier to understand?”

“The flood map is in the binder.”

“It’s like reading Greek.”

“Maybe I can help you.” A wrinkled hand patted Emilie’s arm. “The storm drains again? Are you working on the project for the historical society too?”

“No, personal research.” She glanced at the second librarian’s nametag. “Richelle. Please, can you help me make sense of this?”

“I can try.” Richelle pulled a pair of glasses out of her pocket. “Let’s see, everything eventually ends up in the Las Vegas Wash.”

“Where are the main entrances?”

“Entrances? Well, they’re all over. There’s one here,” she pointed to a jumble of code. “Off I-15. It’s pretty big.”

“This is going to sound weird, but are there any old maps? Maybe some that have hidden entrances or entrances that aren’t used anymore?”

“You’re the second person to ask me that. The man from the historical society asked the same thing.”

The hair on Emilie’s arms stood up. “When was this?”

The woman squinted and thought for a moment. “Three months ago, maybe. He was working on a project.”

“Do you remember much about him?” Emilie’s mouth had gone dry.

“You know, I do. He was strange.”

“How so?”

“Oh, he started off charming at first. Chatted at me like we were old friends. Was interested in the history of the city. I told him the stories I’d heard about the storm drains being built over the old bootlegging system the mob used during Prohibition. My granddad always bragged about running with the mob. Had all kinds of stories like that.”

“And this man was interested in the stories?”

“Oh, yes,” Richelle said. “In fact, when I told him I had a hand-drawn map of my granddad’s, he insisted on purchasing it from me. His whole attitude changed when I declined. He went from smooth-talker to angry southerner in seconds.”

“Angry southerner?” Emilie’s voice rose. Cranky Librarian Lady shushed her.

“He was covering up his accent. Can you believe that? One minute he sounded like a polished businessman and the next he’s knee deep in southern-speak, using words that were hard for me to understand.”

She sucked in a ragged breath. The man in Mémé’s shop. Emilie thought he looked Creole. Could he have been speaking Louisiana Creole? She hadn’t heard the language in years, but it was fast and beautiful, with the kind of French accent that couldn’t be imitated.

In that instant, she remembered Creepy’s accent, and her knees nearly buckled. She grabbed the back of the chair. “What did he look like?”

“Tall, fairly thin. Well-dressed, a neatly trimmed beard. Lovely olive-colored skin and dark eyes.”

The room swam, blending into an impenetrable sea of books. Emilie shook her head. “Can you remember anything else about him?”

The old librarian rubbed a gnarled finger over her bottom lip. “No. He left when I threatened to call security.”

“He was with the historical society?”

“That’s what he said.”

Emilie shut the binder, trying not to turn into melted Jell-O. “I don’t suppose you’d consider selling that map to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Richelle said. “It’s all I’ve got of my granddad’s. But it’s just a series of chicken scratches that would only make sense to someone familiar with the system.”

It had been worth a try. At least Emilie knew Creepy had been searching for a tunnel entrance months before he tried to abduct her. And he had a southern accent. “Thank you.” Emilie headed for the exit, her head spinning.

The back of her neck began to tingle. A shiver ran up her spine. She had the same smothering sense of being watched she’d had at the bank on her first day back. Had she been followed?

Emilie dug in her bag for her cellphone and keys. It was broad daylight. She’d take the most populated path out of the library and go straight to her car. Her cellphone would be in her hand ready to call 911. Creepy wouldn’t dare come after her right now.

She gasped at the burst of sweltering air. Her face was damp before she’d taken five steps. Her shoes slapped against the pavement as she rushed to the car.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Emilie’s heart stuttered and then began to race. She had to keep it together. This was a public library.

She quickened her pace. The footsteps accelerated.

Her fingers locked around the cellphone. Her car was in sight. She punched the ‘unlock’ button on her key.

The person behind her was close. She could hear him breathing.

She forced her fingers to move.

“Emilie, wait up.”

Her fear evaporated along with her adrenaline, and she halted on weak legs. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to yell, and then you started running.”

“It’s okay.” She tried to catch her breath. “What are you doing here?”

Nathan toed the pavement with his boot. “Decided I would help you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

She didn’t buy it. “Not what you said yesterday.”

He closed his eyes for a moment before giving her a stare that penetrated to her toes. “Listen, I shouldn’t be personally involved with you in any way. It’s frowned on. But I need to help you.”

Her insides heated pleasantly before icy realization dawned on her. “Because you feel like you failed me at the bank. It’s your duty.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not that at all. I can’t stop worrying about you, and I’d feel that way even if things at the bank turned out differently.” Surprise flashed across his face at his own words.

Emilie squirmed, thrilled and embarrassed and confused all at once. She noticed the circles around his eyes and his five-o’clock shadow. “You’ve been up since yesterday?”

“Yeah. That’s my shift.”

“The bank robbery wasn’t at night.”

“I was paged.”

The silence made Emilie feel like choking. She glanced back at the library. “He’s from the South. Which backs up my idea that he’s the same guy in the picture.”

“Maybe he hasn’t been in Nevada very long,” Nathan said. “That would explain why Ronson hasn’t turned up any similar crimes in the tri-state area.”

A chill washed over her. “He’s done this before, then?”

“We think so.” Nathan yawned. “Where to now?

“You’re the cop. What do you think?”

“This is your investigation. I’m just along for the ride. I can’t have you running around by yourself.”

“Thanks.” Her body thrummed at his tone. Did he want to protect her? “Creepy told Richelle he was working on a project for the historical society. Can you stay awake long enough to follow me there?”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll drive.”

*   *   *   *

N
ATHAN SLID INTO
the driver’s seat. Emilie sat next to him, hands in her lap. Her face was pink from the heat, and her hair hung loose around her neck.

He still wasn’t sure what he was doing here. Emilie, a woman he’d helped and felt responsible for, was still part of an active investigation. Surely that had the makings of an intensely complicated relationship that should be avoided at all costs.

“Why are you driving?”

“It’s just easier than trying to chase you through traffic.”

Awkward silence hung between them as Nathan navigated the streets.

“So tell me about you.” Emilie broke the quiet. “Did you grow up here?”

“North Las Vegas.” He laughed at Emilie’s expression. “Yeah I know, not exactly suburbia. My dad always said he wasn’t afraid of intruders, but Kelsi and I knew about the gun he kept locked in his nightstand.”

“Did he ever have to use it?”

“No, our house never got broken into. My family’s construction office did, though. Dad and my Uncle Jimmy started the business when Kelsi was born.”

“So why didn’t you go into the family business?”

That was a loaded question involving too much family heartache. “Long story.”

“Come on,” she said. “Thanks to the first amendment, you know more of my history than I ever wanted anyone to. Even the score, please.”

The need to tell her hit him in the gut. Words he hadn’t spoken in years began to tumble out of his mouth. “When I was kid, I made a bad decision, and it got my uncle killed.” He cut into the left lane and passed a van packed with tourists.

“That’s awful.” Emilie’s husky voice softened. Her left hand shot toward him, but she clenched her fist and returned the hand to her lap. “But you were a kid who made a mistake.”

“One bad decision can ruin lives.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“I’m figuring that out about you.”

“Is that why you’re a cop?” She diverted his attempt to turn the conversation around. “To atone for whatever happened?”

“Perceptive. That sounds like something my sister would say.”

“Did you always want to be in SWAT?”

“To be honest, I never even thought about it.” Saving lives and making a difference was all he ever cared about. “I just wanted to be a good cop. SWAT recruited me.”