Betrayals
Page 25
“I already did. You’re holding it wrong, for one thing. You’ve had some basic training, but I’m pretty sure I’m”—I fired at a wall calendar, putting a bullet through today’s square—“a better shot.”
“Are you crazy?”
“I’m not the one testing for fae intruders. Maybe we can talk about that.”
“Maybe I can tell you to get the hell out of my—”
“You already did. I declined. Now, I understand that this conversation is making you very nervous, but how about we go grab a coffee and talk.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Two girls are missing,” I said. “They’re dead. I’m sorry if you didn’t know that, but they are. I’m trying to stop the guy who’s doing it.” I won’t mention that it’s your brother-in-law. “If you want to test my motives, go ahead, but I’d really rather do that over coffee. This”—I waved my gun—“is just awkward. And kind of rude.”
“I …” She trailed off, looking rather like someone who has stepped into a fae realm herself.
“You can check my ID,” I said. “But since it could be fake, just take out your phone and google me. You’ll get plenty of pictures. Further research will reveal that I’ve officially solved four murders in the past six months. All were related to that.” I pointed at the cold-iron inset. “Which we can talk about, or we can just pretend you know nothing about fae and proceed from there. But I’d really like to get to work finding a killer. So … coffee?”
“Twelve hours,” she said.
“What?”
“Give me twelve hours to check out your story.”
“You don’t need—”
“Then we don’t talk.”
I started to reply when a board creaked overhead.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Aunika and I went still.
“What’s up there?” I whispered.
“My apartment.”
“And I’m guessing you don’t have visitors tonight?”
“Just you.” She started backing away, gun still raised, her attention on the ceiling as she tracked the steps. “Get out of here. I can lose them.”
“Lose who?”
She didn’t answer, just turned and ran, silently, into the next room. When I went after her, she said, “Damn it, girl. You really don’t give up.”
I lifted both my gun and switchblade. “Whatever this is, I can help.”
She loped down the hall. Halfway to the end, she stopped and cocked her head. Then she eased open a closet door, prodded me inside, followed, and shut the door. I was still mid-step when the light went out, and I bashed into a wall. I clicked on my penlight.
“We’re hiding in a closet?” I said.
Aunika waved me into the corner and pulled something on the floor. A panel opened.
“You have an escape hatch?” I whispered.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
She reached inside, pulled out a flashlight, and started down. I crouched and shone my penlight to see a ladder. I started after her.
“You need to—” she began, then stopped as she saw I was already shutting the hatch behind me.
The ladder only went about six feet. When I stood, I could reach up and touch the ceiling. The dirt floor was damp, and I could smell the river and hear water trickling down a distant wall.
As I looked around, I said, “Shadowy mystery stalkers? Hidden escape hatches? Creepy subterranean tunnels? My mother tried to get me to take social work for my master’s. I told her it was boring. I was so wrong.”
Aunika snorted and set off, saying, “Keep your voice down.”
“Because sound echoes. Radio silence, then.”
“Don’t strain yourself.”
I looked around as we walked. It was indeed a subterranean tunnel. Like The Count of Monte Cristo, locked away in a dungeon, digging your way out with a rusty spoon, and creeping along the rat-infested warren of abandoned passages deep below the prison. At least this one didn’t seem to have rats.
I ogled as we went, touching a rusted metal pipe, leaning into a dark side passage.
“This isn’t a sightseeing tour,” Aunika whispered back.
“Life is a sightseeing tour,” I said. “By the way, do you know how old these tunnels are? They’re definitely not part of the original city system for transporting goods to and from the railroad. For those, they had to put in a foot of concrete and run sump pumps to keep them dry.” I touched a rivulet, running through a groove at least a half-inch deep, worn by decades of such rivulets. “They really skimped here. Tunnels built for nefarious purposes, I’m guessing. Or by government contract.”
She shook her head and continued on. When she heard a beep, she looked back to see me getting out my phone.
“Taking pictures now?” she said.
I shook my head. “Calling my boyfriend.”
“You need a guy to come rescue you?”
I waggled my gun. “I have that part covered, but given the situation, I’m going to let someone know where I am. I’m a feminist; I’m not an idiot. And … no cell service. Naturally.”
A pipe clanged ahead. When I went still, Aunika looked at me and said, “Now what?”
“You didn’t hear …”
Her expression told me I didn’t need to finish that sentence. I started forward, only to catch the whisper of voices. When asked if she heard them, she screwed up her face.
“Are you crazy?”
“I’m not the one testing for fae intruders. Maybe we can talk about that.”
“Maybe I can tell you to get the hell out of my—”
“You already did. I declined. Now, I understand that this conversation is making you very nervous, but how about we go grab a coffee and talk.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Two girls are missing,” I said. “They’re dead. I’m sorry if you didn’t know that, but they are. I’m trying to stop the guy who’s doing it.” I won’t mention that it’s your brother-in-law. “If you want to test my motives, go ahead, but I’d really rather do that over coffee. This”—I waved my gun—“is just awkward. And kind of rude.”
“I …” She trailed off, looking rather like someone who has stepped into a fae realm herself.
“You can check my ID,” I said. “But since it could be fake, just take out your phone and google me. You’ll get plenty of pictures. Further research will reveal that I’ve officially solved four murders in the past six months. All were related to that.” I pointed at the cold-iron inset. “Which we can talk about, or we can just pretend you know nothing about fae and proceed from there. But I’d really like to get to work finding a killer. So … coffee?”
“Twelve hours,” she said.
“What?”
“Give me twelve hours to check out your story.”
“You don’t need—”
“Then we don’t talk.”
I started to reply when a board creaked overhead.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Aunika and I went still.
“What’s up there?” I whispered.
“My apartment.”
“And I’m guessing you don’t have visitors tonight?”
“Just you.” She started backing away, gun still raised, her attention on the ceiling as she tracked the steps. “Get out of here. I can lose them.”
“Lose who?”
She didn’t answer, just turned and ran, silently, into the next room. When I went after her, she said, “Damn it, girl. You really don’t give up.”
I lifted both my gun and switchblade. “Whatever this is, I can help.”
She loped down the hall. Halfway to the end, she stopped and cocked her head. Then she eased open a closet door, prodded me inside, followed, and shut the door. I was still mid-step when the light went out, and I bashed into a wall. I clicked on my penlight.
“We’re hiding in a closet?” I said.
Aunika waved me into the corner and pulled something on the floor. A panel opened.
“You have an escape hatch?” I whispered.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
She reached inside, pulled out a flashlight, and started down. I crouched and shone my penlight to see a ladder. I started after her.
“You need to—” she began, then stopped as she saw I was already shutting the hatch behind me.
The ladder only went about six feet. When I stood, I could reach up and touch the ceiling. The dirt floor was damp, and I could smell the river and hear water trickling down a distant wall.
As I looked around, I said, “Shadowy mystery stalkers? Hidden escape hatches? Creepy subterranean tunnels? My mother tried to get me to take social work for my master’s. I told her it was boring. I was so wrong.”
Aunika snorted and set off, saying, “Keep your voice down.”
“Because sound echoes. Radio silence, then.”
“Don’t strain yourself.”
I looked around as we walked. It was indeed a subterranean tunnel. Like The Count of Monte Cristo, locked away in a dungeon, digging your way out with a rusty spoon, and creeping along the rat-infested warren of abandoned passages deep below the prison. At least this one didn’t seem to have rats.
I ogled as we went, touching a rusted metal pipe, leaning into a dark side passage.
“This isn’t a sightseeing tour,” Aunika whispered back.
“Life is a sightseeing tour,” I said. “By the way, do you know how old these tunnels are? They’re definitely not part of the original city system for transporting goods to and from the railroad. For those, they had to put in a foot of concrete and run sump pumps to keep them dry.” I touched a rivulet, running through a groove at least a half-inch deep, worn by decades of such rivulets. “They really skimped here. Tunnels built for nefarious purposes, I’m guessing. Or by government contract.”
She shook her head and continued on. When she heard a beep, she looked back to see me getting out my phone.
“Taking pictures now?” she said.
I shook my head. “Calling my boyfriend.”
“You need a guy to come rescue you?”
I waggled my gun. “I have that part covered, but given the situation, I’m going to let someone know where I am. I’m a feminist; I’m not an idiot. And … no cell service. Naturally.”
A pipe clanged ahead. When I went still, Aunika looked at me and said, “Now what?”
“You didn’t hear …”
Her expression told me I didn’t need to finish that sentence. I started forward, only to catch the whisper of voices. When asked if she heard them, she screwed up her face.
