Chapter 24
Hysteric voices and crowds of people clumped in small groups greeted Graham when he stepped out of the airport. Phones were pressed to ears and mothers clutched their children to their side, their eyes wide with fear.
Great. What now? I don’t have time for this.
Biting back a sigh, Graham walked over to the chaos. A black carry-on bag lay on the sidewalk in the middle of the mess. “Is everything okay?”
A brown-haired woman with a small child on her hip turned to him. “No. A car just pulled up, grabbed a woman, and took off. It happened so fast. No one had time to help her.”
The hairs on his arms stood on ends. “What kind of car?”
The woman shook her head. “I don’t know the specific make. But it was one of those big SUVs. Black.”
Graham muscled his way to the middle of the group and crouched to the ground beside the abandoned bag. He held his breath and turned over the luggage tag tied on the handle. Mickey’s name and address stared up at him. His stomach dropped.
Panic squeezed the air from his lungs and he stood, turning to stare at the busy lanes of traffic leading out of the airport. “How long ago? Did she have red hair?” He turned back around to face the woman who had spoken to him.
The woman hesitated and took a step back. “It happened less than five minutes ago. And I didn’t get a good look at her hair.”
“I saw her,” a man next to him said. “She had long red hair, very pretty. I called the police, but it looks like airport security is coming now.” He nodded past Graham’s shoulder.
Airport security? Graham snorted. What the hell could they do?
And he didn’t have time to wait for the police to show up and go after them.
He had to act now. “I’m Agent Graham Grassi with the FBI.
The woman who was taken is in grave danger and I need to go after her now. Does anyone have a car I can take?”
The crowd stared at him with concern etched on their faces…and their mouths closed. Fear clouded his mind and his blood thundered through him. “Please,” his voice cracked. “I have to find her. I can’t lose her.”
Screw it. He pushed past the crowd and ran toward the taxi line. Cutting to the front, he rounded the corner of the cab, grabbed the startled driver from his seat, and tossed him to the ground.
“Hey! What the hell, dude?” The man yelled as he stood and brushed dirt from his jeans.
Graham held up his badge. “FBI. I need your car. Now get the hell out of my way.”
He jumped into the idling car, slammed the door shut, and peeled away from the curb.
He glanced in the rearview mirror and the cabbie stood on the sidewalk, his fist hoisted in the air.
He refocused on the road in front of him.
Worrying about the cabbie was pretty low on his list of priorities right now.
Scanning the cars in front of him, he blasted on the horn to get the slow-moving traffic out of his way.
It didn’t help.
Brake lights flashed in front of him and angry drivers blocked his path as he tried to snake between them to get out of the congested traffic. His eyes darted in every direction, willing the black SUV to come into view.
Come on, dammit. Where are you?
He slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel and hopelessness oozed into him. He’d never find the car, not like this. He needed to figure out where the car had taken Mickey, but how the hell could he do that? He didn’t even know who he was looking for anymore.
Yanking his phone from his pocket, he dialed Eric. Maybe he’d have an idea.
“Hey, man. Did you land?” Eric asked, his voice heavy with fatigue.
“Someone took Mickey from the airport.” He jerked the wheel to the left and came around a slow-moving van. He had nowhere to go, but for the life of him, he couldn’t stand still. He had to keep moving or his heart would explode from his chest.
“What? When? Where are you?” Confusion laced through Eric’s words.
“I don’t know. Pete told me he was working for someone else, but he wouldn’t give up a name.”
Eric whistled through the phone. “Sonofabitch. Did he give you any clues? Do you want me to talk to him, or have the guard rough him up a little bit?”
“He’s dead. And the only clue he gave was the person he worked for had a lot of knowledge about what’s going on with the investigation. He told Pete where to find Mickey last night.”
“Holy shit, dude. This isn’t good. Do you have any idea who it could be?”
His stomach dipped and his mind worked. The entire flight home he’d gone over every piece of information they’d uncovered. His gut had told him something was off, and he needed to follow his instincts. “Did you find out where Harper is?”
Silence filled the phone and he blasted his horn to make the bastard in front of him get out of the way. “You don’t think he has anything to do with this, do you?” Eric asked.
“I don’t know what to think. All I know is I need to find Mickey and I have no clue where to look.”
“I’m on my way to the office now. Let me do some digging. We’ll find her, Graham. I promise.”
Eric’s oath rang hollow in his ears the farther away from the airport he drove. His eyes never stopped scanning the busy streets, but nothing caught his attention. The hard leather bit into his calloused hands and he fought to keep panic from controlling his thoughts.
His gaze landed on a green traffic sign overhead.
The exit for Old Town loomed on his right.
The house he and Mickey had found flashed in his mind.
It might be a long shot, but it was the only one he had.
Cranking the wheel hard, he cut off two lanes of traffic to get to the exit.
Gritting his teeth, he held his breath as horns blared all around him and a car spun out, barely missing being hit by his back bumper.
His tires skid and a pile of trash in the musty cab slid across the floor.
Graham glanced behind him at the havoc he’d left behind and winced.
Thank God no one had been hurt, but he couldn’t dwell on it.
He had to get to Cleveland Avenue. He had to get to Mickey.
Traffic died down once he got off the highway, and the lights of the city whirled by in a haze.
All the scenarios of what could happen to Mickey pushed to the back of his mind, and he called up all the training he had to keep his breath even and his nerves steady.
Streetlights cast shadows down on the empty streets of the neighborhoods around Old Town.
His knuckles turned white as he pulled onto Cleveland Avenue and slid beside the curb of the old Victorian house with the dark gray porch and green raining down the sides.
A shiver ran down his spine. He’d never understand how Mickey thought this place was beautiful.
Even the paint cried for the sins that happened inside.
Putting the car in park, he cut the engine, stepped into the night, and ran toward the house.
Glancing around, he checked to make sure no neighbors loitered on the porches or watched him from down the street.
The last thing he needed was some nosy pedestrian questioning his motives.
He crouched down low and slithered alongside the overgrown shrubs.
No cars sat in the driveway and no lights beat back the darkness inside the house.
But that didn’t mean no one was there. Staying low to the ground, he climbed the creaking porch steps and walked up to the door.
He ran a hand around the edge of the doorframe and relief washed over him. Still broken.
With one more look over his shoulder, he opened the door and stepped inside.
Stale air mixed with the smell of rotted food assaulted him.
Nothing had changed since the night he’d been there with Mickey.
His gut told him Mickey wasn’t here, but he had to check.
Pulling the gun from the waistband of his jeans, he crept up to the second floor and checked every room.
Cobwebs and dust bunnies greeted him everywhere he looked, and he cleared every room in the house in ten minutes.
Except the basement. The one place he’d never wanted to step foot in again, but the only place that held the secrets he needed.
With his gun positioned in his hands, he stepped down the old stairs and onto the dirt floor.
He ducked his head low and walked straight toward the opening in the wall.
The bookcase stood away from the opening, just where he’d left it.
But something was different. He shifted his gun to his right hand and turned the flashlight on his phone on.
Boot marks imprinted the tightly packed dirt.
He moved the light across the floor toward the stairs and sucked in a breath. Someone had been down here.
Adrenaline spiked in his veins. This was it, the way to the girls…
and hopefully Mickey. With the light from his phone shining in front of him, and his free hand gripped around his gun, he made his way down the narrow tunnel Mickey believed was used as part of the Underground Railroad.
A tunnel he was convinced led straight to hell.
Dust lifted from the ground with every frantic step, coating his skin and seeping into his mouth.
His lungs burned and sweat poured down his back.
Just a little bit further. Keep going.
The low ceiling grazed the top of his head and something fell into the front of his shirt.
Without breaking his stride, he pulled his shirt from his chest and shook whatever the hell was in there out.
He didn’t have time to stop. The blast of cool air rushed at him, cooling his skin and lifting his spirits.
The opening was near. He prayed it’d be clear what set of tracks to take once he reached the open cavern.
Whispers of bats echoed around him, and he hurried toward them.
The corridor opened wider, little by little, until he finally stepped into the wide cavern with three sets of tracks.