Chapter Nine
Parker
A bead of sweat rolls down my back. Shit. I should’ve waited to put on the damn Tyvek. It’s hotter than balls out here. My hands are soaked inside the nitrile gloves. If I’m not careful, my fingertips are gonna prune.
My pen wobbles against the paper. “Security cameras?”
Carter, the officer in charge, shakes his head. “Building was being renovated. Nothin’ of value left inside. Nelson”—he nods at the oldest of the three men— “talked to the management group. They were replacing the security system too.”
I make a note to canvas the neighboring businesses for exterior cameras. A vehicle in the parking lot at the wrong hour. A face. A shadow. No one thinks to check their own footage until someone asks.
Swiping at my forehead to keep the sweat out of my eyes, I glance past them at the soot-stained walls.
“Anything else that didn’t sit right—”
A siren blares from somewhere inside the building.
Adrenaline floods my system, followed by complete terror. I’m frozen, barely breathing. My vision darkens at the edges. It’s only two seconds—maybe three—but in those few heartbeats, I’m back in the Box.
I press my hands to my ears, the notebook and pen tumbling to the dusty ground below.
The noise vanishes as quickly as it started, leaving me stranded in the aftermath, sucking air in through tight lungs, and trying not to let Cedar Park PD see how badly it rattled me.
“Fuckin’ A,” Carter mutters. “That’s been goin’ on all mornin’. Power to the building was shut off, but the alarm’s on a separate circuit.”
“Is it always that…loud?” My ears are still ringing. Shit. Why won’t they stop?
“Every damn time.” Nelson scoops up my things. “Here you go, ma’am. Apologies. We should’ve warned you.”
I ball my hands into fists for a single breath, then force my fingers to relax. I can’t look at the building. If I do, I’ll start panicking about the next alarm before it happens. And going inside to help with the investigation will be damn near impossible.
Carter clears his throat. “We’re fixin’ to go off shift, and our relief will be here in five minutes. They’ll stay on scene until you and the arson investigator are done.”
“Thanks. Make sure to tell them to stay out of the building until we give them the all clear.” I unzip the Tyvek, shove the tiny notebook and pen into the front pocket of my jeans, and reach for the leather gloves tucked under my arm.
My phone buzzes, “Last Nerve” flashing across the screen.
Dentist gave me so much Novocaine I can’t feel my face. On my way. If I drool on anything, pretend you don’t notice.
I type out a quick reply.
Flint’s inside. I just finished debriefing Cedar Park PD. About to walk the scene.
I only make it two steps before I stop and send Nate one more message.
If you drool on me, you’re paying my dry cleaning bill.
Fresh scratches mar the deadbolt around the keyhole. Bright lines catch the light against the older metal, concentrated on the left side. I take a couple of photos with my phone, and drop an evidence flag for Nate.
I stop, hand on the door frame. What if the alarm goes off again while I’m in there?
Stop. You’re a goddamn Ranger. You can do this.
I step over the threshold, shoving the memory of screaming until my voice gave out down so deep, it’ll never see the light of day again.
Inside, the flashlight cuts through air that’s still thick with ash. Everything the beam touches is the same dead shade of gray—the floor, the walls, the single forklift, tires melted and rubber pooled on the concrete.
I don’t see Eliot, but beyond the remains of a break room, the building disappears behind piles of debris. The ceiling over me is still mostly intact, but toward the southeast, it gives way to the clear blue of the afternoon sky, so bright it’s blinding.
I stop at an office on the other side of the break room. Probably belonged to a foreman or shift supervisor. A chunk of drywall props the door ajar.
The bulletin board on the wall still holds employee schedules for last month. Binders rest on the desk in the corner. That personnel list could be helpful.
Aiming the flashlight at the floor, I check for debris. Mostly clear.
A crack shoots through the room, louder than a gunshot at close range. My stomach flips, heart shooting into my throat. The floor under me tilts.
I lunge for the door jamb, but my right foot punches through the vinyl tile, finds wet, rotten plywood, and then…only air.
I drop, too fast to do more than scramble for something—anything—to hold onto. One gloved hand catches the chunk of drywall, but it’s so light, it slides with me, and the door slams shut.
The flashlight spins away across the floor, stopping just out of reach.
My left arm, neck, and head are the only parts of me above the gaping hole.
I twist until I can get my right arm free, then claw at the broken tiles while the rest of my body hangs over some sort of fucking crawlspace.
With my right foot, I can almost feel a solid surface beneath me, but I don’t have enough leverage to get myself out of this predicament.
A sharp pain stabs my left thigh, and warmth soaks into my jeans. Shit. This isn’t good.
I grab the radio clipped to my collar, but my fingers spasm. The device bounces off my hip and clatters twice against whatever hard surface it finds beneath me.
My lungs ignore my desperate pleas to draw in air. “Flint!” I croak, but the sound isn’t loud enough to carry. I’m on my own.
Curling both hands around one of the broken tiles, I fight for a single inch. Whatever sliced into my thigh digs deeper. But I slide high enough that I can almost get an elbow onto what’s left of the floor.
Until the alarm goes off.
The sound bounces off the walls, drills into my eardrums, and vibrates every rational thought from my head. Pain shoots through my skull, and I lose focus for a split second. In that moment, the tiny bit of progress I fought so hard for disappears.
No!
My heart lurches into my throat. The walls press closer.
I’m not back there. I’m in a warehouse in Cedar Park. Even if I fall, Eliot or Nate will find me eventually.
But the blaring alarm gets louder. Loud enough to hurt. To strip everything away but the desperate need to make it stop.
Five things I can see…
I can’t see anything but the beam of the flashlight and the dust floating in the air.
Four things I can feel…
The throbbing in my leg. The sweat running into my eyes. My shoulders screaming in pain. My eardrums pulsing with my heartbeat.
As suddenly as the alarm started, it cuts out, and I’m left in oppressive silence. Which is almost worse.
I can’t move. The thin beam from the flashlight paints a pale slash across the door. Too close. The air is thick with soot and harsh chemicals that burn my nose through the mask.
Focus.
My fingers clamp down on the broken tile. I yank hard enough my shoulders scream. Kicking at nothing but air, I struggle for an inch. Two. Three. The plywood lets out another crack.
Forearms shaking, I kick harder. My boot catches the edge of the hole behind me. A thin, desperate sound escapes my throat.
Push. Now!
Rotting boards catch the Tyvek at my ribs. The suit tears. I claw at the broken tiles until my legs are free and I’m on mostly solid ground. Tears burn my eyes as I scramble away from the chasm, then collapse onto my side. Drawing my knees up to my chest, I let out a sob.
You’re okay. You’re armed. You’re in control. Get up and get out of here.
Closing my fingers around the flashlight, I sweep the beam over the ruined floor and shudder. My left leg is on fire, and I still can’t get a full breath. The respirator is suffocating me. I rip it off, but that doesn’t help.
From somewhere deep in the hole, the radio squawks. “Parker? I’m about done here. Meet me back at the truck.”
Eliot.
I stretch toward the sound of the radio before I remember where it landed. Shit.
Door. Get to the door.
My left leg gives out when I put pressure on it. I try again, slower this time. A wave of dizziness almost takes me down again, but I breathe through it. Muscles shaking, I stagger upright. Two steps, and I reach the door.
I grab the lever. It rattles slightly, but doesn’t turn.
Banging on the metal only bruises the side of my fist. My eyes are watering, hands shaking, leg about to give out on me. I don’t know where Eliot is—or how long I’ve been in here. It feels like hours, but I know that’s not right.
The Tyvek makes everything harder. I yank the zipper down and shove my free hand into my back pocket. My cell phone screen glows in the dark, but trapped inside this metal and concrete warehouse, I don’t have a signal.
With a little whimper, I shove the phone back in my pocket and grab the door handle again. I tug and pull with all my strength, but the bolt won’t move.
With each passing second, it gets harder to breathe. Where did I leave off? Three things I can hear?
My heartbeat in my ears.
That’s it.
The thin, plastic gloves are soaked in sweat. I can’t stand the sensation a minute longer. I drop the flashlight, then rip off both sets of gloves and rest my forehead against the door.
Think!
My dad’s multitool. I run my fingers over the metal plate around the door handle. Four screws. If I take them off, maybe I’ll be able to force the bolt free.
Tucking the flashlight under my arm, I pull the tool out of the small pouch strapped to my waist. Pain lances through my thigh as I drop to my knees, but I grit my teeth and snap the Phillips head into position.
The first screw loosens easily, but the second is stripped bare.
I get the last two off, then use the tool’s pry bar to knock the metal plate askew.
There’s barely enough room for me to wedge the bar into the lock assembly, but after a few prayers and a lot of cursing, I wrench the bolt free from the strike plate.
The door opens enough to let a hint of light into the room. Standing takes more effort than it should, but there isn’t a damn thing that’s gonna stop me from getting out of this damn building.
“Parker?” Nate and Eliot say, almost like they rehearsed it. The two men are only a dozen feet away, staring at me like I’m way more than a bubble off plumb.
Shit.