The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(52)

“Well, there could be a reward for any evidence of significance relating to the matter. Anything?”

“No,” I reply, still wondering what she wants from me. Maybe this is simply another kind of torture.

She stands. “I’ll give you some time to think that over.” She knocks on the door, and it’s opened from the outside. “Please escort our guest to level S.”



After she leaves, two guards enter the room, uncuff me from the chair, and lead me down the hallway. We go down a different corridor than we entered from, and they shepherd me down a stairwell.

We travel down four flights. I no longer have the handcuffs on and think about making a run for the door at the next landing. Would it be an office? Or more of the black site?

Like it matters . . . They no doubt know how to handle a situation like this; it’s not even worth attempting.

We reach the lowest level, a subbasement, I assume, and the guards use a key card to enter a dark corridor. This area has only one light, and the walls are painted black. The floor is dirty with broken tiles that hurt my feet when I step on them.

My mind races through the possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. The woman had a sense of cruelty about her. I probably killed one of her men. No way she’d take that lightly.

The pressure is too much. “I have a daughter. She needs to know I’m okay.”

The guards ignore me and keep pushing me along the corridor.

My breath starts to go short at the thought of never seeing Jackie again.

Stay strong. Don’t let them see you cry.

We reach the end of the hallway. There’s a large metal door in front of me. The fear of what’s on the other side has me panting.

Rumors about black-site prisons flood through me: waterboarding, solitary cells, electroshock . . . even rape rooms.

If someone places a hand where they shouldn’t, I’m going to fight. Lock me up. Make threats. But try to take my dignity, and I will make you pay.

One of the guards places a hand on my shoulder, and I wince.

“Relax,” he growls.

The other pushes the door open.

They shove me through.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

REEF

I go blind from the light. The corridor was so dark, and it’s so very, very bright . . .

Outside?

I’m in an alley. I see cars passing at one end.

I’m outside.

The door slams behind me. I turn around, and my escorts are gone.

Someone with a dark sense of humor has placed a sticker on the door asking visitors to please leave a review on Yelp.

This has all been a mindfuck.

They released me.

The woman . . . I’ll call her DIA Jane . . . must’ve let me go because I’m useless to her. After all, if I’d been working with Winston or Bonaventure, I wouldn’t have nearly killed myself trying to sneak into the submarine tunnel.

She’s pegged me for a clumsy idiot who stumbled into something bigger than herself.

She’s exactly right.

And now I know how high the stakes really are. She could have disappeared me with a snap of her fingers, but she didn’t. I wasn’t worth the paperwork. It was easier to dump me in an alley barefoot, wearing little more than a raincoat.

I hurry out to the sidewalk in case Jane changes her mind. She’s a crazy bitch—who knows what goes through that head?

I look around to get a sense of where I am. The building I was in looks to be an eight-story, black-glass structure. There’re no markings on the exterior. Only a faceless building in a city filled with similarly faceless buildings.

I spot a lobby entrance but decide to go in the opposite direction. I can figure out the cover they use for their offices some other day. Right now, I need to get off the streets and get some clothes.

The raincoat could be covering a short work dress; the bare feet are harder to hide. I keep moving and get a few stares but don’t attract that much attention.

I find an open restaurant and go up to the hostess stand. A teenage girl is there. She’s got a warm smile but looks confused when she sees my bare feet.

“Are you okay?” she asks with concern.

“Yeah. Mostly. Can I use your phone?”

She takes a mobile phone from her pocket and hands it to me. “Are you sure you’re okay? Need me to call the police?”

“It’s okay. It’s not that big of an emergency. I just got stranded. That’s all.”

I stare at the device, trying to think who I should call. I draw a bigger blank when I realize I can’t even remember any of my contacts’ phone numbers.

I take a wild guess and use her phone to send a message to what I assume is Cynthia Trenton’s newspaper email account.

Forty-five minutes later, she pulls up in front of Reilly’s Restaurant. Before stepping out, I give my new friend Ophelia a big hug and thank her for the assist.



“You okay?” asks Cynthia when I get in her car.

“Give me a moment to process things.”

Cynthia glances down at my swimsuit, visible through my open raincoat. “Did anyone ever teach you how to dress?”

I have to laugh, because a swimsuit was the family uniform for half my life. “You really haven’t seen me at my best yet.”

“I hope not. I called Georgie. I told him you were okay. He was scared out of his mind.”