Kissed Blind (Hot Pursuit #2)(52)
I took a few steps forward, my shoes crunching on the pebbled ground below. We crept forward, carefully crossing over metal tracks and making as little sound as possible. Something moved along the wall up ahead, its small narrow body scurried and glowed white. Rats, another thing I hated ranking just below big bugs. A disgusted shiver ran up my spine, but I pushed my revulsion aside, making my way toward the blue dot on my screen.
The tunnel opened to a set of platforms on either side of us. As we walked in farther, the ground recessed. I walked closer to the platform to our left, and my head became level with the upper concrete deck.
“We’re getting close,” I whispered.
“Good. Don’t pay any attention to your little buddy running away. I can feel your skin crawling from here.”
“It’s a disease infested rat. They’re disgusting.”
Vance shushed me as the faint beat of music began to play. I stopped dead in my tracks. “Crimson and Clover” by Tommy James and The Shondells started playing. We put our backs to the wall and looked toward a faint light emanating from one of the bunkers ahead. Based on my screen, Oliver was on the other side of the cinderblock wall less than fifteen feet in front of us.
The moment of truth had arrived, and no white flags would be waved. We crept forward, walking toward the unknown together. How many men would we find on the other side of the wall? Would Oliver be dead or alive? Would there be a body count?
We put one foot in front of the other and walked on.
Eighteen
I slid my phone into my back pocket and inched toward the melody. I approached the edge of the platform, which was now about two inches above my head. Vance crouched behind me, his height for once in his life leaving him at a disadvantage. I removed my goggles, placing them next to my boots, and stood on tiptoes to peek over the ledge.
The room was deep but narrow. Oliver was in a chair shoved back in the left corner. In the right corner were two makeshift cots, and a small lantern glowed on the floor. Oliver’s head sagged. His arms and legs were bound behind his back, but his body moved as he drew in steady breaths—he was alive.
A folding table sat in the middle of the room with stray bags of fast food scattered about, and a rogue French fry was left to dehydrate in the open air. That explained why the rat had been so close; he’d smelled dinner.
Two men sat side by side opposite Oliver. The one deepest into the room tilted his chair back against the wall, lifting the front two legs off the floor. The other was hunched forward in his seat, a cigarette burning between his fingers. He took a deep draw, and the paper glowed orange down to the filter before he squished it under his sole. He exhaled a thick cloud of white smoke while both men stared into their phones, distracted and unaware.
They weren’t average street thugs. Their dark washed jeans, nice haircuts, and expensive shoes gave them away. I didn’t see any weapons, but guessed the bulge on the waistband of the smoker to be a gun.
I ducked my head and turned to Vance, telling him everything I knew with my hands and mouthing as much as I could, taking advantage of the music that would conceal my voice. Vance nodded. We crept below the ledge, closer to the wall where the men sat.
I had to go first. I was too short to easily get into the room myself. Vance would have to hoist me onto the ledge, and then he’d follow. I glanced up one more time to verify no one had moved. I put my fingertips on the concrete and put my boot in the center of Vance’s interlaced fingers. He lifted me quickly and soundlessly.
“Who the fuck are you?” The man who’d been hunched forward sprang from his chair and smacked his counterpart on the chest. “Ray! Shut that fucking song off.”
Ray’s chair slammed to the ground. “Fuck, Bobby! It’s a good song, damn.” He stood, saw me, and stared back at Bobby for instruction after turning off the music.
Upon closer inspection, I recognized Ray’s face from the crowd on Oliver’s set. I moved forward with my weapon drawn as Vance raised himself into the room behind me. “You have something of ours and we’ve come to get him,” I said, moving my gun toward Bobby first and then to Ray.
Bobby reached into his waistband.
Vance withdrew his gun. “Hands! Show us your hands!”
He stopped reaching but showed no hands. “We’re not showing you anything. You guys cops? Where are your badges?”
“Put your hands up!” I ordered.
I observed them. Bobby was less distressed than Ray, whose pulse throbbed visibly in his neck and whose breathing rate had doubled since his feet hit the pavement. He was the more dangerous of the two—skittish. And skittish equaled unpredictable. I crept toward Oliver.
For each step I took, Vance followed, walking around both men in an arc, neither man offering any sign of submission. I closed in on Oliver. His face had seen better days. His right eye was swollen and red, the corner of his mouth crusted with blood.
“Last time, hands! I wanna see them!” Vance shouted. “I’d rather not kill anyone today.”
“We aren’t showing you anything until you show us your badges.” Bobby cocked a wry smile. His legs were spread wide, and he was ready to lunge. “He’s worth millions. You think we’re just going to hand him over to the first person waving a gun in our faces?” He shook his head. “Did that bitch pay you to come here?”