Chapter 7 - THE TUNNEL
Damian did not go alone.
Of course he didn’t.
He just made it look like he did.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“You’re getting repetitive.”
“This is different.”
“Paul knows what happened to my daughter.”
“So do we.”
“He knows more.”
Damian shook his head.
“You stay with Leah.”
“I lost three years because everybody else decided what I could handle.”
He looked at me.
“I’m done letting men make decisions about my child.”
That ended the argument.
At eleven forty-five, we reached the abandoned freight access beneath Union Station.
Damian wore a bulletproof vest.
So did I.
Mine was too big.
“You look ridiculous,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“I mean the vest.”
“I know what you meant.”
His security team entered through two separate tunnels.
Damian and I walked the center corridor.
Water dripped from rusted pipes.
Every step echoed.
“Paul?” I called.
Nothing.
Then a light flickered on.
A chair sat in the center of the tunnel.
Paul Reeves was tied to it.
His face was swollen.
But alive.
“Don’t!” he yelled.
The explosion went off behind us.
The tunnel shook.
Dust filled the air.
Damian threw me against the wall and covered my head.
Gunfire erupted farther down the passage.
Vincent’s men.
Damian pulled me behind a concrete support.
“You still glad you came?”
“No!”
“At least you’re honest.”
“Untie Paul!”
“I’m working on it.”
Damian fired twice toward a shadow.
A man dropped.
I ran to Paul.
His wrists were bound with plastic ties.
“Knife?”
He nodded toward his boot.
I pulled out a folding blade.
“Seriously? Everybody has a weapon except me?”
“Chicago.”
“Not helpful.”
I cut him free.
Paul grabbed my arm.
“The video.”
“Where?”
He pulled a tiny memory card from inside his belt.
“Elena gave it to me the day before she died.”
“Why didn’t you go to police?”
“I did.”
He laughed bitterly.
“The detective I spoke to called Vincent before I left the building.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
“Lieutenant Aaron Pike.”
I knew that name.
Everyone did.
He had been on television after Elena’s accident.
He had supervised the investigation.
Damian crawled toward us.
“We need to move.”
Paul handed him the card.
“That’ll bury Vincent.”
A gunshot cracked.
Paul jerked.
Blood spread across his chest.
“No!”
I caught him as he collapsed.
Damian fired toward the upper walkway.
A shadow disappeared.
Paul coughed blood.
“Listen…”
I pressed both hands against the wound.
“Don’t talk.”
“Mercer…”
“What about him?”
“He kept originals.”
“Where?”
Paul struggled to breathe.
“Nursery…”
“What nursery?”
“Old St. Catherine’s.”
The hospital had closed one maternity wing two years earlier.
Paul grabbed my sleeve.
“Room… 614.”
His hand went limp.
“Paul?”
Nothing.
Damian checked his pulse.
Then looked at me.
Gone.
Sirens sounded somewhere above us.
Damian swore.
“What?”
“We didn’t call police.”
Boots thundered at both tunnel entrances.
A voice came through a loudspeaker.
“Damian Caruso! Drop your weapon!”
Damian stared at me.
“Pike.”
We were trapped.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Vincent’s voice filled my ear.
“Now you understand, Emma.”
I looked toward the approaching police.
“Understand what?”
“You’re not fighting one man.”
May you like
He laughed softly.
“You’re fighting everyone I paid.”
