No. She couldn't wait. Not if Jessica was really in danger.
"How far in did she go?" Linda asked, pulling out her phone and checking the signal. Four bars. Good. She could call 911 if needed.
"Not too far. Maybe two hundred yards, to one of the maintenance chambers. There's benches down there, places to sit. She probably wanted somewhere warm and quiet." The man swiped the key card through the reader mounted beside the door, and Linda heard an electronic beep followed by the click of a lock disengaging. "But like I said, you don't want to go wandering. The tunnels branch off in a dozen directions. Without someone who knows the system, you could be down there for hours trying to find your way out. Why don’t I accompany you? It’s not a problem. You seem really worried.”
“Okay—thank you so much.”
Linda sent one more text to Rachel:Going into maintenance tunnels with client. Should be quick. If you don't hear from me in 30 minutes, call police and give them this location: Harbor Drive maintenance complex, steam tunnel access point 4.
She hit send before she could second-guess herself, then looked at the maintenance worker. Her social worker instincts were still screaming warnings, but her duty to her client—to Jessica, who might be hurting, who might be in danger—felt more urgent.
"Okay," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Show me where she is."
The man nodded and pulled the heavy steel door open. A wave of humid air rolled out, carrying with it the smell of hot metal and damp concrete. Beyond the threshold, Linda couldsee concrete stairs descending into artificial light, and she could hear the distant hiss of steam through pipes.
"After you," the man said, holding the door open with one hand.
Linda took a breath—cold air filling her lungs one last time—and stepped toward the entrance. Just before she crossed the threshold, she glanced back at her car, at the parking lot, at the normal world she was leaving behind.
The maintenance worker watched her with patient, unreadable eyes, his hand steady on the door.
"She's really down there?" Linda asked, needing one more confirmation before she committed to this decision.
"She's down there," the man said. His voice was calm, almost gentle. "Waiting for you."
Linda Graves stepped through the doorway into the heat and darkness of the steam tunnels, and behind her, she heard the heavy steel door swing shut with a sound like a tomb sealing closed.
The lock engaged with a final, definitive click.
CHAPTER TEN
Isla gave up trying to sleep at 2:47 AM, her sheets tangled and damp with sweat despite the December cold seeping through her apartment windows. The dream had come again—the third time in as many hours—and each iteration left her more shaken than the last.
In the dream, she was always back at North Pier, two weeks ago, her weapon drawn and her voice steady as she'd confronted Robert Brune in the shadows. But instead of running like he had in reality, he smiled at her—that same cold, knowing smile she'd seen for just an instant before he'd fled—and stepped forward. Closer. Always closer, no matter how many times she pulled the trigger, no matter how many rounds she fired into his chest.
The lake whispers, he'd say in her dream, his voice like grinding metal.It told me about you, Agent Rivers. It told me you'd come.
And then his hands would be on her throat, his weathered fisherman's fingers surprisingly strong, and she'd feel herself being pulled backward, into water that shouldn't be there, into depths that opened beneath the pier like a mouth—
Isla sat up in bed, her heart hammering, her FBI-issued Glock already in her hand though she didn't remember reaching for it. The familiar weight was grounding, a tether to reality. Her apartment was dark and empty. The only sound was the distant hum of the building's heating system and the occasional creak of settling wood.
She set the weapon on her nightstand with shaking hands and moved to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face. Her reflection in the mirror looked haunted—amber eyes too wide, dark circles beneath them growing more pronounced each day, the faint freckles across her nose standing out starklyagainst her pale complexion. Her dark hair was matted from restless sleep, escaping from the braid she'd worn to bed.
Three years in Duluth, and she'd never had dreams like this. Even after the worst cases—after finding Sarah Sanchez's body floating by that shipping container, after processing scenes that would haunt her for years—she'd always been able to compartmentalize, to keep the work separate from her sleep.
But Robert Brune had gotten under her skin in a way no other case had. Maybe because she'd seen his face. Maybe because she'd been close enough to smell the lake water on his clothes, close enough to see the absolute certainty in his eyes when he'd looked at her. Close enough to stop him, and she'd hesitated for just a fraction of a second—professional protocol demanding she give him a chance to surrender—and he'd disappeared into the shadows like smoke.
Isla returned to her bedroom and pulled on workout clothes. If she wasn't going to sleep, she might as well do something productive. The building had a small fitness center in the basement, usually empty at this hour. She could run on the treadmill until exhaustion finally dragged her under, or until her shift started at seven, whichever came first.
Her phone buzzed just as she was lacing her running shoes. 3:14 AM. Nobody called with good news at 3:14 AM.
"Rivers."
"Agent Rivers, this is Deputy Marshal Tom Crawford with USMS." The voice was male, younger, humming with the kind of excitement that came from making a significant arrest. "I'm calling because we have Robert Brune in custody. Picked him up about an hour ago near the Canadian border. SAC Channing wanted you notified immediately."
Isla's breath caught. Her exhaustion evaporated in an instant, replaced by a surge of adrenaline so intense it made her dizzy. "You're sure it's him?"
"Suspect matches the photo—white male, early sixties, grizzled beard, approximately five-ten. He fled on foot when officers approached, which triggered the apprehension. Currently being transported to the Duluth detention center. Should arrive within the next two hours."
