Yanking his phone from his pocket, he dialed Eric. Maybe he’d have an idea.
“Hey, man. Did you land?” Eric asked, his voice heavy with fatigue.
“Someone took Mickey from the airport.” He jerked the wheel to the left and came around a slow-moving van. He had nowhere to go, but for the life of him, he couldn’t stand still. He had to keep moving or his heart would explode from his chest.
“What? When? Where are you?” Confusion laced through Eric’s words.
“I don’t know. Pete told me he was working for someone else, but he wouldn’t give up a name.”
Eric whistled through the phone. “Sonofabitch. Did he give you any clues? Do you want me to talk to him, or have the guard rough him up a little bit?”
“He’s dead. And the only clue he gave was the person he worked for had a lot of knowledge about what’s going on with the investigation. He told Pete where to find Mickey last night.”
“Holy shit, dude. This isn’t good. Do you have any idea who it could be?”
His stomach dipped and his mind worked. The entire flight home he’d gone over every piece of information they’duncovered. His gut had told him something was off, and he needed to follow his instincts. “Did you find out where Harper is?”
Silence filled the phone and he blasted his horn to make the bastard in front of him get out of the way. “You don’t think he has anything to do with this, do you?” Eric asked.
“I don’t know what to think. All I know is I need to find Mickey and I have no clue where to look.”
“I’m on my way to the office now. Let me do some digging. We’ll find her, Graham. I promise.”
Eric’s oath rang hollow in his ears the farther away from the airport he drove. His eyes never stopped scanning the busy streets, but nothing caught his attention. The hard leather bit into his calloused hands and he fought to keep panic from controlling his thoughts.
His gaze landed on a green traffic sign overhead. The exit for Old Town loomed on his right. The house he and Mickey had found flashed in his mind. It might be a long shot, but it was the only one he had. Cranking the wheel hard, he cut off two lanes of traffic to get to the exit. Gritting his teeth, he held his breath as horns blared all around him and a car spun out, barely missing being hit by his back bumper. His tires skid and a pile of trash in the musty cab slid across the floor.
Graham glanced behind him at the havoc he’d left behind and winced. Thank God no one had been hurt, but he couldn’t dwell on it. He had to get to Cleveland Avenue. He had to get to Mickey. Traffic died down once he got off the highway, and the lights of the city whirled by in a haze. All the scenarios of what could happen to Mickey pushed to the back of his mind, and he called up all the training he had to keep his breath even and his nerves steady.
Streetlights cast shadows down on the empty streets of the neighborhoods around Old Town. His knuckles turned whiteas he pulled onto Cleveland Avenue and slid beside the curb of the old Victorian house with the dark gray porch and green raining down the sides. A shiver ran down his spine. He’d never understand how Mickey thought this place was beautiful. Even the paint cried for the sins that happened inside.
Putting the car in park, he cut the engine, stepped into the night, and ran toward the house. Glancing around, he checked to make sure no neighbors loitered on the porches or watched him from down the street. The last thing he needed was some nosy pedestrian questioning his motives. He crouched down low and slithered alongside the overgrown shrubs. No cars sat in the driveway and no lights beat back the darkness inside the house. But that didn’t mean no one was there. Staying low to the ground, he climbed the creaking porch steps and walked up to the door. He ran a hand around the edge of the doorframe and relief washed over him. Still broken.
With one more look over his shoulder, he opened the door and stepped inside. Stale air mixed with the smell of rotted food assaulted him. Nothing had changed since the night he’d been there with Mickey. His gut told him Mickey wasn’t here, but he had to check. Pulling the gun from the waistband of his jeans, he crept up to the second floor and checked every room. Cobwebs and dust bunnies greeted him everywhere he looked, and he cleared every room in the house in ten minutes.
Except the basement. The one place he’d never wanted to step foot in again, but the only place that held the secrets he needed. With his gun positioned in his hands, he stepped down the old stairs and onto the dirt floor. He ducked his head low and walked straight toward the opening in the wall. The bookcase stood away from the opening, just where he’d left it. But something was different. He shifted his gun to his right hand and turned the flashlight on his phone on. Boot marks imprinted the tightly packed dirt. He moved the light across the floortoward the stairs and sucked in a breath. Someone had been down here.
Adrenaline spiked in his veins. This was it, the way to the girls…and hopefully Mickey. With the light from his phone shining in front of him, and his free hand gripped around his gun, he made his way down the narrow tunnel Mickey believed was used as part of the Underground Railroad. A tunnel he was convinced led straight to hell. Dust lifted from the ground with every frantic step, coating his skin and seeping into his mouth. His lungs burned and sweat poured down his back.
Just a little bit further. Keep going.
The low ceiling grazed the top of his head and something fell into the front of his shirt. Without breaking his stride, he pulled his shirt from his chest and shook whatever the hell was in there out. He didn’t have time to stop. The blast of cool air rushed at him, cooling his skin and lifting his spirits. The opening was near. He prayed it’d be clear what set of tracks to take once he reached the open cavern. Whispers of bats echoed around him, and he hurried toward them. The corridor opened wider, little by little, until he finally stepped into the wide cavern with three sets of tracks.
He walked to the closest tracks and crouched down to study them. The light from his phone tried to battle against the dark, but it hardly made a dent. His face was inches from the ground, his knees pressed against the hard steel of the tracks, but nothing appeared out of place.
He hurried to the middle tracks, keeping the light trained on the ground. A scattering of loose pebbles caught against his foot and flew into the dark pit of the track. He glanced down, noticing the small stones for the first time. They littered the floor in small clumps, except when broken up and randomly cast around the ground as if carelessly kicked about.
That’s it! The stones.
Graham ran back to the opening of the first tunnel and crouched down to study the stones. Nothing but small groups with only a couple of loose pebbles thrown here and there. He stood and ran past the middle tunnel to the last set of tracks. Leaning down, he lifted the light and his heart pumped wildly against his chest. Stones scattered all around the ground, no groups or small clumps of pebbles lingered undisturbed over the dirt floor. This was it.
Keeping himself in the center of the tracks, he ducked his head and ran in at full speed. The light bounced around the stone walls, lighting the way down the mouth of the tunnel. He took it all in. His eyes searched every crevice they landed on, every inch bathed in the soft light of his phone for a sign of where this path would lead him. He slowed his pace, taking in air to fill his lungs. His hands fell to his knees and he doubled over, gasping for breath. A sharp pain jabbed into his side and he straightened to pinch the pain away. His head fell back and his hands dropped to his sides, the light shooting upward and settling on a vent on the ceiling, an old piece of plywood pushed to its side.
What the hell?
He stretched his hands over his head and ran them along the rusted grates of the vent. His fingers brushed against the plywood, and it fell to the ground at his feet. Using the palms of his hands, he pushed up against the vent and it popped out of place. Standing on his tip toes, he squeezed his arms through the vent and pulled himself up through the tight space. The sharp edges scraped against his sides and the muscles in his arms screamed as he burrowed through and brought himself through the floor and into an old, deserted room.
Dirt and dust clung to his face and stained his clothes. The cold air blasted up from the hole he’d just come through, giving a chill to the eerie room. Gooseflesh danced on his skin and hestepped farther inside. A large hole took up the far end of the room, but a wooden stage sat proudly in front of it. Rows of red velvet chairs faced the gaping hole, with aisles leading through the chairs. An old movie theater.
