Mosquito Chase (29 page)

Another pop and sizzle echoed in the distance. I had to be close to the lake. If only there was a way to tell Caleb where I was. If only I knew where I was. He’d said they were focusing on one of two warehouses. I had to have faith that he would find me. I should have tried to sneak in a phone, but when I moved my hands around my body and I was no longer wearing my coat, I realized a phone would have been useless. They would have found it while I was unconscious. The thought of strange men patting me down while I was knocked out, enjoying the freedom to touch me how they pleased, made my skin crawl. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was up to me now. I knew Caleb was out there doing all he could to get me out, but I had to do everything I could to free myself from this place. God helps those who help themselves. I placed my hands on the ground and slowly pushed myself up. I wobbled slightly and reached out to brace myself. My eyes started to adjust slightly. I waved my hand in front of my face, seeing a grey mass instead of pitch black. My hand met a wall. I ran my hand along it until I hit a corner. The cool, bumpy surface of cinderblocks continued around me. I was in some twisted version of a prison cell. I continued to glide my hand across the wall keeping it to my left as I moved toward the dull light coming from under the door.

As I moved closer, something hard slammed into my right shoulder. I stepped back and blindly waved my hand in between the space until I touched a metal cylinder. My hand wrapped around it, glided up. I tried shaking it, but the pipe was anchored to the ground. I couldn’t tell if it went up all the way into the ceiling, or if there even was a ceiling, but it seemed sturdy. I eased myself between the cinderblocks and the pipe until I met the next corner. Upon turning, the light was then only a few feet in front of me. I grazed my hand down the wall and met the door. My hand wrapped around the doorknob, turning. It was locked. Wishful thinking.

The light spilled onto my shoes. I crouched down and flattened myself against the cold floor. Closing one eye, I peered out through the narrow sliver of an opening. I could see a pair of combat boots standing just beyond the door, in the middle of what appeared to be a hallway. I didn’t hear any footsteps or voices. If I could just get out of this room, then I would only have to face one person.

I pushed off the ground and sat back on my heels. I barely got a glimpse of the man in the back of the car, but I had heard his voice before. Was it Mateo? I covered my head with my hands.
Think, Angie. Think.
I reached behind me until my hand met the pipe. I held on for leverage as I got my feet underneath me. I wrapped my arm around it to keep myself steady. I rested my head against the cold metal and closed my eyes. I knew what was on that cloth they’d drugged me with, and it was the reason the room spun slightly around me. I breathed deeply and held the pole tighter. I thought back to the last time I’d stood in front of a pole, remembered glancing back at Simon and the smile he wore just for me. With all the pain that night brought me, it also gave me a means to escape. That had been one of the biggest tip nights I’d ever worked. Simon had left by the time I got showered in green paper marked with smirking Benjamin Franklins.

Oh my God.

He called me Scarlett. The man in the car called me Scarlett.

It was him. Mateo Vargas. He’d been in the club the night Simon was murdered.

I heard muffled voices on the other side of the door. I took a step forward and pressed my ear against the wood. They spoke in Spanish so I couldn’t understand them. The only two words I could pick out in their conversation were
yes
and
here
. It’d been a long time since I took Spanish in high school; now I wished I’d paid closer attention to the teacher rather than Lance.

The doorknob rattled. I took a step back into the blind darkness. When the door opened, I froze in the middle of the room. An overhead light was thrown on. My head ached against the light. The man from the back seat of the car—the man who threw nearly a thousand dollars at me that night—stood right in front of me. Mateo Vargas: the drug lord of Mexico. He was monster of my very own horror movie. And I was his prey. What could he possibly want from me beside information about things I didn’t know? I just had to remember to remain calm and cooperative. Would he even believe me if I told the truth?

The man standing in front of me screamed of money. His dark black hair was meticulously styled; a black button down shirt formed to his muscular body, a holster strapped to his chest, and a gun tucked away on either side, loaded and ready for a shootout. Grey slacks covered his lean legs, finishing the look. I met his stare. His eyes gave him away for what he was: dark as his hair and void of any empathy or compassion. I kept myself together as his eyes roamed down my body. I used to always feel nervous when I took the stage to strip for the lonely men who threw their money at me, but I never showed it. Being an outcast all my life had trained me to exude a form a confidence I never really possessed. As I stood in front of the man who killed my fiancé and kidnapped my son, I kept my chin high and my eyes firm.

“Scarlett,” he said with a friendly smile. “Why did you run away from Atlanta so quickly?” He crept toward me, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Did you know that your boyfriend was CIA?”

“No.” It was the truth. I’d had no idea about his secret identity. Even though I didn’t know every detail of Simon, I knew his heart. His heart never lied to me.

“So, you willingly agreed to marry a man who owned a strip club?
Tsk tsk,
” he taunted as he stood right in front of me. “I don’t believe you, Scarlett.”

“You know my name isn’t Scarlett.”

“Ah,
mi amor
.” He brushed his fingers across my forehead, pushing my bangs behind my ear. “It suits you much better.”

I crossed my arms, forming some sort of protective barrier from this man. “So, was all of this just to get me away from Simon? You didn’t have to kill him to do that.”

“
I
didn’t kill him, Scarlett. I did not shoot your fiancé. I’m hurt you would even suggest such a thing.” He put his hand to his chest and frowned.

“But you know who killed him. He died under your orders.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “He crossed me. I don’t handle being crossed very well.” He cocked his head and stepped closer, pushing against my crossed arms. “Are you going to cross me, Scarlett?”

“You’ve taken my son from me and killed my fiancé.” I stared him in the eye. “What do I have left to lose?”

“What about your friend? The cop.” White teeth filled his evil smile. “Or did we already take care of him?”

My eyes widened and my jaw slacked, remembering hearing the gun going off just before I was drugged.

“We’ll be heading out in a few hours, so try to stay as comfortable as possible.” He stepped back and turned toward the door.

“Where are you taking me?”

Mateo shook his head. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise,
mi amor
.”

He left the room. The door slammed closed, leaving me locked away. I had to get out of here! There was no chance in hell I would go anywhere with him.

I stared at the closed door. The most obvious place for an exit was the most unlikely option. Thankfully, Mateo had left the light on after he left. I took in the space around me. The cinderblock walls were painted grey with no windows; the ground was concrete. I gazed up at a ceiling made of flimsy tiles and fluorescent lights, much like those found in any office setting. A singular pipe stood almost two feet from the wall, the same pipe I blindly rammed my shoulder into. There was another on the opposite side of the room, strapped to a wooden beam. My eyes followed the single pipe upwards to the ceiling and beyond, through a square that had been cut out from the corner of the tile. That pole went somewhere.

What did I have left to lose? Nothing. Either I was breaking out of this room or being forced out against my will. I had to get back to my son, and that would never happen if I allowed Mateo Vargas to take me out of this room.

I went to the pipe. My hands glided up the cool cylinder and I shook it once again. It didn’t give at all, solid enough to possibly support my body weight. Could it be this easy? All I had to do was climb up the pole. I’d done this too many times to count. It had just been awhile, and this time, there was no audience of horny men to show off for. I reached up, my hands steadily gripping the pole. I wrapped my leg around and pushed myself up. A few feet from the ground, I held on while my stomach muscles screamed along with the rest of my body. Five feet was all I needed to climb.

Suck it up, Butler
.

I reached up again, sliding myself up the pole until I reached the ceiling. I kept a good grip with one hand, letting go with the other as I carefully reached inside the cutout tile and slid it back. I pulled myself up and peered into the darkness. The pole continued up a few feet beyond the tile into a crawl space full of wires, beams, and pipes. About a foot above my head, another pipe jutted out. I reached for it, grabbed it, and pulled myself higher. It snapped. I almost fell. I gripped the pole in between my thighs and wrapped my arms around it to steady myself, still clutching the broken pipe. Adrenaline pumped through my veins. I closed my eyes and took a breath.

Caleb is not dead. Caleb is coming for me.

I tucked the broken pipe under my arm and pulled myself up again. The cinderblock wall came to an end in front of me. Wooden beams supported the ceiling around me. I continued pulling myself up the pipe until my feet came to rest on one of the wooden beams. I held on to the pipe until I was sure I wouldn’t bust through the wood. I crouched down closer to the beam and hoped the fireworks outside would mask the sound of my escape. I crawled along carefully. My heart pounded inside my chest. What the hell was I doing? I wouldn’t be a sitting duck. I couldn’t just let him take everything from me. Climbing up poles and crawling in the rafters of a warehouse … this stuff didn’t happen in real life.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I steadied myself and reminded myself to breathe. I kept forgetting to breathe.

When I felt I’d moved far enough beyond the borders of the room, I leaned down and picked at the corner of the ceiling tile below me, lifting it slightly. I looked down into the hall below. The dim light barely brightened the wooden paneling covering the walls. The guard in combat boots stood below me, facing away. If I could just get past him, maybe I could get out of here. But how would I get down?

I looked out among the beams crisscrossing around me. A pipe separated the beam I was on from the next one. I might have been a stripper but I was no gymnast. What other choice did I have?

I sighed. One guy. I just had to get through one guy. I secured the pipe beneath my arm and carefully lifted the side of the ceiling tile. I slid it to the side and looked down at the hallway through the opening. The fireworks lazily popped in the distance, covering up any sounds of my escape. I held the broken pipe tightly in my hand. I would need this when I got down, but I couldn’t just drop it. I needed to be stealth. I needed to find my inner Black Widow, but I had no super powers. I was just a stripper in love with a cop. I sighed as I raised the pipe above me and eased it into the back of my shirt, securing it with the strap of my bra.

The guard below appeared to be tapping away on his phone. He’d probably been given the easy job of watching a locked door and felt bored by his duties. I just hoped this ended with him flat on the floor and knocked out cold. I squatted, twisted, and held my arms out in front of me. I breathed deep through my nose as I reached for the pipe. I wrapped my hands around it and shifted my stance slightly.

What the fuck am I doing?
If I swung out far enough, I could fall right into him.
I am Black Widow. I am Black Widow.

I gripped the pipe tighter and held my breath.

I swung my legs forward and let go of the pipe.