Officer out of Uniform (Lock and Key Book 2) (26 page)

That was the thing about Kerry – she took things seriously, including her job. It wasn’t hard to imagine her sense of duty driving her to escort a pair of exterminators into the haunted basement, ghosts and rats be damned.

The top stair was damp from rainwater that had seeped under the door. Sasha reached out and touched the wall for support, treading carefully.

As she climbed down, she wrinkled her nose. She hadn’t expected the basement to smell like a field of wildflowers, but it stank like a public restroom in need of a cleaning. The distinct scent of urine hung in the air, prompting her to wonder exactly how bad the rat infestation had gotten.

God! It got worse with every step. She covered her nose and mouth with her apron as thoughts of her pristine kitchen flashed through her mind. She and the rest of the staff put so much work into keeping it clean, and now this. If she could smell the rats’ waste, that meant they had to be flourishing here. It was hard to believe they hadn’t branched out into the restaurant yet.

Her skin crawled as she took the stairs one at a time, wary of tripping. As if rats and the filth they brought weren’t bad enough, the basement really did have a strange feeling to it. As she descended into its depths, she could practically feel the air growing heavier. And should it really have been so dark? Sure, the sky was overcast, but it almost seemed as if none of the outdoor light was penetrating the basement, despite the open door.

“Kerry?” Sasha blinked against the strange darkness as she reached the last step. Why hadn’t anyone turned the light on – had the rats chewed through the electrical wires? God, what a mess. “Are you down here? I came to grab you for dinner. I just served the—”

Though the darkness was profound, she sensed movement. Sensed movement and heard a voice that sent fear spiking through her chest, sharp as a heart attack.

Thoughts of rats and ghosts faded away, replaced by the revelation that she’d just made a mistake. A terrible one, and possibly her last. She only felt a split second of pain, and then there was nothing.

It’d happened fast. A flash of light, then voices. Not the strange voices Randy had sometimes thought he’d heard echoing through the dark during the past couple days, but real ones – real people exposing his hiding spot. He’d grabbed his knife by reflex.

A gun would’ve made too much noise and would’ve been a gamble in the dark. The blade had cut easily through the two men’s throats, spilling blood on their khaki uniforms.

Exterminators. Maybe they’d come for the rats in the basement. Randy had caught one chewing on his backpack, trying to get at his last little bit of jerky. He’d crushed its skull and tossed its body behind the bucket he’d been pissing in for days.

The exterminators had died with hardly a sound, just a little gurgling. Randy had heard the voices again – the ones he wasn’t sure were real – as they’d bled out onto the basement floor.

There was no telling whether he’d only imagined the voices – he could never quite make out what they were saying, even when he tried. In the sudden silence, the darkness seemed blacker than ever, and that was it: he couldn’t stand it anymore. He was done with hiding, done with the creepy fucking basement and its voices, its heavy darkness that almost seemed like a living, breathing thing.

And he wasn’t just going to escape it, he was going to fucking destroy it. He’d thought about this for days, and it was the only way – the only way to do things now. He wasn’t going to go out quietly, wasn’t going to give up just because things had gotten a little fucked up.

He was still going to leave his mark on Riley County, and this would be part of that. A showy diversion before he forged ahead with his ultimate goal of picking off the officers who’d brought Troy down, making them pay. He’d planned to wait until that night, but now that he’d been discovered, the time to act was now.

Riley County would miss its big landmark, the one that was pictured in every little tourism brochure that circulated through this corner of North Carolina. As the three people who’d invaded his hideout lay silent and still, he brought out the supplies he’d risked leaving the basement for the night before.

He hadn’t gone far, just to the storage shed on the mansion grounds. The moon had been a slice hidden behind thick clouds, and the darkness had covered him, kept him safe and unseen.

In the shed, he’d found what he needed: a plastic gas can full of lawn mower fuel.

He kept a lighter in his backpack of essentials, held life and death in his hands as he fished it out and shoved it deep into his pocket.

He hefted the gas can into the air and started pouring, splashing fuel all over the boxes and random junk that filled the basement. Moving fast was even more important than ever, because the exterminators hadn’t been the only ones to come down into the basement. No, that blonde bitch had come down after them – Dryden’s girlfriend.

Randy hadn’t had a fucking clue that she’d worked at the Wisteria Plantation House, but obviously she did. She was dressed like a cook, and smelled like food. Her white jacket was stained with the blood that’d trickled down from her temple. Randy had pistol-whipped her hard, and she’d fallen off the last step.

He hadn’t cut her throat. That would’ve been too kind. He wanted her to suffer – wake up in flames and torment. So he left her lying there as he emptied the fuel can.

When he was done he took out his knife and knelt beside her. Her cheek was pale and smooth. She wouldn’t have to worry about a scar, because she wouldn’t live nearly that long. But at least she’d feel the pain she’d put him through.

He grabbed her wrist first, took her by the hand and drew his blade over her forearm, where she’d cut him. Blood welled up, but she didn’t stir. A shame, because part of him had wanted her to wake up and lock gazes with him, try to scream as he covered her mouth with one hand and cut her again with the other.

Oh fucking well. He lifted his knife, which was dripping blood.

Noise came from outside – two voices. Real ones.

“Fuck.”

He let the bitch lie, put away his knife and drew his gun from his bag instead. Then he coaxed a flame from the lighter.

The fire was a sleeping demon. It roared to life in the darkness, sudden and snapping with instant fury. He ran like hell.

* * * * *

The gravel crunched under Henry’s aching feet as he stepped out of his truck, which he’d parked in the little lot nearest the Wisteria Plantation House. He was still in his sweaty uniform, had gone straight from work to Wisteria in order to keep his promise to Sasha. It’d been one hell of a long day – another day where his search had yielded nothing, no sign of Randy Levinson.

What crazy fucking thing was Levinson planning, meanwhile? It was obvious that if he was going to go out, he intended to do it with a bang. Henry didn’t believe for a minute that he’d left the area or curled up somewhere to lick his wounds and die.

And yet, there was no sign of him in the county’s pine forests or sandy coastal wildernesses. He’d probably found another dwelling to take shelter in. For fuck’s sake, he could’ve killed another person and taken over their home. Something like that could go unnoticed for a hell of a long time, especially if he’d chosen an elderly or just plain lonely victim.

Henry frowned as he started walking toward the restaurant. He’d texted Sasha fifteen minutes ago, before he’d left for Wisteria. She hadn’t messaged him back, but he hadn’t expected it – he knew she was busy. At least he’d get to see her. Even if it’d only be for a few minutes, it’d be the highlight of his day, no question about it.

Maybe he could talk her into swinging by his place after the restaurant closed. It’d be late, but it wouldn’t matter. He’d take her any way and any time he could get her, no matter the cost. Sleep was just one of many things he’d gladly sacrifice to be with her. When he was around her, it was like stepping out of a fog, seeing the light and really living for the first time all day.

He loved her, and that love was a constant craving, an ache that only eased when he was with her.

He was daydreaming about being buried balls-deep inside her when a flash of movement caught his eye.

That was all it took: his hand drifted to the gun on his hip as he turned, gaze locking on the semi-distant movement. Even before he could focus on the person sprinting across Wisteria’s grounds, his gut balled into a mass of knots, and his heart rate spiked. Suddenly his boots were pounding the ground and he was flying forward, weapon drawn. It was like the dark clouds overhead had parted, and heaven was shining a spotlight down on the sack of shit he’d been searching for ever since he’d stumbled upon the warden’s brutalized body.

In that moment, he believed in fate, in a higher purpose. There was absolutely no fucking way Randy Levinson was getting away this time.

* * * * *

Sasha wasn’t sure what’d woken her up: the pain, or the heat. Either way, as she scrambled up from the basement’s dirt floor, she was aware that something terrible had happened.

She remembered coming down the stairs, and now this. Her head throbbed like she’d been hit with a sledgehammer, and there was blood running down her arm, dripping from her fingers. These things seemed like minor complaints compared to the other two realities she’d awoken to: being surrounded by flames and the unmistakably dead bodies of the exterminators she’d followed into the basement.

Dark gashes bisected their throats, and they lay sprawled in puddles of blood. She didn’t bother checking for pulses or breathing: it was obvious she was alone.

Her eyes watered, stung by the smoke that billowed from the far corner. Flames leapt from the boxes and sundry items stacked in the basement, licking at the wooden support beams and ceiling. At least the stone walls couldn’t burn: maybe she had that fact to thank for not being dead already.

Though it hurt to move, she hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time and catching herself when she slipped. By the time she reached the top, she was breathing like she’d just run a marathon.

Nearly collapsing against the door, she grabbed the knob and twisted, fighting not to choke on the smoke that’d risen to the top of the staircase. The seconds dragged by, and the truth settled like a weight in the pit of her stomach: she’d been locked in.

She pounded on the door, screamed at the top of her lungs. Then, with tears streaming from her smoke-stung eyes, she made her way back down the stairs. Staying at the top wasn’t an option – she’d suffocate.

She still had one other hope: a window. Boxes were stacked beneath it, and the corner of the lowest one had begun to smolder. Ignoring that fact, she scrambled up them until she could grip the windowsill.

Her Shun was in her apron pocket. She pulled it out but didn’t unsheathe it. Instead, she gripped the leather-sheathed blade and swung the handle against the windowpane.

Four strikes, and it shattered, raining down jagged triangles of glass. Some remained stuck in the frame like teeth, and she knocked them out with the knife handle. With the barrier gone, she could finally breathe.

Several lungfuls of fresh air didn’t feel like enough, but there was no time to waste. She started calling for help – someone was bound to hear her.

She’d never considered herself a quiet person, but the smoke she’d inhaled made it hard to be as loud as she’d intended. As the flames crackled, she could feel their heat on her back. It was like standing in front of an open oven.

“Help!” Little bits of glass dug into her arms as she tried to pull herself up through the window. It was high – just a few inches below the ceiling. Where was that super strength people got in desperate situations, the kind that allowed them to do crazy things like lift cars?

Thanks to her sprained wrist, she couldn’t even pull herself up into the little window, which would be a tight squeeze, at best. As the fire closed in on her, the boxes stacked beneath her feet teetered. If they fell, she wouldn’t be able to get fresh air or call for help.

Redoubling her efforts, she screamed. “Anybody! I’m in the basement!”

Finally, someone appeared – a familiar figure Sasha recognized despite her watering eyes.

“Kerry!” Her heart slammed against her ribs, but the heat on her back wouldn’t let her panic ebb. “It’s me!”

Kerry turned toward the sound of Sasha’s voice, then raced forward, her face a white blur with two large, dark eyes. “Sasha! Oh my God!”

She didn’t ask questions, just got down in the grass and seized Sasha’s forearms. “Grab my hands!”

Sasha coughed and tried not to choke. “I’m afraid I’ll fall. I’m standing on boxes and they’re unstable.”

“Trust me. I’ll pull you through!”

Agonizing indecision gripped Sasha as the heat at her back grew even more intense. All the junk in the basement was really burning now. The idea of letting go of the sill was terrifying. “I don’t know if I’ll fit!”

 “You will!” Kerry’s nails bit into Sasha’s wrists. It stung, and for the first time, she felt the pain of the laceration on her forearm. She had no idea how she’d gotten it, and didn’t have time to wonder.

“Easy for you to say. You’re a size 2!”

Kerry could fit through the eye of a needle if necessary. Sasha, on the other hand, would be lucky if she could get the upper half of her body through the tiny rectangle of a window, let alone her hips.

“Come on!” Kerry tugged one of Sasha’s arms.

“Shit!” Something hot hit her calf and she jerked.

That was it for the boxes – the support from below was gone. She was hanging from the sill.