CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
The footsteps stopped at my door.
Keys turned in the lock. I backed away from the door, my heart hammering. My cut hand throbbed with each pulse.
Two guards entered. Different ones from before.
"Boss wants you," the first one said. He held up zip ties. "Hands out."
I held out my wrists. The plastic bit into my skin. They pulled them tight enough to hurt.
They walked me down the corridor. Past Hank's cell. His door was open. Empty.
"Where is he?" I asked.
"Already with the boss. Move."
We went up stairs I hadn't seen before. Through a door into what looked like a wine cellar. Expensive bottles lined the walls. Everything was temperature controlled and lit with soft lights.
This was the basement Vincent showed to guests. The pretty part.
Another set of stairs led up to the main house. I could hear voices above. Normal conversation. Like there weren't prisoners being tortured below.
They took me to a different room this time. Smaller. An office maybe. Expensive desk. Leather chairs.
Vincent sat behind the desk. Hank was in one of the chairs across from him. His hands were zip-tied in front of him. Fresh bruises marked his neck.
"Ah, Detective Grant," Vincent said. "Please, sit. We're having a family discussion."
The guards pushed me into the empty chair. Hank's eyes met mine. Trying to tell me something without words.
Stay calm. Follow my lead.
"Antonio has agreed to my terms," Vincent said. He sounded pleased with himself. "He'll make his statement at the festival tomorrow. Take responsibility for the trafficking operation. Publicly destroy his reputation to save yours."
I looked at Hank. He wouldn't meet my eyes now.
"Why would you do that?" I asked him.
"Because I'm tired of running," Hank said. His voice was flat. Empty. "And because Vincent's right. This is my fault. All of it. I should have stayed and dealt with the family business properly instead of faking my death."
It sounded rehearsed. Like Vincent had made him practice the words.
"Very good," Vincent said. "See how reasonable he can be when properly motivated?" He pulled out his phone. He showed me the screen.
It was a video. My mother. Tied to a chair. Blood on her face. She was crying.
My stomach dropped.
"She's fine," Vincent said quickly. "Just a little encouragement to ensure Antonio's cooperation. She'll be released after the festival. Along with you and those three girls. Everyone walks away alive."
"You expect me to believe that?" I asked.
"I expect you to not have a choice." Vincent set his phone down. "Here's what happens. Tomorrow morning, Antonio and I drive to the festival together. He makes his statement in front of cameras and witnesses. Take full responsibility. Then he gets in a car and disappears. New identity. New life. As long as he never comes back to the East Coast."
"And if he refuses?" I asked.
"Then I start killing people he cares about. Starting with your mother. Then you. Then anyone else who knows too much." Vincent smiled. "But he won't refuse. Will you, Antonio?"
Hank shook his head slowly. "No. I won't refuse."
Vincent stood up. Walked around the desk. Leaned against it with his arms crossed. "Good. I'm glad we could reach an understanding. Families shouldn't fight like this. It's bad for business."
"What about me?" I asked. "What happens to me?"
"You go home. Back to your cottage. You forget everything you learned about my operation. Live quietly. Cause no trouble."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you have an accident. People die in small towns all the time. Fall off cliffs. Drown in rough water. Tragic but not suspicious."
The casual way he threatened my life made my skin crawl.
"I need time to think about this," I said.
"You have until morning. That's when we leave for the festival." Vincent checked his watch. "It's almost midnight now. So you have about eight hours. I suggest you use them wisely."
He nodded to the guards. "Take them to the holding room upstairs. They can spend the night together. One last chance to say goodbye before Antonio leaves forever."
The guards pulled us up. Walked us out of the office and down a hallway. Up more stairs to the second floor. The same floor where we'd found the girls.
They took us to a bedroom at the end of the hall. Nicer than the cells. Actual bed. Bathroom. Windows with bars on them.
"Boss is feeling generous," one guard said. He cut our zip ties. "Don't try anything stupid. We'll be right outside."
The door closed. Locked.
I heard Hank let out a breath he'd been holding. He walked to the center of the room and pointed up at the ceiling. Then at the walls. Pointed to his ear.
Cameras. Microphones. We were being watched.
He grabbed my injured hand gently. Examined the cut. Then he mouthed words without sound.
Play along.
I nodded.
He went to the bathroom. Turned on the sink. Water running would cover our voices if we talked quietly.
I followed him. We stood close together. Speaking just above whispers.
"The drain," he said. "In the interrogation room downstairs. That's our way out."
"How do we get back down there?"
"We don't. There's another one. In this bathroom. Connected to the same sewer line."
I looked at the bathtub drain. It was small. Maybe six inches across.
"We can't fit through that," I said.
"We don't have to. We just need to remove the grate and access the pipe below. It's big enough to crawl through. Leads to the main sewer line that exits near the cliff."
"When?"
"Three AM. The guards change shifts. There's a fifteen-minute window where they're not paying attention."
"That's only three hours from now."
"I know. We need to rest. Stay alert. When I give the signal, we move fast."
"What about my mother? The girls?"
His jaw tightened. "We come back for them. Once we're out, once we get help, we come back."
"Promise me."
He looked into my eyes. "I promise. We're not leaving them here."
Someone knocked on the bedroom door. We both froze.
"Is everything okay in there?" A guard's voice.
"Fine," Hank called back. "Just cleaning up."
"Five more minutes. Then lights out."
Hank turned off the sink. We walked back into the bedroom. Sat on opposite sides of the bed. Far enough apart to look like we weren't planning anything.
The lights went out exactly five minutes later.
Darkness filled the room. Just moonlight through the barred windows.
I lay on the bed fully clothed. Hank sat in a chair by the window. Both of us are pretending to sleep. Both of us counting down the minutes until three AM.
Until our chance to escape.
Until everything either worked or went catastrophically wrong.