CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Two fifty-eight AM.
I watched the digital clock on the nightstand count down the minutes. My heart beat so loud I felt like the guards outside could hear it.
Hank was still sitting by the window. He hadn't moved in over an hour. Just sat there in the darkness like a statue. Waiting.
Two fifty-nine.
He stood up. Moved to the bathroom without making a sound. I followed.
The moonlight coming through the window was just enough to see by. Hank knelt by the bathtub. Started working on the drain cover with his fingers.
It didn't budge.
He tried again. The metal was old. Rusted in place. His fingers slipped.
"Let me try," I whispered.
I knelt beside him. My cut hand screamed in protest but I ignored it. I worked my fingernails under the edge of the grate. Found purchase. Pulled.
It shifted. Just a little.
Hank grabbed the other side. Together we pulled. The grate came free with a soft scrape of metal on porcelain.
We both froze. Listening.
No footsteps outside. No voices. Just the sound of our own breathing.
Hank set the grate down carefully. Looked into the drain opening. It was bigger than I thought. Maybe ten inches across. The pipe below looked wider.
"I'll go first," he whispered. "Make sure it's safe. Wait for my signal."
"What signal?"
"Two taps on the pipe. Then you follow."
He was already lowering himself into the opening. His shoulders barely fit. For a second I thought he'd get stuck. Then he twisted sideways and dropped down.
I heard him land below. A soft thud. Then silence.
I counted to thirty. No signal.
Forty-five seconds. Still nothing.
A minute.
What if something happened to him? What if he was hurt? What if guards were waiting below?
Then I heard the two taps on the pipe.
I didn't let myself think. I just sat on the edge of the tub and pushed my legs into the opening. The porcelain was cold against my skin. The drain smelled really bad but this was a matter of life and death so I had no choice.
I took a breath and dropped.
The fall was only about six feet but it felt longer in the darkness. I hit concrete hard. My knees buckled. Hands caught me before I could fall.
"Okay?" Hank's voice in my ear.
"Yeah."
We were in a maintenance tunnel. Pipes ran along the ceiling. Water dripped somewhere. The air was thick and damp.
Hank had a small flashlight. Not sure where he got it. He pointed it down the tunnel to our left.
"This way. Stay close."
We started moving. The tunnel was narrow. Maybe three feet wide. I had to hunch to avoid hitting my head on the pipes.
The concrete under our feet was slick with moisture. I slipped once. Hank caught my arm. Kept me upright.
We walked for what felt like forever but was probably only ten minutes. The tunnel sloped downward. Getting deeper underground.
Then we hit a junction. Three tunnels branching off in different directions.
Hank hesitated. Shined his light down each one.
"Which way?" I whispered.
"I'm not sure. The blueprints I studied were old. Things might have changed."
Great. Lost in a sewer under a crime boss's house. This was going well.
Hank chose the middle tunnel. We kept walking. The smell got worse. Raw sewage mixed with salt water. I tried to breathe through my mouth.
After another five minutes, we heard it.
Footsteps above us. Muffled by concrete but definitely there. Multiple people running.
They'd discovered we were gone.
"Move faster," Hank said.
We started jogging. The tunnel got narrower. I had to turn sideways to squeeze through. My shoulders scraped against rough concrete.
Then we heard voices. Behind us. In the tunnel.
They were coming.
"Run," Hank said.
We ran. My lungs burned. The cut on my hand split open again. Blood made my palm slick.
The tunnel opened into a larger chamber. Old brick walls. Ancient infrastructure from when this house was first built. Multiple exits led off in different directions.
"There!" Hank pointed to the far side. A metal ladder leading up to a manhole cover.
We ran for it. Behind us, flashlight beams cut through the darkness. Voices shouting.
Hank reached the ladder first. Started climbing. I was right behind him.
He pushed against the manhole cover. It didn't move.
"It's stuck," he grunted. Pushed harder.
The cover shifted. Light from street lamps filtered through the crack.
The guards were in the chamber now. Three of them. Guns drawn.
"Stop or we shoot!"
Hank shoved the cover aside. Pulled himself up and out. Reached back for me.
I grabbed his hand. He hauled me up just as the first shot rang out.
The bullet sparked off the ladder inches from my head.
Then I was up. On the street. Cool night air on my face. The ocean visible in the distance.
We were out.
But we weren't safe yet.
More guards were pouring out of Vincent's house. Cars starting. Headlights coming on.
"This way," Hank said.
We ran down the street. Away from the house. Toward the cliffs and the forest beyond.
Behind us, I heard Vincent's voice. Calm. Controlled. Deadly.
"Find them. And when you do, kill them both."