Page 132 of Deep Tide

“Let me see,” Owen said.

She handed him the phone.

Sean was already back on his cell. “Hey, we’ve got a location,” he told someone.

Owen typed on Nicole’s phone, presumably sending himself the message. He handed the phone back to Nicole and looked at Joel.

“Let’s go.”

Joel nodded.

“Wait. Go where?” she asked.

“The task force has a boat ready out back,” Joel said, already moving for the door.

“But... does the FBI want you there?”

Joel shot her a look. “We’re going.”

Nicole glanced at Brady, who seemed to recognize the futility of telling Leyla’s brothers they had to stay back. They rushed out the door, followed by Sean and Emmet.

Brady grabbed his phone off the table and looked at her. “Come or stay here, Lawson. Your call.”

“I’m coming.”

•••

The darkness was absolute. Not even a sliver of light this time.

Leyla groped along the wall, using her hands to try to get a sense of the space.

They had landed on a white X on one of those giant oil rigs, which was surrounded by water as far as she could see. Her relief at not being thrown from the helicopter had been replaced by fear after they landed as Gagnon grabbed her arm and hauled her into a metal structure that looked like a shipping container. She hadn’t struggled, hoping maybe he wouldn’t think to bind her hands again. And he hadn’t. But now that she was stuck in this pitch-dark vault that smelled like tires, she wondered if she should have tried to make a run for it.

Of course, where would she have gone? They were in the middle of freaking nowhere.

Muffled voices seeped through the metal walls, and she heard the steady drone of mechanical equipment nearby. The sound—and everything else—was giving her a pounding headache. But on the good side, no one could hear her as she stumbled around in here, crashing into things.

Her hand bumped into something hard and round. A metal drum? That’s what it felt like. She shuffled along and encountered another one. Then her knee connected with something hard, and she let out a yelp. She felt the object. Smooth and metal again, but this object was more like an egg than a cylinder. She slid her hands over it. There was a nozzle on top. She considered turning it, but then realized it could be a propane tank.

She kept shuffling along and encountered another similar tank. And another. And another.

Perfect. They’d locked her in a storage room with combustible chemicals.

Her hands encountered the wall again, then a corner filled with something soft and sticky. Spider webs? A shudder moved through her, but she continued her reconnaissance mission. She had to get her bearings and come up with a plan. Maybe there was another way out of this place. The door she’d come through was locked tight—she’d tried it—but she had to at least check. Now that she was free of the zip ties she needed to use every possible advantage.

“Ouch!”

She jerked her hand back. She’d sliced her finger on something sharp, and she could feel the warm trickle of blood sliding down her hand.

She pressed the cut against her jeans to stop the bleeding. Not that it mattered, really. She’d cut her hands hundreds of times in the kitchen, and she barely noticed anymore.

Shaking her hand out, she kept going. This vault was essentially her death chamber. Gagnon planned to have her executed tonight. Or do it himself. His candid conversation with her made her know that he didn’t intend to let her out of this alive.

Her hand slid over something straight and metal, and her pulse quickened. Was that...?

Yes. A doorframe.

She moved her fingers over the shape, making out a rectangle that was slightly shorter than she was, probably five feet tall. She remembered ducking her head coming in here, so this was likely a door at the opposite end of the small room.

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