Page 96 of Sweet Deception
We’ve given ourselves fifteen minutes to sneak across the loading dock, get to the server, bug it, and get out. Darren’s job is to monitor the exits, set traps in case we need them, and keep me informed about what’s going on while I find the server room, do the deed, and book it out of there.
My pulse roars in my ears as we wait in painful silence.
“You’re insane to volunteer for this.” Darren’s fingers squeeze mine. “You know that, right?”
I glance over at him as a blast shakes the earth beneath us. In the distance, we see fire and smoke rising from the far side of the property.
That would be Finn and his crew with Distraction Number One.
“On my mark,” Rory barks from the front seat.
“Here we go.” Darren gives my hand another big squeeze, the excitement on his face visible even in the darkness.
After more furious typing from the front seat, I hear a series of affirmative beeps.
“Now!”
Darren rips the caravan door open and flies out into the night, yanking me with him. I work to keep up with his long strides, and as we scramble downhill, the momentum carries us toward the pond’s horrible stench and rickety dock.
I slap a hand over my mouth and nose, the acrid scent threatening to unleash my gag reflex. “What do they put in there? Toxic sludge?”
“Try the bodies of everyone they’ve ever taken care of.”
I want Darren to be kidding, but I don’t glimpse even a hint of humor on his face.
Oh, god…
“So this is where I would’ve ended up if you hadn’t saved me the other night.”
Our footsteps thunder onto the dock. A small metal staircase leading to the drainage pipe below materializes on our left, and Darren grasps my arm as we carefully climb down. “Yeah, you and Napalm.”
One wrong move, and we’ll be swimming in body parts soup.
Thankfully, the drainage pipe interior is shockingly clean. No sign of the sludge. And actually, it even smells kind of normal in here. It’s big enough that we only have to hunch over a little to fit inside as we hasten through the darkness. This is an access tunnel for Red Hill, too, then. It has to be.
Darren flips on a miniature flashlight and guides us through the pipe, taking forks and turns without any hesitation.
I’m glad he memorized the map in minute detail because I sure didn’t.
After a few heart-pounding minutes of underground navigation, we come to a cross-hatched drain grate overhead that casts a crisscrossed spotlight on the ground beneath our feet.
Darren and I get directly below it and poke a tiny camera through the metal cage. The feed pops up on his phone. He examines a three-sixty view of the space above, then thrusts the rusted grate open with one impressive show of upper body strength. He shoves the grate aside to make room for us. “Coast’s clear. Come on.”
Like he does this all the time—just another day at the office—Darren heaves himself up and through the hole, then reaches both hands back down for me. I clutch his forearms as he lifts me right up.
The basement floor of this building is fit for a supervillain’s lair.
The air is damp and dank and oddly cold, as if a malfunctioning air conditioner has transformed the place into a meat locker. Creaks and bangs bounce through the echo chamber at random intervals, each one causing my heart to toss in my chest and amplifying my terror that we’ve been discovered. Gruesome shadows cast by the chained lights hanging overhead stripe the space.
“Let’s take the stairs.” After replacing the drain grate, Darren twines his fingers with mine. We cross the space and shuffle down a hallway and around a corner. At the end of another creepy industrial corridor, we find a heavy-looking door.
Darren pushes it open a crack, peering into the stairwell beyond and listening.
On the floor above us, someone’s barking orders. Feet shuffle about.
They don’t know, specifically, that Darren and I are down here, but it’s clear they believe intruders are on the property. We’ll have to work fast.
Darren pushes the door open enough for me to slip under his arm. Then we hurry up the first flight of steps to the main floor.
