Drop Dead Perfect (An Ellen Harper Psycho-Thriller) (27 page)

Pulling the ring out of his hands, Ellen tried the first two keys with no luck, but the third one clicked as she jiggled it. The lock opened and fell to the ground. Her pulse quickened as she drew her Beretta.

“We need a crowbar to get these planks away from the door,” said Ellen.

“No, we don’t.”

Big Harv put two meaty hands on the first one and pulled. The wood groaned and then gave way with a loud crack. It had barely hit the ground when the second one followed suit.

“Not bad for an old fart,” she said, not hiding her amazement. She’d almost forgotten how strong her dad was, even at his age. Most daughters thought their fathers were a certain version of Sampson. She knew hers was.

“Yeah, well, I got a couple tricks left up my sleeve, and don’t forget it.”

“Yes sir, I won’t.”

Ellen looked over Big Harv’s shoulder.

“Where are Sanchez and the uniforms?”

He shook his head. “She wasn’t in her car. She must have gone to take a leak or something. I called her and left a message to get her ass over here and to bring those two with her.”

A tingle of concern waltzed through Ellen’s body, but she didn’t hesitate.

“We can’t wait, dad; we have to go in now. Somehow, the search team missed something. We have to find out what that is.”

“We can’t do this without back up, Ellie. It’s crazy.”

She tilted her head. “Dad. Someone could be killing Brice and those women right now. If that happens, and we could have stopped it, I couldn’t live with myself.”

Big Harv raised his eyebrows. “Does he mean that much to you?”

Ellen blinked. How smart was this man? He knew her feelings before she really would let herself come to grips with them.

“I don’t know. But if he does, and I don’t do this, I may never get the chance to see.”

She turned toward the door. “I’m going, Dad, with or without you.”

Pulling his Glock, Big Harv hesitated then shrugged. “I must be nuts. Just you and me. I hope Sanchez knows where we’re headed.”

Taking two steps toward the door, he turned her way. She could see his smile in the shadowy light of her flashlight. The warm grin was out of place, and she hadn’t seen it since she could remember. His next action surprised her more.
He
leaned over and kissed
her
on the cheek.

She frowned. “What the hell are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I’ve wanted to do this since the day you were born. This is every cop’s dream. You, your kid, doing what we were made to do. It doesn’t get any better for an old fossil like me. Just don’t get your ass shot or something, okay?”

Ignoring the sense of pride her dad was experiencing was impossible, so she didn’t. As weird as it seemed at this moment, she breathed it in. What girl didn’t want her dad to be proud of her?

She bowed her head, and then touched his arm. “Great time to get sentimental, old man. I’m proud of you too. We can talk later, okay? Now let’s go,” she said, feeling like her chest might burst.

With flashlight in hand, Ellen Harper stepped through the faded door, Big Harv close behind.

CHAPTER-50

Brice’s eyes opened slowly. For the second time in six hours, he felt the effects of waking up after being forced into unconsciousness. This time was better. His eyes were heavy, and the semi-lit room was fuzzy, but he was awake and he remembered where he was, and who had him, and that he wasn’t alone. Listening, he heard nothing. Only a loud silence that could be
Heaven or hell.

He waited for a few minutes and decided his captor wasn’t in the room. The sick bastard loved being the center of attention far too much to let Brice awaken without incident. He wasn’t the strong, silent type.

Stretching his neck, he looked past his right shoulder and couldn’t see the young woman sitting in the chair. He was sure she was the latest woman who’d been reported missing.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on focusing. It worked. When he opened them again, his vision was better. He looked for Rachel again and this time he saw her. Her head rested on her chest as it slowly rose and fell. Thank God she was alive, for now. But he knew she wouldn’t be, and neither would he, if they didn’t get out, and soon.

Focusing on how he was bound, Brice tried to get a sense for any weakness. Duct tape was almost impossible to break. It had to be cut or torn. Pulling it apart was out of the question. He shifted and felt the pain knife up his shoulder, taking his breath away as he cried out from underneath the gag. He stayed still until it passed. He was struck with a more pointed pain. He wouldn’t be able to get himself free. The binding job was well thought out and adding in the pain factor from his shoulder made it impossible. Their only chance hinged on Rachel.

Glancing back to her, what little hope he did have fell from the table. She wouldn’t be getting loose anytime soon, even if she came to. This killer wanted to make sure she stayed where he could find her.

With the pain almost fully subsided, he rolled slowly back to his other side and heard his foot tap the floor. He moved his foot again and heard the same sound. He tried to tap it harder and the sound grew. His lost hope somewhat resurrected, he tapped with more effort. It was hardly the bell of Notre Dame, but maybe someone would hear, anyone. He briefly wondered what the killer would do if he heard it, then dismissed it. The bastard was going to kill both him and Rachel anyway.

Raising his foot again, he was about to bring it down when he heard the crack of what sounded like breaking wood. A moment later there was another, then silence.

He began tapping louder, praying the sound meant someone, anyone, was looking for them.

“Why, Detective Rogers, whatever are you doing?”

Brice froze. He knew that voice. They’d been found. He’d never felt such relief. Maybe no one had. He struggled to speak through the gag. He wanted to tell her to hurry. That the maniac could be back any moment.

She kneeled and stroked his cheek, a crooked smile on her face, then put her gun to his head. The look in her eyes caused his heart to grow cold.

“Don’t worry, Detective. You’ll get out of here soon enough. Just not the way you think.”

CHAPTER-51

The first thing Ellen noticed was how dry and dusty this end of the building was. She stifled a cough, almost, and continued shining her light as she worked her way down the short hallway. The light settled on a glass supervisor’s office. It had windows on three sides and butted up against the wooden wall. One of the grimy panes was cracked, the other broken almost completely out of the frame. She couldn’t see the third side. She started for the office and stopped. None of the dust on the floor seemed to be disturbed; the rescue teams said they had searched the building. It was obvious they hadn’t been here.

“Wait,” she heard Big Harv whisper.

“What?”

“Let’s slow down for a second. I don’t see any tracks or signs that our people have been here.”

“I was thinking that too.”

Big Harv pointed to her left. “Shine that light over there against that wall and work your way to the office window.”

“What are we looking for?”

“We’ll know it when we see it, I hope.”

Doing what she was instructed, she panned the area. They watched the beam of light, dust dancing in its path, move against the wall, showing nothing except a few old wall hooks, a yellowed five-gallon pail, and the skeleton of a long-deceased rat.

The light reached the farthest dirtied, broken window of the office, and Ellen turned to
Big Harv.

“I don’t see anything.”

“That’s the point. There’s no outside windows, no exterior door, no opening of any kind,” he answered.

“There should be?”

“I worked in buildings like this during the summers when I was kid. The boss would never have an office where he couldn’t see what the hell was going on.”

She nodded. “Maybe there’s something on the other side of that office.”

“Let’s find out. Move slowly and be ready. If our people missed this section, what else didn’t they see?”

Moving with more caution, they reached the far corner of the office. Ellen took one step around it and felt her knees grow weak. In front of another sealed door were three brown rats eating one of their own. The sounds of their gnawing were disturbing, the smell was worse.

“Shit. I hate rats,” said Big Harv.

Ellen was ready to answer him when she saw something behind the feasting rodents. A thin sliver of light reached out from underneath the door, catching her attention.

“I don’t like them either, but do you see that?”

He followed her pointing finger, finally focusing on the bottom of the door.

“Good eyes. Let’s go. Lead the way.”

“Chicken shit,” she whispered.

Walking slowly toward the feeding animals, she got within four feet of the rats and two of them scurried away, the third stood on hind feet and bared bloody teeth, trying to protect the cannibalistic meal.

“I don’t have time for this shit,” said Ellen, aiming her gun at the rat.

“I got it covered,” said Big Harv.

She turned to him just as he swung the old pail over the rat and its catch. He then slid it over a few feet from the door.

“I hate them, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to deal with them,” he said.

She didn’t answer. She’d already holstered her gun and was on her knees, looking at the faint light coming through the tiny crack of the door. She could see it wasn’t really a crack at all, but a hole where her new best friends had chewed through the two-inch thick door. She shined the light directly on the area and noticed a quick reflection of light on metal.

“Did you see that?” Ellen asked.

“Yes. But . . . but what is it?” he stammered.

She looked up at Big Harv and saw that he was sweating.

“Are you all right?”

He waved her off, like always. “Just warm in here. Answer the question.”

She gave him another glance then bent closer to the hole. “It looks like a coiled spring leading up the side of the door. It has a wire attached, I think. I don’t know. I can’t see more than that.”

“A wire? What the hell does that mean?” asked Big Harv softly.

“I don’t . . . wait.”

Ellen grabbed Big Harv’s arm.

“Remember that case where that woman got caught in the automatic doors at that department store? The victim’s lawyer requested we recreate the technology that opened the door to see how reliable it was.”

“Sort of,” answered Big Harv wiping his forehead.

“I had to build an automatic door in the lab to replicate the one in the store, and it helped them win the case against the door company. It was only around ninety-percent reliable.”

“So?”

“So that spring set up is a little different, but that wire leads to a sensor, I’m betting.”

“Sensor? To open the door? Aren’t those on the floor?”

“Usually, but they don’t have to be,” said Ellen, moving closer to the door.

Running the light slowly around the outside of the door frame, she saw nothing.

She stepped back and crisscrossed both sides of the door with the flashlight. She stopped three feet from the floor on the left and noticed one of the wallboards was cleaner than the others.

Reaching over cautiously, she touched the wood and instantly felt a subtle vibration massaging her fingertips. She pressed harder. Nothing. Pushing with both hands, the door sprung open with a quick bark. She jumped back, clutching her chest.

“Found it,” she breathed.

“I’ll be damned,” whispered Big Harv.

“I hope not,” said Ellen. “Let’s see what we have.”

The open door revealed a dimly-lit stairway leading down.

She pulled her weapon again and moved through the door, Big Harv following.

The thumping in her chest and head seemed to grow exponentially as they descended each step. It also became obvious that the area was growing brighter. The dank smell of the warehouse was gone; she could swear she detected the scent of vanilla incense or candles. The temperature also was more comfortable. Her uneasiness grew. Someone had put a lot of effort and money into whatever this was.

She gripped her Beretta tighter. They reached the bottom of nine stairs and a small landing gave way to a larger foyer. She glanced back at Big Harv, who had just taken the last three steps gingerly. He put his hand on the wall, his breathing labored, his face more pale than thirty minutes prior. It was impossible to hide her alarm. Their situation suddenly seemed unimportant.

“Dad. What’s going on? And don’t wave me off,” she whispered.

He met Ellen’s gaze then reached into his pocket, removed a pill bottle, and took two out. He slid them under his tongue and then handed her the bottle.

“Ticker’s not working so great. These help.”