Page 70 of Hunted

She heard voices again, though not as close. She wasn’t up high enough to climb out, but she could hop enough to catch glimpses over the edge. She saw two pairs of booted feet moving through a square doorway big enough to drive a truck through. She hopped a few more times, but saw no one else.

The last time she hopped, the crate cracked a little more. Swallowing hard she got off it and stood it up on its narrow end, making it taller than before. It wobbled dangerously as she climbed onto it, first on her knees, then slowly straightening to her full height. This time, her head poked halfway out. The voices were more distant now. Too far away to understand. She could no longer see them. Good.

The crate cracked, all the way through this time. She felt herself going down, and quickly pressed her hands to the edges of the hole to hold herself up. No more crate for help. She pushed herself up and out. It was a struggle, but she did it. Then she lowered the door carefully and ran to the nearest shadowy corner. Hiding there, she listened, watched. The only sound was the rapid, but normal, beating of her own heart and no killers were in sight.

The building was big and empty. Its metal walls reached up high. Over her head, steel grid-like structures supported the roof. Here and there, long fluorescent tube lights gave the place a dull, artificial glow. Some flickered, obviously worn out. The result was eerie and surreal.

Her gaze came down again, locking in on the normal sized doorway in the wall that bisected the building. With a quick glance to her left and right, she tiptoed across the spider web of cracks in the cement floor, gripped the doorknob, pressed her ear to the door. No sounds came from inside. She twisted her hand, and the knob turned.

Her heart in her throat, she stepped into pitch darkness and closed the door behind her.

Her foot hit something soft. Startled, she reached behind her for the door again, pushing it open the merest crack.

Dim light spilled in, and she wished it hadn’t. Darren Wade lay on the floor, a neat round hole in the center of his forehead. Dark red streams had painted a bloody headband across his brow. And the whites of his open eyes gleamed in the light. For a second it seemed he was staring right at her.

She was about to lunge right back out of the little room, but she heard White’s voice and footsteps. He was coming this way. She spotted another door on the opposite side of the room.

Her decision was made. Silently, she closed the door behind her, then moved forward in the darkness, forced to feel for Darren’s body so she could step over it rather than trip and give herself away.

The footsteps came closer. She lifted her hands, palms out, and found the door on the opposite side, located the knob, tried to turn it.

Nothing. It must be locked.

Her heart sank when she heard the approaching steps stop just outside the door she’d entered. White was talking about moving Darren’s body. They were coming in here. Desperately she closed both hands around the little round doorknob … and then she felt the protrusion at its center, poking her palm. The lock was on the inside! Deftly she turned it, twisted the knob again. It turned this time, and she slipped through with no idea where she’d emerge, and no time to think about it. The other door was opening as she stepped out. At the last second, she flicked the lock again and closed her escape door behind her.

She’d emerged into another huge section of the building, the front, she thought, separated from the back by a wall and that little office with the body. There were lights on in this side too, but they were flickering and dim. Three men stood in a huddle about a yard inside the big white door, which was closed, and suspended by rollers and a track at its top. None of the men looked her way, but if they did, they would see her. She stood in the open, the door to the small office at her back, and the wide-open space in front of her. Less than fifty feet stood between her and those thugs. Spotting a stack of boxes to her left, she quickly sidestepped and ducked behind them. No one shouted at her. No one seemed to notice.

She crouched there for some time. Behind her, a ladder was mounted to the wall, and she wondered briefly why. Then she forgot all about it, when she heard White’s voice. She peered out, saw him coming out of the office and ducked lower behind the boxes. He walked right past her. Everything in her trembled, but he didn’t see her. He rejoined the others, the notebook in his hands.

“We need to go. One of the sensors has been tripped. A vehicle is coming this way.”

“If it was the FBI, it would be more than one vehicle, boss.”

“Yeah,” said another henchman. “It could be anyone.”

“And it could be Romano,” White replied. “Go and get the girl. We might need her.” Then he sighed, gazing out through a broken window. “It’s going to be a shame to kill him. I’ve almost enjoyed our … relationship.”

A pattern of beeps came from the huddled group. White pulled out his phone, looked at it. “Too late. He’s already here. Get into position. When I give the signal, take him out. Go on.”

The men rushed off in different directions. Someone turned off the lights, but there was enough daylight outside now that she could see a little bit.

Two men were scrambling up a ladder just like the one behind her. They made their way up to a catwalk and then split up, moving until they flanked the big front door.

Lexi looked at the ladder on the wall behind her. That’s where it went. Up there, to the catwalk.

Connor was walking into a trap. She’d be damned if she’d sit there and watch as these animals killed the man she loved.

Moving silently to the ladder, she made her way up.

Romano was good, Kira decided. He’d had them leave their car on the main road and pile into the one he was driving, before he turned onto the narrow dirt road that led to the building where Lexi was being held. She’d seen him pour gas into the empty whiskey flask and stuff a rag into the top.

And suddenly the nickname made sense.

It had taken a hell of a lot of arguing to get Cait and Dylan to stay with the rental car at the turnoff. But eventually, they’d agreed. Romano argued that they couldn’t risk White escaping because he had a very dangerous weapon with him. He told them to hide the car and wait. If they saw an albino trying to flee, they should try their best to stop him and call Stryker immediately. The good guys should have time to cut White off before he got to the next turn-off.

He left them each a handgun, and Dylan assured him he knew how to use one and would show Cait while they waited.

Kira didn’t like it. She’d have preferred Caity and Dylan be holed up in a hotel somewhere. But she figured it was better than having her pregnant sister in the middle of what might become a shoot-out.

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