Page 42 of The Diamond Thief
18
Jade
Ican’t believe it. Jacob Holt has trapped me here.
I bang my fists against the solid steel wall. There is no ringing sound, no hollow echo that would indicate that I am above ground. No, I am quite sure I am deep in the earth somewhere. I have no idea where. He could’ve taken us back to the city. He could’ve taken me anywhere.
Out of pure spite, I tug his phone out of my pocket and smash it against the wall.
What I turn around, the shattered pieces of the phone falling to the floor, he has gotten himself free from my tying job and sits on the edge of the bed.
“I never liked that phone anyway. You’re doing me a favor.”
Oh my God, I want to smash his skull in. I am so angry that I actually see sparks behind my eyes.
“Where the hell are we?”
He props himself back on his arms on the bed, looking as though he’s posing for a magazine spread.
“Where are my swords?” he asks.
I have to resist the urge to strike at him. “I’ll never tell you that.”
He smoothes a bit of the bedspread down. “A pity, then. We might be stuck here for quite a while. Should I call room service?“
I take a more careful perusal of my surroundings. It’s set up exactly the way you would expect a cheap hotel to look. Double bed, mass-produced artwork. A chair, table, lamp. A dresser holds an aging flat-screen television. There’s even a little channel guide.
A small alcove holds loose hangers on a bar.
Damn, it’s a good replica.
A bathroom door stands open. But I know this isn’t a hotel room. It’s part of a bunker. Maybe even some extra room off the one I was in when I stole the swords.
I storm past the bed and into the bathroom. It’s the most obvious way into the rest of the bunker.
I tap along the walls, listening for the sound that indicates there is another room beyond. I inspect every crack and crevice. The inside is seamless, all the tile perfectly grouted together.
I turn the water on in the sink. It flows perfectly. That doesn’t mean anything. The plumbing could swivel or move aside. There’s no telling what amount of money Jacob Holt might pay to make his trap perfect.
The wall is smooth. There is no place to press in, no breaks in the pattern. Nothing.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, as it were,” Jacob says from the bed. He seems awfully sure of himself. Maybe the false wall is somewhere in the main room. Dammit.
I stand in the doorway and glare at him. “Nice guys don’t drug women and trap them in underground bunkers.”
“Who says we’re underground?” he asks. “I know you don’t think I’m a nice guy.”
I huff out air in disgust. I go through the main room, knocking on walls. I listen for anything that sounds different.
“You got me in here some way,” I say. “That means there’s also a way out.”
“This is fun,” Jacob says. “I should have some sort of game where I see how long it takes until people give up.”
“How am I doing so far?”
“Rather splendid, if I may say so.” He lies down on his side, his head propped up on his arm. “I could watch you do this all day.”
That’s my first clue. It’s still day. So I was only out a few hours.
