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  Into the Devil’s Underground

  A Novel

  Stacy Green

  Into the Devil’s Underground

  Copyright © 2014 Stacy Green.

  All rights reserved.

  Published by: Twisted Minds Press

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without express written permission from the publisher. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-0-9891379-4-2

  Kindle Edition

  Cover artwork by Melinda Van Lone at Book Cover Corner

  Content Editing by Annetta Ribken

  Copy Editing by Kristine Kelly

  Formatting by BB eBooks

  First Printing, 2014

  Green, Stacy. Into the Devil’s Underground/ Stacy Green.—1st ed.

  Visit the author website:

  www.stacygreen.net

  Praise for Into the Devil’s Underground

  “Into the Devil’s Underground is terrifying because of its potential to become reality. Its absolute believability is scary. It’s a frightening, yet sadly all too true fact of life, that one anonymous random encounter can trigger an obsession that puts the object of that “affection” and those around them in peril. When The Taker, as he’s later dubbed, whispers to Emilie that he’s there for her it literally sent chills down my spine.

  INTO THE DEVIL’S UNDERGROUND is a page turner that will keep you up way past bedtime. Sweet dreams.”

  Ivy at Manic Readers

  “Stacy Green writes suspense like a pro. You’ll be captivated from the first page to the end of this harrowing story. Don’t forget to breathe!”

  Diane Capri, New York Times Bestselling Author of The Justice Series and The Hunt For Reacher Series.

  Other Books by Stacy Green

  TIN GOD

  (Book One in the Delta Crossroads Trilogy)

  2013 Kindle Book Review Best Indie Book Award Finalist for Best Mystery/Thriller

  SKELETON’S KEY

  (Book Two in the Delta Crossroads Trilogy)

  ASHES and BONE

  (Book Three in the Delta Crossroads Trilogy)

  WELCOME TO LAS VEGAS

  (a short story)

  For my mom, whose faith in me has never waivered.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Praise for Into the Devil’s Underground

  Other Books by Stacy Green

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Other Books by Stacy

  Acknowledgements

  Coming Soon: The Lucy Kendall Series

  1

  TWO PEOPLE COULD have sent the Casablanca lilies, and Emilie never wanted to see either one of them again. The vase of sweet-smelling flowers taunted her as it sat beneath the window, soaking up the sun. No signature, no florist’s name. Just the poem—beautiful words piercing Emilie with dread. She read the card once more.

  The modest Rose puts forth a thorn, The humble sheep a threat’ning horn: While the Lily white shall in love delight, Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

  The Lily, William Blake

  Emilie kept her love of poetry locked away along with the rest of her secrets. She traced the elegant handwriting. It wasn’t Evan’s. She couldn’t remember what her mother’s looked like.

  Emilie glared at the flowers. She’d been having a standoff with the lilies since their delivery a couple of hours ago. Casablanca lilies are funeral flowers. They’d covered her grandmother’s casket in clusters, their delicate stems like weeping tears, trailing down the sides of the silver casket. Having them so close dredged up bad memories.

  Emilie grabbed the vase and headed for the lobby. The lilies would make a nice addition to the kiosk in the center of the bank. At just past four p.m., WestOne employees were getting ready for the late afternoon rush. Sunlight streamed in through the entryway’s impressive wall of windows and cast colorful prisms on the tile floor.

  The door chimed behind her as a customer entered. “Welcome to WestOne.” Mollie’s cheery greeting made Emilie smile. She never seemed to mind the last hour customers.

  The kiosk was a mess. Still breathing in their heady scent, Emilie set the flowers aside and started organizing the haphazard brochures: information about loans on the left, money market accounts in the middle, investment opportunities standing prominently on the right. She sat the flowers next to the pamphlets about creating an investment portfolio. Hopefully the paperwork would draw the customer’s eye, and he’d suddenly remember he had thousands of extra dollars to give to WestOne. Numbers were down, and it was Emilie’s job to bring them up. In this economy, pickings were slim.

  The door opened again. Hot, Las Vegas air wafted into the lobby, but the skin on the back of Emilie’s neck broke out in gooseflesh. A collective gasp rippled across the room, and Emilie whipped around, her entire body covered in rippling cold spots. Her vision didn’t have time to focus before three quick, deafening gunshots rang out. Mollie and her customers screamed as glass rained over the tile floor.

  Fear blasted through Emilie, making her head pound and her heart slam into her chest. Her brain was so rattled she barely had the sense to throw her hands over her head and drop to her knees.

  “Everyone get down!”

  * * * *

  NATHAN MADIGAN SAT down at the conference table with the rest of the SWAT team. “How many hostages, Dave?”

  Sergeant Johnson cleared his throat. “Ten. Four employees—including the branch manager—and six customers.”

  “Security cameras?” The man sitting next to Nathan rapped his fingers on the table. Nathan glared at his best friend, Chris Holt, who raised a challenging eyebrow.

  “Got a glimpse of one guy before his partner shot out the security cameras. Working on an I.D. Metro hasn’t had any luck communicating. Branch manager’s name is Emilie Davis.”

  “Inside job?” Chris asked. “Easiest way to pull something like this off.”

  Nathan nodded once in acknowledgement. “Wh
at’s the manager’s story?”

  “Doesn’t have much of one,” Johnson answered. “Thirty-four, divorced, lives alone. Worked for the bank for ten years. No record.”

  “Doesn’t mean much.” Chris popped his cherry-smelling bubble gum. Nathan imagined yanking the gum out of his friend’s mouth every time he heard the obnoxious popping sound. “Who knows what she’s hiding? Can’t rule her out cause she looks bland on paper.”

  Sergeant Johnson jerked his head in agreement.

  “If we can get the bank robbers on the phone, I want to try to talk to her too,” Nathan said. “If she’s involved, maybe I can snuff something out. If not, she’ll still have the best knowledge of the bank. The other hostages will see her as a leader.”

  “We’ll try, but don’t get your hopes up.” Johnson looked around the room and made eye contact with each of the twelve officers. “Keep your heads in the game. Move out.”

  Nathan followed the group in silence. He lived for days like this, but the nerves never subsided until he was on the scene and in the moment. In the two years he’d been a hostage negotiator, he had a stellar record. But statistics meant nothing to the ten people trapped inside WestOne Bank. Their lives were in his hands.

  Inside the truck, he and Chris donned their Kevlar vests. “These things are so damned hot. Why can’t this kind of shit ever happen at night?”

  Nathan ignored him. With the cameras out and no contact inside, he wasn’t going to be able to gauge their personalities until he got the perps on the phone. No mistakes. Nathan didn’t need another black memory to add to Jimmy’s anniversary.

  “How’d today go?” Chris checked his assault rifle. “You come straight from your dad’s when we got the call?”

  “Yeah. Went like it does every year. Aunt Kay made a big meal, tried to act like nothing was wrong. Kelsi did most of the talking. Dad only spoke to me when he had to. I don’t think he looked me in the eye once.”

  “It’s a hard day for him.”

  “He’s not the only one it’s hard for. Just makes it worse to know he’ll never forgive me.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, man. You were a kid.”

  Nathan adjusted the straps on his vest. “We both know what happened, Chris.”

  “How’s your dad supposed to forgive you when you can’t forgive yourself?”

  “He’s not.”

  Fourteen years ago today was the first time Nathan had held someone’s life in his hands.

  He’d failed miserably.

  Not this time.

  * * * *

  SWEAT DRIPPED DOWN the back of Emilie’s neck and saturated the collar of her shirt. Her shoulder-length hair clung to her sticky skin like a drenched yarn mop. She covered her nose as the acrid smell of perspiring bodies permeated the air. The air stopped running over thirty minutes ago, and she assumed police had shut off the power in the hopes of drawing out the two gun-wielding men. The temperature inside had immediately soared. The hot sun peeked through the closed blinds in the front windows and cast the lobby in gray shadow.

  She rapped her fingernails on the tile floor, sweating, shaking, and feeling sick.

  The sense of being watched overwhelmed her.

  One of the robbers had isolated Emilie from the group. He sat quietly beside her, his head turning every time she moved: the slightest shift, an anxious sigh, the continuous checking of her knock-off Cartier watch.

  The rest of the hostages cowered in front of the teller’s counter, at the mercy of the other robber. Gun drawn, he stalked the lobby, the filthy duffle bag Emilie had filled with cash slung over his shoulder.

  One of the trapped customers started to cry. Mollie put her arm around the terrified woman.

  “Shut that bitch up.” The ringleader stopped in front of Mollie and stuck his gun in her face.

  “Shh,” Mollie begged. “Please.”

  The customer pressed her fist against her mouth and nodded.

  “Keep her quiet.” Crazy man waved his gun at the terrified group. “Rest of you too.” He stomped away to resume his pacing.

  What were these men thinking? Police surrounded the building. Escape is not an option.

  Crazy seemed to understand this. He paced the room, reminding Emilie of a caged tiger she’d seen in the zoo as a child. The animal’s huge paws had worn a bare path in the green grass as it constantly circled its enclosure. Like the tiger, the man’s eyes shifted from person to person, spot to spot, but never settled. He knew he was as trapped as the hostages.

  But the man sitting next to her was calm. Serene. And he scared her to death.

  “Why are you here?” Butterflies swarmed in her stomach. Sweat rolled down her forehead and stung her eyes.

  Laugh lines appeared at the corners of the man’s eyes. “You don’t know, Miss Emilie?”

  Her heart skidded to a stop. How does he know my name? Throat constricted, she shook her head.

  “For you, Miss Emilie. I’m here for you.”

  * * * *

  NATHAN SURVEYED THE scene at WestOne Bank on Fremont Street. A swell of nosy assholes pressed against the yellow crime tape as annoyed officers repeatedly warned the spectators to back off. Most used their cellphones to record the drama with little thought to the helpless souls trapped inside. The blazing Nevada sun had been relentless all day, and the air was ripe with the smell of sweat, dust, and the Chinese restaurant a block east. Car horns blared in the distance as drivers displayed their irritation at being re-routed.

  Surveillance continued to work on getting a wireless camera inside via the air ducts but so far had come up empty.

  “We don’t even know if there are casualties,” said the lieutenant in charge. “There’s been no response.”

  Nathan took the megaphone from the lieutenant. “This is Nathan Madigan. I’m a hostage negotiator. I want to help you. You need to answer the phone so we can get you out of there safely.”

  He pushed ‘send’ on the department-issued cellphone and settled in for the wait. Fifteen rings later, he picked up the megaphone again. “If you don’t talk to me, you’re going to be at the mercy of the police. The only way your demands will be considered is to pick up that phone.”

  Dead air and then a gruff voice came over the cellphone. “I’m in charge here, not you, got it?”

  “Absolutely.” Nathan handed the megaphone to the lieutenant.

  “Where you at? You all look the same out there.”

  Nathan waved his free arm. “Here. See me?”

  “With the black hair? You look like a kid. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-eight.” Nathan shaded his eyes with his hand to combat the sun reflecting off the bank’s front windows. Someone peeped through one of the blinds on the far left. “What’s your name?”

  “Call me Joe.”

  “What’s it going to take to bring this to a peaceful end, Joe?”

  “Me walking out of here with my money.”

  “What about your partner?”

  “If there’s room for two.”

  “What are your demands?”

  “A way out,” Joe shouted. “This was supposed to be quick, but my partner dragged his feet, and now we’re stuck in here. Get me a car, a chopper, something.”

  What an amateur. Either the partner was the mastermind behind the plot or Joe had gotten lucky.

  “That’s going to take some time,” Nathan said. “As a show of good faith, can I talk to the branch manager?”

  “Why the hell do I gotta show you good faith? I’m doing you a favor just by talking to you.”

  “Because I’ve got to convince the people in charge to help you out. Letting me talk to the branch manager will make you look cooperative.”

  Nathan waited. Joe needed to believe he called the shots.

  Static crackled in his ear as Chris’s voice came over the mic. “Tech found a vent opening on the west side. They’re setting up the camera now.”

  “One minute,” Joe snapped. “Talk, woman.”
r />   “Hello?” A soft female voice came over the line.

  “Emilie, my name’s Nathan Madigan. I’m a hostage negotiator. Is anyone inside injured?”

  “No.”

  “Did you get a look at either of the men, Emilie?”

  “Sort of. They’re wearing masks.” She breathed hard. “Please, you have to get us out of here.”

  “I’m working on it, I promise.”

  “I have a cat.” Her voice cracked.

  “I’m sorry?” Talking to a victim was always emotional and took far more out of him than negotiating with psychos like Joe.

  “His name is Otis. There’s no one but me to take care of him. You’ve got to get us out of here.” A rasping sob echoed over the line, followed by a sharp, sucking sound. “I’m sorry.”

  “Enough.” Joe’s harsh voice echoed in the background. “Give me the phone.”

  “Not yet.” Sweat stung Nathan’s eyes. The heat made him feel heavy and sluggish. He shook off the discomfort and looked at the bank’s blueprints. “The bank has three exits, right? Front, rear, and side door.”

  “Yes. I—” Her shaky words were cut short by the sound of skin slamming skin, and then the poignant sound of Emilie sobbing.

  “I told you to give me the phone,” Joe snapped. He’d regained control. “Now you better stop crying before I teach you another lesson. And you, partner. What are you looking at?”

  Nathan felt sick. He shouldn’t have pushed the issue. “Joe, come on, man. Talk to me. Don’t worry about them.”

  “Told you I was in charge.” Joe panted like an overweight dog. “She’s talking to you about her cat like we got all damned day, and my partner’s hanging on her. He’s the reason we’re still stuck here.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Told you! We was supposed to be in and out with the money, but he took too long in the vault. Like we’re on a Sunday stroll. Next thing I know you assholes are outside. You getting me a car or what, kid?”

  “We’re working on it.” Guilt swarmed Nathan. Hopefully Chris could get eyes and see how badly Emilie was injured.

  “Get it done. Otherwise I’ll have to ignore my partner and go play with Red. She’s a pretty thing, even with a bruised up face. Curves in all the right places, dark-red hair, nice skin. Smells good too.”