Into the Devil's Underground Read online

  “He was her high school guidance counselor,” Claire Davis said.

  “For six months during her senior year, she snuck around behind our backs with him. Of course, we eventually found out, and the news was mortifying. I immediately put my foot down, but Emilie couldn’t handle that. She always was a difficult child. One morning, she just ran off with him.”

  Red spots clouded Emilie’s vision. Just ran off with him? Was that how Claire remembered it? Had she forgotten the reason Emilie had decided to leave? Or pushed the incident to the back of her mind just as she had her daughter?

  “That’s not how it happened.” She needed Ronson to know her mother lied. “Claire never did anything but put me down. I had no self-esteem. He was a new counselor and young, and I told him about Claire. He used that to manipulate me. And my mother only cared about what the relationship did to her reputation, not me.”

  “You don’t have to justify anything to me.” Ronson looked embarrassed. “This is nothing but gossip. I just thought you should be aware.”

  Eyes stinging, Emilie went back to reading.

  Speaking by phone in California, Evan Randall stated that he hasn’t communicated with his ex-wife since the divorce. “I can’t think of anyone who’d want to hurt Emilie,” Randall said. “She’s a kind person. A little needy but very caring. I hope they find the person that did this soon. Emilie doesn’t deserve this.”

  Hypocritical, lying bastard. Leave it to Evan to play the charming ex-husband card before Emilie could taint his reputation.

  When asked about his relationship with a high-school-aged Davis, Randall said that while Davis had been at the age of legal consent, in retrospect his marriage with her was a “foolish decision.”

  Emilie’s eyes burned with unshed tears. She stood and stuck the paper in her bag. “Thank you for showing this to me. I’ve got to go.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t have the voice to tell the agent it wasn’t her fault. “Please. Just find this man.”

  “Remember the safety precautions,” Agent Ronson urged as Emilie moved toward the door. “Your building has a good security system, and you have designated parking behind the bank. There will also be a patrol in your neighborhood, but you need to stay in touch with us and make sure you carry mace or pepper spray. Be aware of your surroundings at all times.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Call me if you remember more details.”

  “I will.” She rushed out of the office. Her face flamed with embarrassment and rage. Evan had been her guidance counselor, but the relationship wasn’t scandalous—not the way Claire made it out to be.

  She stumbled into the ladies room and leaned against the counter. It wasn’t my fault. Emilie repeated the words the therapist had drilled into her head. Claire drove me to Evan, and he manipulated me. She never gave me the foundation to love myself. Tears dripped onto the countertop. It wasn’t my fault.

  She stared in the mirror and watched the tears fall. So many shed over Claire and Evan. But Emilie had locked that old pain away a long time ago. She would not allow it to resurface.

  She snatched a tissue out of the dispenser and hastily cleaned her face. Claire is a vindictive shrew. This was her chance to lash out at you for disrupting her perfect life. Don’t let her win.

  Emilie examined the ugly bruise on her cheek. Her pale skin was more flushed than usual. What was it Creepy had said about her skin? And something about children and how precious they were? About how important it was children were protected?

  Her lungs constricted. Her breath came in quick, painful gasps. Creepy had said she should know what he meant about the sin of mistreating children, as though he knew about her family misery, something she hadn’t spoken of since leaving Portland.

  How did he know? How deep into her life had he dug?

  How long has he been following me?

  Her vision began to blur. Disoriented, she felt along the textured wall until she reached the metal door handle.

  Dark shapes loomed in the hallway. Emilie cowered against the door. One of the shapes approached. It reached for her and called her name. The words were muffled by the roaring sound in her ears. Her chest ached with fear, her lungs tight.

  “Leave me alone,” she cried.

  “I can’t do that.” The blob was directly in front of her now. “Let me help you.”

  A hand reached out, its fingers coming to rest on the arm that was now pressed in front of her face.

  Emilie squeezed her eyes shut. A bloodcurdling scream tore through the hallway—her own.

  Fight or flight.

  She wrenched the hand off her arm, her fingernails digging into flesh.

  “Ouch! Emilie, stop. You know me.” The voice was masculine, husky, and tinged with emotion.

  “It’s Nathan. Remember me?”

  She knew him, didn’t she? She searched her cloudy mind, dredging up the man with blue eyes and a gunshot wound in his arm. “Nathan?”

  “Yes. You’re safe. You’re at the police station. Open your eyes.”

  Emilie cracked one eye open. Nathan’s features came into view: broad shoulders; a scruff-covered, angular jaw; striking blue eyes.

  He stood in front of her, worry etched on his handsome face. Behind him, several officers gawked. She’d drawn a crowd.

  Emilie took a step forward. Dizziness threatened to overtake her, and she stumbled. Nathan caught her by the arms. His hands were warm and rough with calluses.

  She spoke into his broad chest. “I need to get out of here.”

  “You need to sit down.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not going anywhere. Not until you’ve calmed down.”

  “I just want to go home.” She pressed her hands against her ringing ears.

  Nathan touched her shoulder. “Please sit and calm down first.”

  She didn’t have the energy to refuse him. Nathan steadied her as she wobbled to a nearby wooden bench.

  “I’m not crazy.”

  “Of course not. You’re traumatized.”

  Emilie hated that word. It made her feel like a victim. “I don’t know what happened back there.”

  “Take some deep breaths,” Nathan said. “Focus on that for a minute.”

  She obeyed, counting her breaths.

  Nathan patted her back. His hand was warm and steady. “You looked like you were having a flashback.”

  The significance of Creepy’s words sent her reeling again. She clutched the edge of the bench to keep from falling face-first onto the floor. “He knows about my past, about my parents. He knows me.”

  9

  NATHAN STRUGGLED TO think of the right response as Emilie rocked back and forth on the bench. He was afraid she’d tumble off if he let go of her arm.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Emilie demanded.

  She looked worse than she had last night. The bruise on her cheek had darkened into a vibrant purple. Dark circles under her eyes suggested she had gotten little rest. A tear clung briefly to the edge of one of her long eyelashes before losing its grip and slipping down her cheek. The moisture landed on her full upper lip, but Emilie didn’t seem to notice.

  “What do you mean?” Nathan asked.

  Another tear, this one trickling through the smattering of freckles across her nose. “My mom, the way she treated me. That I left home when I was eighteen and haven’t spoken to her since. He knows.”

  A printed copy of the city’s rag blog stuck out of her bag. Nathan had read it over stale coffee this morning. Emilie’s history had been a sad surprise. Her mother’s cold indifference toward her daughter was easy to see in her malicious quotes.

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because of what I just remembered,” Emilie said. “Creepy talked about my wearing white and how only kids were innocent enough to wear white. Then he talked about protecting them and how there’s no worse sin than mistreating a child.”

  “And you think he was
referring to you?”

  Color rose in her cheeks. “Listen, you have no idea the kind of person my mother is and what she did. She resented me and spent most of her life pretending I didn’t exist.” Emilie’s tone changed. The vibrating sound of fear was replaced by a raw timbre of pain.

  “Is that why you left?” He knew he shouldn’t ask, but he couldn’t help himself. The cop in him wondered if her stalker was somehow tied to her past.

  She finally met his gaze. Surprise and then mortification flickered across her face. Emilie crossed her arms over her chest and twisted her body away from him.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she backtracked. “I found out enough to open my eyes and send me packing.”

  “And you think Creepy knew?” Nathan refused to use the stupid name the blogger created.

  “Isn’t that what he meant about mistreating a child?”

  “Maybe, but he could have been talking about himself too,” Nathan said. “Many people with psychoses had bad childhoods, and that’s what fuels their problems.” Or fuels them to do stupid things like offering themselves up as a hostage.

  “But I thought his voice sounded familiar.”

  “Really? Could it have been your ex?” Nathan’s instincts told him Evan Shaw had preyed on a vulnerable young girl. That kind of man could be capable of anything.

  “Evan?” Emilie’s eyebrows knitted together. “Hell no. He’s not smart enough to pull off an escape like that, and I would have recognized him in an instant.”

  “One of his friends?”

  “I suppose it could have been. But I doubt Evan shared my past with them. He wanted everyone to think he had the perfect little wife.”

  “Do you think,” Nathan began, fully expecting his question to be rebuffed, “that because of the information in the blog, you’re projecting? If you hadn’t read that post, would you still think the partner was talking about your family?”

  She stuck out her chin, obviously offended. “That post has no relevance to my thoughts.”

  They both knew that was a lie. But asking any more questions would only cause her to retreat further into her own mind.

  Nathan tried another tack. He didn’t want to lose her trust. “Well, you need to tell Avery what you remembered so he can look into that angle, but I have a feeling the partner was talking about himself.”

  “Avery.” A sneer flitted across her face. “He’s an asshole.”

  “You still need to tell him.” Part of him wanted to laugh, but he wondered what Avery had done to set Emilie off.

  A smile played at the corners of Emilie’s mouth. “I notice you didn’t deny he was an asshole.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Nathan couldn’t tell her how right she was. “Deal with Agent Ronson as much as you can. She’s very good.”

  Emilie leaned against the wall, some of the tension draining out of her shoulders. “You know her?”

  “SWAT worked a case with her a year ago.”

  “Avery said police couldn’t go into the tunnels very far. The police don’t know the tunnels that well. Is that true?”

  “Unfortunately. It would take days to search the entire system.”

  “But if he’s in there—”

  Nathan shook his head. “We’d end up going in circles.”

  “So he just sits back and laughs while the police chase their tails and I freak out. Is that it?” Emilie slumped back against the bench.

  “I’m sorry.” He hated not having anything good to tell her, especially after the blog. Avery would latch onto that and make Emilie’s life miserable, especially if she insulted his fragile ego.

  “Not your fault. If it weren’t for you, God knows where I would be.”

  “Right.” If Nathan had done his job, Emilie wouldn’t be here right now. “Let’s go find Ronson.”

  “She thinks there’s an insider helping him,” Emilie said as they approached the squad room. “Someone with knowledge of the bank.”

  “It’s very likely.”

  “But that’s dozens of people. How is she supposed to find the right one?”

  “By doing her job and narrowing down the suspect pool. Trust me; Ronson is one of the best.”

  The agent was nowhere to be seen, but Avery sat at his desk stuffing a candy bar into his mouth. He glared at Nathan as they approached. “What are you doing with my victim, Madigan? Your job ended last night.”

  “Lay off.” The sooner Nathan got away from Avery the better. “This isn’t the time or place for your issues. Emilie’s got something to tell you.”

  Avery’s eyes glazed over as Emilie spoke. “So? He could have been talking about his own childhood. Or just babbling. You’ve got nothing else?”

  “You said to tell you everything.” Emilie’s shaky tone from the hallway had been replaced by firm control and unconcealed annoyance.

  “By everything, I meant pertinent details from last night. I didn’t mean for you to waste my time playing detective. Let the big boys do the real work, please.”

  “Is there anyone more competent to work with Agent Ronson?” Emilie’s shrill voice made every head in the room turn in their direction. “Because it sure as hell seems like you’re either too busy or too stupid to be bothered.”

  “Excuse me?” Avery looked as stunned as Nathan felt.

  “You’re more interested in checking out my legs and insulting me than finding Creepy. I’m sick of it.”

  Nathan knew he should stop her, be professional, and diffuse the situation. He was good at that. But he just couldn’t muster the effort. Not for Dalton Avery.

  “Ms. Davis, I’m a law enforcement officer trying to solve your case.” The vein in Avery’s forehead bulged above his quivering lips. “The least you could do is have some respect.”

  “Then do something to earn it. You’ve insulted me, accused me of having an affair with my boss, and called me crazy. So I ask again, is there someone more competent to replace you, or can Ronson handle the case on her own?” Emilie’s eyes snapped with fire, and Nathan had to suppress a snort.

  Avery flushed crimson from the top button of his fancy dress shirt to the top of his receding hairline. “You…I have never…”

  Nathan swallowed his laughter. “I’m sure Detective Avery will do his best. You’ve got to be emotionally drained. Why don’t I walk you to your car?”

  Emilie crossed her arms and stared up at Avery. “I don’t want to talk to you again. If you have more questions for me, send Ronson.”

  “No problem.”

  Nathan followed as Emilie stomped out of the station. She clenched and unclenched her fists, her back rigid. She whirled on Nathan in the parking lot. “How in the hell did that man ever make detective?”

  He stepped back at the force of her anger. “He knows what he’s doing—”

  “Oh bullshit. You don’t have any respect for him, either. The animosity between the two of you is obvious.”

  “We don’t like each other, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think he can do his job.”

  “Don’t tell me a cop like you thinks that man is competent.” Emilie shaded her eyes. Her knuckles were bruised, and her fair skin looked even more delicate in the bright sun.

  “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

  “It matters to me. Do you think Avery has the ability to catch Creepy?”

  Nathan could have lied, but Emilie deserved better. The truth was the least he could offer. “Honestly? I’m not sure anyone has the ability to catch him.”

  “That’s great.” Emilie unlocked her car and groaned as the sweltering heat rolled out. She fished a pair of bronze-colored sunglasses out of her bag and slipped them on. “Well, look on the bright side, I guess. At least someone out there is interested in me, right? Not everyone can say she has her very own stalker.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “I suppose I should keep that information private if I ever get a date. Might turn the guy off to know creepy-stalker-man is watching.” Emilie pushed her hai
r off her face.

  “You never know.” Nathan smiled. “Some guys like that sort of thing.”

  “Right.” She looked back at the station. “Thanks for helping with my situation in there. I don’t know why that happened.”

  “You’ve been through something terrible. You should talk to someone.” He didn’t know if she’d been given any information for counseling, but she needed it. He wasn’t sure Emilie had fully dealt with what had happened to her yet—not that he could blame her. Processing takes time, especially when your attacker isn’t in jail.

  “Nathan, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I’m fine.” Her friendly tone was gone. She stepped away from him.

  “Counseling could help, especially with the guy still at large.” Nathan wasn’t going to give up easily. “Once you recover from the shock, the real mind games will start.”

  “Thank you again for everything.”

  Nathan took her extended hand. It was small and soft. “You’re welcome. Listen to the police. It’s the best way for you to stay safe.”

  “Take care.” She withdrew her hand.

  He grinned at her clear dismissal. “You too. Don’t forget what I said.”

  Emilie gave a curt nod and then hopped into her car. Nathan watched as she sped out of the parking lot, tires squealing.

  The drive home was a blur. Emilie just wanted sanctuary—to curl up with Otis and hide under the covers. She swerved in and out of traffic, cutting off cars and ignoring honking horns.

  Reality was too much to handle right now: her Creep, her mother’s nasty words, the embarrassing experience in the police station. And Nathan Madigan.

  He was too perceptive. Too kind. Emilie’s carefully constructed guard slipped in his presence, making her forget her rule of maintaining a safe distance.

  She’d babbled on about her mother. Why had she said so much? And then when he mentioned the paper, Emilie had wanted to crawl into a hole. But there had been no judgment on Nathan’s face, just genuine concern. Maybe he was a good guy.

  Didn’t matter. She would never see him again, and that was a good thing. Enough of her secrets had already been laid bare for the world to see.