Chapter 7 - The Locked Room
The old warehouse off Route 10 loomed out of the darkness like a concrete monolith, its broken windows staring down at us like hollow eye sockets.
The rain had started again, a light, freezing drizzle that slicked the asphalt and turned our breath into white plumes of smoke.
My car idled fifty yards down the access road, hidden behind a clump of overgrown pine trees. In the passenger seat, Christopher checked the slide of his Glock, clicking the magazine into place with a crisp, metallic snap before sliding it into his holster.
"Federal backup is ten minutes out," Christopher reminded me for the third time. "We wait for them, Jamie. That is the deal."
"Ten minutes is a lifetime if Vaughn decides to burn the place down with Melissa inside," I said, stepping out into the cold rain.
We crept through a side rusted door that hung half off its hinges. The interior smelled of damp concrete, rust, and old motor oil. Shadows stretched across the cavernous floor like grasping fingers as our flashlights cut through the gloom.
We followed a narrow metal staircase down into the basement sublevel.
At the end of a long concrete corridor, a heavy steel door stood slightly ajar, a sliver of yellow light spilling out onto the floor.
I motioned for Christopher to stay to the left of the frame while I crept forward, my heart hammering against my ribs so loudly I was certain anyone inside could hear it.
I peered through the crack.
The room was furnished like a makeshift office—leather chairs, a steel desk, and monitors glowing against the back wall.
Melissa was sitting in a chair near the desk, her hands bound loosely behind her back with plastic zip-ties, her hair disheveled and her eyes red-rimmed. Standing over her with a glass of scotch in his hand was Dr. Adrian Vaughn. He looked every bit the polished, arrogant surgeon, right down to the gold signet ring gleaming on his right hand under the fluorescent lights.
"You shouldn't have kept the copies, Melissa," Vaughn said smoothly, taking a sip of his drink. "Greed is an ugly trait, especially in someone who was merely hired to keep the books clean."
"I want out, Adrian," Melissa sobbed, her voice cracking. "You hit my daughter. You bloody near killed her!"
"I tapped her because she was in the way," Vaughn snapped, his polished facade cracking for a split second to reveal the cold, calculating psychopath underneath. "And if your husband doesn't show up with that flash drive in the next five minutes, you won't have to worry about your daughter anymore—because you won't be around to see her grow up."
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I didn't wait another second.
I kicked the steel door hard with the heel of my boot. It slammed open against the concrete wall with a deafening crash that echoed through the basement.
