Amanda

 

 

There is baggage, and there is baggage. The “urban explorer” who can make me tingle with a smile is actually a jewel thief with an ex-partner trying to kill him. I still want him, which is ridiculous. But most of what I want right this second is to survive this—and get real answers.

 

Right now, we’re descending into the dark together. The dumbwaiter is slow and the smell of turned earth is wafting up to us from the basement draft below. His arms wrap around me protectively, and his sleekly muscled body moves slightly against me as he breathes.

 

I’m freezing from the terror and from the chill coming at my body from every direction. But he’s like a furnace against me, even through the leather. I cling to him, when in any other situation I would be pushing him away—and maybe punching him. His desire to get me out of this seems sincere, but I’m so sick of men lying to me.

 

Priorities. I can’t let myself get too upset, can’t let myself panic. Unsinkable, I remind myself—and feel like I’m going to start sobbing.

 

That’s when he starts stroking my hair. Our slow ride into the bowels of the hospital is very quiet, punctuated only by the slow creak of the dumbwaiter ropes and the heavy thud and splintering sounds of the autopsy room door slowly giving way. “Take it easy,” he murmurs in my ear. “You know this place like the back of your hand, remember? They’ll get lost looking for us.”

 

That eases some of my panic, but not all. “Tell me what is going on,” I demand in a low voice.

 

He sighs. “I guess I can’t expect you to trust me if I don’t start trusting you.”

 

“Just...go on, all right?” I’m shaking again, and his grip on me tightens. He hesitates for a few moments, and then starts talking.

 

“I was a street kid coming up. Well, I had parents technically, but they pretty much only cared about drinking and not much about looking after me. I stole to survive, ended up in juvie for it, and then I turned eighteen and aged out. I had already decided to go join the Army, so I did that for four years.”

 

The military background explains both his build and his relative ease in this crazy situation. It also makes him seem a little less like a lying punk, but...soldiers aren’t universally heroes. “Go on.”

 

“I got together with some guys from the old neighborhood in a bar one night and they were all miserable. There were no jobs, one of them had a wife with a baby on the way while the family was about to be evicted...and I started to get really angry.” He sighs in my ear, and the warmth of his breath along with the warmth of his body sends an unexpected jolt through me.

 

“I didn’t mean to drag you into all this. But here's what happened. The guys and I became jewel thieves. We’re really good at it. Zero casualties. But then Max decided that he wants to take over, and set me up by planting a gun somewhere where it would be connected to me.”

 

He smells so good—leather and sweat, and a faint smell of beer on the back of his breath. And even though I'm still processing that this friendly, flirty hunk is a criminal, his scent affects me as much as his warmth. I’m not happy that I feel this comfortable and aroused in his arms with everything going on—I should be thinking about how to get us out of here, not melting into this stranger.

 

I should want to hit him. Instead I just say, “You make this mess go away, and I’ll see if I’m willing to let you make it up to me.”

 

He breathes in my ear, “How does a million dollars cash sound?”

 

What? Whoa. Now he’s not just a hot guy with a sad story and a winning personality cuddling me and promising to keep me safe—he’s also offering to make me rich. But I’m skeptical—of course. “You trying to buy my silence?”

 

“I’m planning to compensate you for fucking up your Halloween show.” A brief pause, and he concedes, “And I’m buying your silence. I was serious when I told Max I’m getting out of the game.”

 

I take a deep breath, relaxing a little more. “I’ll think about it. So why were you here anyway, and how did they know you would be here? This place doesn’t have anything worth stealing.”

 

“There’s a stash of diamonds here from a job I did over a year ago. It’s worth at least two million. I was alone when I went in to hide it, so I’m the only one who knows where this stash is. I was trying to retrieve it when I ran into you. It’s in the room where you were filming.”

 

Suddenly it all makes sense. “Plenty of places to hide a body in here,” I mumble. “That’s what Max must have thought when he followed you in.”

 

It’s so ironic that it makes me sick. The ghosts here have startled me, frustrated me, demanded hours of work for a single whisper—but I have never been afraid of them like I am of this Max guy. “You’re right, though. We can lose them down here.”

 

I say it aloud as much to comfort myself as anything else. But it’s right then—as I’m starting to feel a tiny bit of hope—that a terrible crash sounds from near the top of the dumbwaiter shaft.

 

I stifle a cry of horror against his chest. “Shhh,” he warns, and I do my best, cramming my hand against my mouth.

 

“Where the fuck did they go?” Max’s voice echoes down the shaft at us as they walk into the room, and I pray we reach the bottom before they discover the dumbwaiter.

 

“You sure they’re not hiding in here?”

 

I freeze. That voice isn’t Oscar’s—it's Chad’s. Shaky with apprehension, and almost wheedling.

 

“It’s either that or they found a way out of the room. You two search, I’ll cover you.” Max’s voice is steely, and I hear the rolling sounds and bangs of the morgue drawers being opened.

 

“Oh God, man, it stinks,” Oscar grumbles.

 

Chad joins in with, “This looks like dried blood in here!”

 

“Shut up!” Max growls. “And as for you, keep your mouth shut and keep working. Remember, you only get to live until you stop being useful.”

 

“Sounds like they’ve got your ex hostage,” Drake whispers, and I nod slightly.

 

“That means they’ll have a guide. A piss poor one, but still. They’re less likely to get lost.” I hate admitting it.

 

“You guys hear something squeaking?” Oscar queries, and my blood starts running cold again. The dumbwaiter rope.

 

“Find the source of that sound!” Max snaps, and Drake and I both stiffen. I feel his heart start beating fast.

 

“Listen very carefully,” his deep, smooth voice murmurs in my ear. “The moment this thing stops you jump the hell out. Get clear of it. I’ll help you. It may be a bumpy ride, but we need to get out of here.”

 

I don’t question it. I just roll over, needing his help because the damn backpack is making me clumsy, and brace my feet against the back wall of the dumbwaiter.

 

A moment later, the dumbwaiter door slams open from above. “What the fuck?” Oscar mumbles. We both freeze. Then, after a long pause, “It’s a little elevator thing! It’s going down!”

 

“Fuck,” Drake breathes, and I swallow and try not to start crying.

 

“Get out of my way!” Max snarls, and I hear a struggle.

 

“No, wait, what are you gonna do?” Oscar cries, getting increasingly upset about the decision to kill us.

 

“I said move!”

 

The dumbwaiter shudders to a stop at the bottom. Drake shoves the door open at once and launches us out into darkness. Panic jolts my scream loose as a gun starts going off at the top of the dumbwaiter shaft.

 

Oscar and Chad are both yelling as the gun bangs again and again. We hit a dirt pile and Drake rolls us over, shielding me with his body. The dumbwaiter splinters, the rope snaps, and I hear the heavy thud of the counterweight hitting the ground from high above.

 

The yelling continues as the gunshots end. “Oh fuck!” Chad is yelling. “Oh fuck Jesus Christ man you didn’t have to kill her!”

 

“Yeah we did. Now shut up and make the damn elevator thing come back up, I want to make sure that they’re dead.” Max sounds pleased with himself.

 

“Uh, I can’t, dude. You shot the whole thing to Hell.” Chad sounds terrified. I almost feel sorry for him. He’s a childish prick, but he doesn’t deserve this.

 

“Fuck. Fine. Then we go down and make sure.” Footsteps walk away from the dumbwaiter shaft.

 

As soon as I catch my breath, I whisper, “We have to get out of here.”

 

Drake rolls over and grunts in pain. “Damn it.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“It’s my ankle. I think I’ve been hit.” He sounds almost apologetic, even though he just got injured saving us both.

 

“Shit, okay, let’s check.” I hastily dig out my flashlight from my vest pocket and turn it on.

 

The dirt that padded our fall is a pile excavated from the mass grave, which we’re just feet away from. The pit almost takes up the entire room; a huge gouge in the dirt floor of what was once a vast storeroom. The beam illuminates the spindly old wooden staircase that clambers down the wall from the main basement high above; the lower part is covered in old tarps and lets out practically at our feet.

 

I shine the light down Drake’s outstretched legs and see a gouge in the leather of his boot. No blood, thank God. “I’m not sure but the leather might have done its job for you.”

 

He takes the flashlight and checks—and lets out a sigh. “Yeah, it didn’t go through the boot. Must have winged me. I’ll have a hell of a bruise, and this is going to slow me down.”

 

The urge to panic wells up inside me like icy water—but I lift my chin and look at him firmly as I get to my feet. “Then we find a place to hide.”