A tear rolled down her cheek and splashed onto her shoe. "It's not over."

Chapter Four.

An icy knot had formed in Emilie's stomach and sucked all the warmth into its core leaving her frozen and numb.

Nathan Madigan knelt in front of her. His striking blue eyes and sculpted cheekbones belonged on a magazine cover. "Are you okay?"

Was she okay? Covered in sticky, dried sweat, she was sitting on a discarded office chair in a dirty bas.e.m.e.nt room. A crazy man had just tried to drag her into a d.a.m.ned hole underneath the bank. She definitely was not okay.

"He said he was here for me."

"I'm sorry. I never dreamed there was an escape route."

A dry, hollow laugh made her already sore ribs hurt even more. "Why would you? You're not some madman who apparently moonlights as a dirt-burrowing mole."

"Ms. Davis?" An expensive leather shoe tapped against the concrete floor.

Emilie glanced up at the detective. His suit was tailored to fit his narrow shoulders, and his blue-striped, silk tie was a perfect complement to the pale yellow dress shirt he wore. His pink scalp glistened with perspiration under his thinning hair. He looked out of place in the dank room.

"Detective Dalton Avery." Avery cast a seething glance at Nathan. The negotiator's sympathetic expression flashed to one of intense loathing.

"Ms. Davis, did the partner say anything else?" Avery continued.

Another SWAT officer appeared. "Metro wants us to help search."

"Right behind you." Nathan rose to his feet. He was tall and broad shouldered, and the black SWAT uniform made him slightly intimidating. "Take care, all right?"

"If it weren't for you, I'd have lost it in there," Emilie said. "Thank you."

"Don't sell yourself short." He wiped the moisture off his face with the back of his muscled forearm. "You helped keep everyone alive."

Emilie looked across the room where the door now rested against the wall. The hidden pa.s.sageway emitted an eerie glow as police moved between the earthen walls.

"Where does it go?"

Even if the tunnel connected to the building next door, police had the area surrounded, so how did Creepy Guy intend to escape? Perhaps her mole a.n.a.logy wasn't far off-maybe the man was still underground, dodging the cops in some sort of dugout maze.

"You should probably focus on answering Detective Avery's-"

"Nathan." Emilie cut in. "I deserve to know, and I'd like to hear it from you."

Emilie's skin warmed as Nathan's eyes searched hers. "Please."

"The hole goes to a room with a distilling machine." His gentle tone reminded Emilie of a compa.s.sionate doctor. "There's a second tunnel. It leads to a sewer pipe."

"A sewer pipe? So there must be a manhole nearby, right?"

"Probably. But it looks like this pipe was re-used when the storm drains were built in the nineties."

Dizziness swept over Emilie. "He was going to take me into the tunnels?"

"Nate." The shout came from above. "Truck's loaded and waiting."

"Don't think about the tunnels. Just tell Detective Avery everything you remember."

He offered her one last smile before retreating up the stairs, the sound of his heavy boots rumbling through the hallway.

Everything she could remember. Right. All she could think about was the cavernous hole less than twenty feet away.

Avery cleared his throat, his skinny face scrunched in frustration. "As I've already asked, did the partner say anything else?"

"Which time?" A stinging jab of pain tore through Emilie's shoulder. She must have fallen on it when Creepy hit her.

"The partner said he'd come for you. Did you have any idea he was stalking you?"

"No. But this morning, I got flowers. I thought they were a mistake. Casablanca lilies with a William Blake poem attached. Blake is my favorite poet. Creepy told me he sent them."

"How many people knew you liked Blake's poetry?"

"No one."

"Did you ever get a good look at the man who tried to kidnap you?"

"No." Emilie shoved her damp hair off her face, cringing as her fingers grazed her sore cheek. "He kept his mask on. I just saw a few glimpses of skin."

"Any idea of his ethnicity?"

"Maybe Mediterranean."

"Surveillance wasn't able to get a good visual. Can you describe him?"

"Tall and lanky. Clothes were dark and looked new, not like Joe. That guy looked and smelled filthy, but the partner smelled clean, like fabric softener."

"What about his voice? Anything unique?"

"Pretty sure he was disguising it. Sounded too controlled." Adrenaline rushed through Emilie. "That's right. When he first spoke, I could have sworn I recognized his voice."

Avery scribbled in his notebook. "What happened in the bas.e.m.e.nt?"

"I fought to get away. We struggled. He...uh..." She surveyed Avery's pristine appearance and refined mannerisms. He looked more like an accountant than a cop. "He was excited."

"Did he tell you that?"

"He didn't have to."

"Oh. Good to know. Let's get back to the bas.e.m.e.nt itself. What's the first thing you noticed aside from the...err... excitement?"

"The smell. I figured the cardboard boxes stored down there must have gotten wet and moldy. I tried to get away and then I heard noise from upstairs. Was someone shot?"

"A SWAT officer was taken to the hospital." Avery squinted as sweat ran down into his eye. He dabbed his face with a delicate, white handkerchief. "I'm sure he'll be fine. Continue, please."

"I kept fighting." Emilie closed her eyes. Her skin burned as she remembered the feel of Creepy Guy's hands, his body pressing her to the floor, his erection rigid against her back. "He didn't understand, like he expected me to go willingly. Kept saying we were meant to be. I finally nailed him in the crotch. He said something about having it my way, for now. Next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor alone."

"Can you think of anyone who would want to harm you? Ex-husband, ex-boyfriend, someone with a grudge?"

"No." Emilie's upper lip curled at the reminder of Evan. As if that good-for-nothing b.a.s.t.a.r.d had any reason to hold a grudge. "My ex-husband moved to California with his girlfriend two years ago."

"What about your family? Are they well-off?"

"What?" A new kind of fear shot through her.

"A kidnapping is usually motivated by money. If your family-"

"I haven't had any contact with my family since I was eighteen. They are well-off, but that doesn't matter. They wouldn't be interested in a ransom."

"Sixteen years? We'll need their names and addresses."

Emilie had no idea where her parents lived any more. Knowing Claire, she'd managed to wrangle an even bigger home out of her husband in a more elite neighborhood.

"Claire Davis is my mother." Saying the words made her already-tight chest ache even more. "She's married to Sam Davis. He's a criminal attorney. They live in Portland. At least they did when I left."

"He's your stepfather?"

"Yes."

"What about your biological father?"

"Never a factor in my life."

"I'll still need his name," Avery said.

"Why? There's no way-"

"We have to eliminate suspects, Ms. Davis. Your father's name?"

"Mark Chambers. No idea where he lives."

"We'll interview all of them as soon as possible."

Like h.e.l.l they would. Emilie heaved herself to her feet, clutching the chair for support. Her right heel had snapped during the struggle down the stairs, and the remaining one wobbled dangerously. She grabbed the sleeve of Avery's fancy suit. "Please don't contact my parents."

"It's protocol." Avery detached her soiled fingers and dusted off the sleeve of his suit.

"I don't want them involved," Emilie shouted. She swayed unsteadily. "Especially my mother. Please."

"We have to talk to everyone to make sure money wasn't a motivating factor and to rule them out as suspects. You won't need to have any contact with her."

"Do not give them my personal information." Her loud voice ricocheted off the walls. "I don't want to speak to any of them."

"We'll protect your privacy. Right now, we need your clothes."

"Excuse me?"

"You had direct physical contact with the suspect. The forensics lab needs to process your clothes for hair and fiber evidence. We'll continue our interview at the hospital."

"Now?"

"Yes, now." He averted his eyes. "I'll do my best to find something for you to wear."

"That won't be necessary. I keep a change of clothes in my office."

Avery motioned to a woman in the hall. "Our tech will collect your clothes."

Upstairs, markers littered the hallway denoting bullet holes and sh.e.l.l casings from the partner's gun. Fingerprint dust covered everything as technicians combed the lobby. Emilie thought the whole process looked far more glamorous on television.

In the privacy of her office, she closed the blinds and pulled her spare set of clothes out of her oversized bottom drawer. She didn't have any extra shoes.

The tech knocked on the door. "I've got an evidence bag for your things."

Emilie quickly changed and handed the tech her work clothes.

"That should do it." The tech sealed the evidence bag. "Do you need any help getting dressed?"

"No, thank you." Pain radiated throughout her body as she slipped the white, cotton T-shirt over her head. The hospital had better give her some good painkillers.

"I'll tell Detective Avery you're ready." The tech disappeared.

Reality began to sink in. This couldn't have been about money. Her stepfather was loaded, but anyone looking to suck funds out of him would go after Claire, not her long-absent daughter. What did Creepy Guy want with her?

A loud rap on the door sent Emilie scrambling to her feet.

Avery and a stocky paramedic led Emilie to the bank's east doors. "We tried to keep the press away from the ambulance, but they adapt like c.o.c.kroaches," Avery said. "I'll stay in front of you."

Emilie shielded her eyes from the blinding flashbulbs. The voracious mob of reporters closed in shouting question after question. Queasiness struck, and then vertigo. Her mother would know soon.

"I'll see you at the hospital." Avery closed the ambulance doors, shutting out the obnoxious noise.

Wonderful. Hospitals meant records. That meant everyone knowing about her last stay.

"Still feeling the same?" The paramedic softly probed her face, checking for fractures. "No new pain, nausea, lightheadedness?"