Into the Devil's Underground
Read Into the Devil's Underground Online
Authors: Stacy Green
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Thrillers, #Crime Fiction, #Hard-Boiled, #Crime, #Fiction, #Mystery, #Thriller & Suspense, #Kidnapping
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:
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!”
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
Praise for Into the Devil’s Underground
Coming Soon: The Lucy Kendall Series
1
T
WO 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!”
* * * *
N
ATHAN
M
ADIGAN 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. “What’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.
* * * *
S
WEAT 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.
