Into The Dark Part 22

She waved her iPhone at him. "Got my phone ready. Besides, I knew you were coming."

"And I could have easily been too late."

A hummingbird buzzed past and dived between the b.u.t.terflies to feast on the nectar. Emilie smiled as she watched the little bird. "Did you know that hummingbirds are the only birds that can fly backwards?"

"I actually didn't know any bird could fly backwards."

"Yep. When I was married, our house had a small backyard. No room for a dog, and Evan didn't want one anyway. So I started getting bird feeders. I got a lot of larks and purple martins, but the hummingbird was my favorite to watch. Busy little birds."

"Is everything all right?"

"Why do you ask?" Emilie tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Because you called me and asked to meet here."

"You said I could call."

He decided to follow her lead. Emilie's face was relaxed, but her tapping foot gave her anxiety away. "Nice toenails," Nathan said. They were painted a dark purple, and each big toe featured a yellow daisy. "That had to take a while."

"I didn't do it myself." She laughed. "And the pedicurists have patterns."

"Kelsi got a scorpion design once. She said it represented her love for the desert. Why the daisy?"

"They're my favorite."

"Very pretty."

"Your sister hypnotized me today. She's nice."

"She is. What made you change your mind?"

"I went into the bas.e.m.e.nt the other day. Don't ask me why. I was leaving, but somehow I ended up at the stairwell. The door's locked."

"Did you want to see the tunnel?"

"I don't know what I wanted." She continued to watch the hummingbird.

"What happened? Another flashback?"

"No. I got p.i.s.sed off."

"At who?"

"The Taker. The cops for not being able to find him. Myself for being so d.a.m.ned weak."

"You're not weak." Nathan rested his arm on the back of the bench. He wanted to wrap it around her.

"I have been. Ever since I found out what my mother did, I've hidden away from anything scary or challenging. I didn't want to face the truth. I'd just ignore it and move on."

"You've been through a lot. You can't blame yourself."

"I don't. Not for what the Taker's doing. But I blame myself for not facing Claire and for taking sixteen years to admit the kind of person Evan really is. I blame myself for shutting out everyone who cares about me." Emilie s.h.i.+fted, and her leg brushed against Nathan's. He didn't move.

"What happened today?"

"I remembered the Taker being at Bauman's after we met at the gallery. I was looking at a book of William Blake's work. That's how the Taker knew about the poem."

"Good information for Ronson."

"I'm sure you're wondering exactly why I asked you to meet me."

"Yes, but I'm glad you did."

"Good." Emilie's lips twitched into a smile. "I really hope you don't think I'm crazy."

"I've seen your 'crazy' in action, remember?" Nathan teased. "I can handle it."

"I hope so, because I need your help."

"With what?"

She hugged her knees to her chest. "I can't sit around anymore. I need to do something."

"Like what?"

"I want to look for the Taker."

Chapter Twenty.

Emilie stomped up the steps to the Las Vegas library. Her hair stuck to the back of her neck and moisture pooled on her upper lip.

Stupid heat.

She was still smarting from Nathan's refusal to help her.

He'd sat on the park bench beside her, listening as she laid out her plan. And then crushed it. "You're a civilian. It's not safe for you to run around town. If the Taker's following you, he'll figure out what you're up to pretty quickly. Then he's going to be p.i.s.sed."

"I can't do 'nothing' anymore."

"You're remembering things that are helpful, Emilie. That's not doing 'nothing.'"

Sitting around on her b.u.t.t all day having her mind probed wasn't her idea of helping. She yanked the library door open and sucked in a breath of cool air. She'd just have to investigate on her own.

She had chosen the downtown branch as her first stop because it housed local history. She wandered through the tables feeling stifled. Libraries always gave her the creeps. They were too quiet, too structured. People sat at their study tables waiting for you to talk too loudly.

A gray-haired woman sat at the information desk working on a computer. She looked over her gla.s.ses at the screen, her upper lip raised and her eyes narrowed. This should be fun.

"Excuse me."

"Can I help you?" The woman didn't look up.

"I'm doing some research about the storm drain system. Could you help me?"

'Cranky librarian lady' rose from her chair with a sigh. "Follow me."

She led Emilie to an imposing section of binders and doc.u.ments. "All city information is here." The librarian pulled an overstuffed binder off the shelf. "This has maps, engineering doc.u.ments, city hall records."

Emilie sat down at a table and started leafing through the binder. "Do you have anything more specific to the storm drains?"

No one answered. The librarian had already gone back to her computer.

"Christ."

She pulled out a confusing looking flood map. Every tunnel of the city's extensive storm drain system was coded, but she couldn't make sense of it. Where were the entrances? How did she figure out what building a tunnel ran under?

"This is a waste of time."

Emilie heaved the binder back to the reference desk. "This isn't what I need. Do you have any kind of history on the storm drains? Or a map that's easier to understand?"

"The flood map is in the binder."

"It's like reading Greek."

"Maybe I can help you." A wrinkled hand patted Emilie's arm. "The storm drains again? Are you working on the project for the historical society too?"

"No, personal research." She glanced at the second librarian's nametag. "Rich.e.l.le. Can you help me make sense of this?"

"I can try." Rich.e.l.le pulled a pair of gla.s.ses out of her pocket. "Let's see, everything eventually ends up in the Las Vegas Wash."

"Where are the main entrances?"

"Entrances? Well, they're all over. There's one here," she pointed to a jumble of code. "Off I-15. It's pretty big."

"This is going to sound weird, but are there any old maps? Maybe some that have hidden entrances, or entrances that aren't used anymore?"

"You're the second person to ask me that. The man from the historical society asked the same thing."

The hair on Emilie's arms stood up. "When was this?"

"Three months ago, maybe. He was working on a project."

"Do you remember much about him?" Emilie's mouth had gone dry.

"You know, I do. He was strange."

"How so?"

"Oh, he started off charming at first. Chatted at me like we were old friends. Was interested in the history of the city. I told him the stories I'd heard about the storm drains being built over the old bootlegging system the mob used during Prohibition. My granddad always bragged about running with the mob. Had all kinds of stories like that."

"And this man was interested in the stories?"

"Oh, yes," Rich.e.l.le said. "In fact, when I told him I had a hand-drawn map of my granddad's, he insisted on purchasing it from me. His whole att.i.tude changed when I declined. He went from smooth-talker to angry southerner in seconds."

"Angry southerner?" Emilie's voice rose. 'Cranky librarian lady' shushed her.

"He was covering up his accent. Can you believe that? One minute he sounds like a polished businessman and the next he's knee deep in southern-speak."

She sucked in a ragged breath. "What did he look like?"

"Tall, fairly thin. Well-dressed, a neatly trimmed beard. Lovely olive-colored skin and dark eyes."

"Can you remember anything else about him?"

The old librarian rubbed a gnarled finger over her bottom lip. "No. He left when I threatened to call security."

"He was with the historical society?"

"That's what he said."

Emilie shut the binder. "I don't suppose you'd consider selling that map to me."

"I'm sorry," Rich.e.l.le said. "It's all I've got of my granddad's. But it's just a series of chicken scratches that would only make sense to someone familiar with the system."

It had been worth a try. At least Emilie knew the Taker had been searching for a tunnel entrance months before he tried to abduct her. And he had a southern accent. "Thank you." Emilie headed for the exit, her head spinning.

The back of her neck began to tingle. A s.h.i.+ver ran up her spine. She had the same smothering sense of being watched she'd had at the bank on her first day back. Had the Taker followed her here?

Emilie dug in her bag for her cellphone and keys. It was broad daylight. She'd take the most populated path out of the library and go straight to her car. Her cellphone would be in her hand ready to call 911. The Taker wouldn't dare come after her right now.

She gasped at the burst of sweltering air. Her face was damp before she'd taken five steps. Her shoes slapped against the pavement as she rushed to the car.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Emilie's heart stuttered and then began to race. She had to keep it together. This was a public library.

She quickened her pace. The footsteps accelerated.

Her fingers locked around the cellphone. Her car was in sight. She punched the 'unlock' b.u.t.ton on her key.

The person behind her was close. She could hear him breathing.

She forced her fingers to move.