Read Online Into the Devil's Underground by Stacy Green - Free Book Online Page B

you didn’t know?” Nathan asked. “You heard any stories about a guy sneaking around here, up to no good?”
    “People come and go all the time. Lot of ‘em are up to something. I don’t make it my business to find out what.”
    “Keep your eye out, will you?” Johnson asked. “You see anyone new, anyone running scared, call it in.”
    “One more thing,” Nathan said. “You know anything about the devil’s underground?”
    “You’re in it,” Blaze said. “Least, that’s what some people call the tunnels.”
    “Why?” Chris asked.
    “It kind of fits, don’t it? I don’t know who started it, but somewhere underneath the Bellagio is a mural with hell’s gates and hopeless souls. Devil’s underground is painted on top of it. Guess the name stuck. Got a bunch of writing with it, but I don’t remember what it is.” Blaze tossed the empty plastic bottle into the water. “Thanks for the drink.” He disappeared back into the tunnel.
    Devil’s underground. It did make sense. After all, Vegas was known as Sin City, full of glitz and glamour and secrets. Below the bright lights stretched a frightening type of purgatory.
    “Look around.” Johnson waved his light across the channel. “On the off chance the perp came through here, maybe he left something.”
    The search of the drains continued past four a.m. but turned up empty. Nathan wasn’t surprised. The partner was too smart.
    “I’m burning these clothes.” Nathan tossed the Kevlar vest into the truck.
    “God, yes.” Chris kicked a vest out of the way and sat down. “Then taking a shower in bleach.”
    “Time for you to get to UMC and get that arm taken care of,” Johnson ordered.
    Nathan hated hospitals. Their sterile walls contained too much pain and sorrow, and the unhappiness caused a surge of memories he’d rather bury. Still, he couldn’t put off his injury any longer. Last thing he needed was muscle damage.
    “A patrol officer told me once he’d heard rumors of a troll in the tunnels.” Chris glanced back over his shoulder as they climbed into the SWAT truck. “After being inside that fifth circle of hell, wouldn’t surprise me.”
    “You’re an idiot.”
    “I hope they put that woman under some kind of protective custody.” Chris unloaded his Glock and shoved the clip into the pocket of his fatigues.
    The heavy weight of blame kept Nathan silent. He’d suspected the partner had a separate agenda. He should have moved more quickly, should have stopped Emilie and the partner before they hit the stairs.
    The advice his sister had been giving him for years played in his mind. “You can’t take on the world just because you feel guilty about the past.”
    Still, he should have figured out the partner’s intentions sooner. If he had, Emilie would be sleeping peacefully tonight instead of looking over her shoulder in constant fear.
    *   *   *   *
    T HE ROOM WAS like every other hospital room she’d been in: white, sterile, and freezing. Emilie sat on the standard-issue bed trying not to touch the cold plastic sides while the flash of the police photographer’s camera attempted to blind her. He’d taken so many pictures she’d lost count—pictures of the bruises on her face and shoulder, the scrapes on her arm and knee—even her broken fingernails.
    “Do you have enough yet? Surely a hundred and nine will suffice.”
    The photographer ceased his repetitive clicking and cocked his head. “You’ve been counting?”
    “Never mind.”
    “We just have a few more questions,” said FBI Agent Sia Ronson. Emilie already liked her better than Avery. Her classic gray suit was nice but not flashy, her voice calm and reassuring. Avery had bristled when the agent entered, but she’d smoothly convinced him he needed to deal with the press while she interviewed Emilie.
    “Tell me about the lilies and poem.” Ronson sat in a chair next to the bed, her expression neutral, but keen awareness in her dark eyes.
    “Casablanca