Page 66 of Fighting for Valor
There! Up high on the wall, there’s a vent I think I can fit into. The cover’s gone, and cobwebs stretch across the space. Another angled pipe runs from the ceiling to a few feet below the vent, and if I can get up there, I might be able to pull myself into the ductwork.
Sliding the phone into my pocket, I put one foot on the pipe. My stomach lurches, but I force myself to take a slow, deep breath, and step up.
Another breath, and I reach up, sliding both arms, my head, and shoulders into the duct. It stinks like a dead animal—even more than the room below, but I can stand it if it leads me to safety.
Using the last remaining strength in my legs, I jump and wriggle forward. I want to cry when I feel my feet slip over the edge, and I start to slide on my stomach, only a couple of inches at a time, until I come to a bend.
This is harder. Contorting my body around the ninety degree angle leaves me panting, and I have to stop for a minute or I’ll pass out. As I lie there panting, one thought pings in my head. Parr called Ryker. How many Seattle numbers would there be in his call log?
I can’t reach the phone in this tight space, but if I can get out of the ducts, maybe I can find out.
Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, I find another room, this one smaller than the one they kept me in, with a broken window that looks out over water. Lights from the city provide the only illumination, but it’s enough to tell me I can get out. I just don’t know how high up I am.
Carefully, I lower myself down, but fall the last few feet. I’m not far enough away. Jessup and Parr could have heard me. This might be my last chance. Running for the window, I climb over the sill and fall onto a corrugated metal roof five feet below.
A door bangs several rooms away, and I pull out the phone.
Eight-seven-two-one-three-seven-nine.
Thank God my broken brain remembers something. There’s only one Seattle number. “Please…” I whisper as I tap it and start to creep along the roof, hoping to find somewhere I can hide where they won’t find me.
“McCabe.”
“Help me,” I whisper, but before I can say anything else, I hear Jessup. Too close.
“Find her! What the fuck were you thinking leaving your phone where she could get a hold of it?”
“Caroline? Cara?” Ryker asks. “Where are you?”
“There’s evidence. In my email,” I gasp as I stumble along the roof. I rattle off my email address and my password, but then my foot lands wrong on the uneven metal, and I go down, hard. The phone slips from my grasp and tumbles off the edge and onto a grassy slope that leads down to the water.
“No. God, no.” I can’t go after it. I’m more than twenty feet up. Instead, I crawl, as quickly as I can, until I see a long, sloped greenish pipe that looks like it angles almost down to the ground. It’s at least ten feet across, fifty feet long, with huge, curved ventilation shafts at the end that look out over the water. The only problem? It’s a ten foot drop to the pipe.
“Find her!”
The voice is too close, too angry, and if I don’t move now, I might not get another chance. Saying a quick prayer, I squeeze my eyes shut and call up Ripper’s face in my mind.
“Find me, soldier. Please.”
And then I jump.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ripper
“Grab your tech and let’s go,” West says as he hefts two large bags, one for each shoulder. His Hawaiian shirt is gone, replaced with a full complement of tactical gear.
I shoot him a look of disbelief. There’s less than two hours left until Jessup and Parr are going to kill Cara, and I’m still more than twenty million dollars short. Each transaction is taking me twice as long as it should because I won’t let them keep a cent of the money in the end. Not if Ry can find them and get to Cara. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Suit yourself.” He cracks a half-smile. “Just thought you might want to be there when we take down those fuckers and save your girl.”
I’m out of my seat, the laptop tucked under my arm, in half a second and racing after him as he heads for the back of the warehouse. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Apparently, she got a hold of Parr’s phone and found Ry’s number. They’re on Harbor Island. Ten minutes away.” West bursts through the rear door of the warehouse and out into a parking lot, where he heads for a black van. “Get in the back and gear up. If the dog’s coming, he better damn sure stay quiet.”
I didn’t even notice Charlie at my side, but the German Shephard is in the van before I am. “I don’t have any gear.”
As the engine rumbles to life, West turns from the driver’s seat with an amused grin. “What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing for the past five hours? Everything you need is in that go bag.”
