“SLOAN, ARE YOU OKAY?” GARRETT stepped toward me.
The phone went dead. I tried to dial the Underground, but there was no signal.
“What is it?” Garrett’s gaze turned serious.
“I think something’s wrong. I swear I heard a scream before the line went dead.”
“Okay, let’s go.” Garrett didn’t hesitate.
“Maybe it was just the wind.” I tried once more to get service, holding my phone above my head and out in front of me.
“Exactly. Ross could be hurt.” Garrett went into emergency mode. He turned to Kat. “You stay here and try to get in touch with Chief Meyers, okay? Keep checking for service. Maybe go upstairs and see if there’s any better reception there.”
Kat scratched her head. “What should I tell her if I can get through?”
“Tell her that we’re at the Underground and to come or send help as soon as she can. It might be nothing, but we might need an ambulance if someone is really hurt over there.”
I twisted my scarf around my chin.
Garrett was already heading for the door with a flashlight in hand. He stopped and grabbed a coat. “Stick with me, Sloan,” he said, using his weight to push the front door open against the wind.
I could barely see across the street with the blowing snow. It wasn’t sticking yet, but rather swirling in gusty tornados.
“Careful,” Garrett cautioned, tightening his grip on my arm, and maneuvering around a ten-foot branch that blocked the patio entrance. “Watch your step.”
“I see it.” I let him help me as I stepped over the branch.
The wind pierced my eardrums.
“Maybe this is a bad idea,” Garrett called above the roar. “You should go back. I’ll go on my own.”
I shook my head. “No. It’s just across the street. I can make it.”
It was nearly impossible to stay upright. Each gust pushed my body to the side. I felt like I was moving through molasses.
“This is worse than a hurricane,” Garrett yelled.
“I know. We call this a storm in the Pacific Northwest.” I nearly slipped on a patch of snow.
“Careful.” Garrett caught me with his free arm.
We trudged on. Without any streetlights, our only visibility was the tiny beam from Garrett’s flashlight. It felt like we were moving through a tunnel of darkness.
Garrett stopped at the ramp that led to the Underground. The closed signs had blown away. “You sure you want to do this? I can go on my own. I don’t know what we might be walking into.”
I nodded. “I’m sure.”
He wrapped his hand over mine and placed it on the frozen railing. “Hold this tight. I’ll go behind you with the flashlight.”
“Okay.” I clutched the railing. Was this a stupid idea?
“You good, Sloan?”
I realized I hadn’t budged. “Yeah.” I took one step, then another. Maybe it wasn’t the brightest idea, but I didn’t want to leave Garrett alone. Ross or someone else could be hurt and unable to move. Or it could be nothing. Maybe the scream I’d heard had been the wind.
Another thought invaded my head. What if the scream I’d heard had nothing to do with the storm? What if the killer was here? I shuddered.
Garrett turned. “You good?”
“Good.” I gave him a thumbs-up. It wasn’t entirely true, but I wasn’t about to turn around now. And I was sure that as soon Kat got through to the chief, she would send help.
The descent down the ramp was precarious, but once we reached the bottom, we were shielded from the wind.
“Let me go in first, Sloan.” Garrett moved in front of me. He went to turn the doorknob, but the door swung open.
I swallowed my fear and followed him.
He scanned the bar with his flashlight. It danced off shiny bottles of liquor behind the bar. We tiptoed farther inside. The chairs and tables had been stacked. A section of drywall on the far wall had been cut out. The hole in the wall was covered with thick plastic. Tools were piled on the bar, and another large piece of plastic had been secured to a doorway that I assumed led to the kitchen. It looked as if Ross hadn’t lied about doing work.
A huge crash sounded.
I jumped.
“Ross? Is that you? It’s Garrett and Sloan. We’re here to help.”
Was it from the wind, or was someone inside the bar?
Adrenaline pulsed through my body.
“This way.” Garrett motioned, moving with intention toward the plastic barrier.
Another loud thud made me startle. It sounded like a pan or something heavy hitting the floor. There was definitely someone in the kitchen.
My mouth was completely dry. I could hear my pulse in my head.
Garrett held both hands low, signaling for me to stay behind him. “Something’s not right, Sloan. I don’t like this,” he said in a low whisper. “Stay close to me.”
He kept the flashlight on the floor. The floor was covered with photos of tourists toasting with pint glasses. The photos had been covered in multiple layers of lacquer, giving the surface a waxy finish.
Please hurry, Chief, I prayed internally as we stayed as quiet as possible.
What was Garrett thinking? Was he worried that we were in danger? Had he landed on the same thought as me? What if we were stuck in the dark with a killer?
When we made it to the door frame, Garrett made pantomime signs with his hands. I had no idea what he was trying to tell me.
He pointed to the floor and then to the plastic.
I realized he wanted me to lift it so that he could duck under it. I bent over and carefully lifted the corner of the plastic. Garrett went through and then waited for me to do the same.
We left a trail of dusty footprints.
The kitchen smelled of industrial cleaner. I pressed my fingers under my nose to try and block the chemical odor.
Garrett muffled a gag.
Ross had wiped the kitchen clean. I wondered if there was a reason.
We froze as a cupboard slammed.
“Who’s here?” a man’s voice called.
Garrett turned off the flashlight.
Another cupboard slammed. “Who’s in here? I’ve got a knife, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Was it Ross?
Garrett stuck out his right arm and felt along the countertop. Was he looking for something to use to defend himself? I did the same thing.
“Whoever is in here, better show yourself.” The man’s voice was getting closer.
I felt something wooden and picked it up. It was a rolling pin. Garrett held a skillet. I wasn’t sure how our weapons would stack up against a knife-wielding killer, but it was better than nothing.
“Get out!” the man shouted.
Garrett held his ground. He waited for another minute and then just as the man came close to us, he clicked on the flashlight and shined it in the man’s eyes.
It was a quick-thinking move. The light blinded our assailant. He reeled backward, shielding his face with the blade of his knife.
“Ross,” I said aloud. “It’s you?”