"Your skill in the dark is truly a gift," she observed. Standing by his side, she smiled again. This time, the humor reached her eyes. "If we both get out of this alive, perhaps you can show me more."
His mind already distracted by the hunt, he ignored the sexual innuendo in her voice.
"Just show me what you got, lady. Lead the way."
"Now remember, Father, stick close to me and keep your hand on my shoulder so I know where you are. It's going to be as dark out there as it is in here. I don't want to lose you."
"I'll remember, yes." His nerves were fraying. She heard it in his voice. For his sake, she fortified her own.
"If we get separated, just find a hole and hide until I find you." Raven held the man's shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze. Unable to see his face, she relied on her hands to convey the message. "Once we get out of this room, no talking. It'll only make us a target."
"I understand, Detective." The priest's voice quivered.
She spoke with authority, more for his benefit. In reality, she knew the odds weren't good. A sucker's bet.
"And keep praying, Father. Silently. We're gonna need it."
The creak of the door heralded the start of the game for McBride. But for her and Father Antonio, it would be a fight for their lives.
Once she got into the corridor, she stopped to reconnoiter, waving a hand in front of her face. She couldn't see a thing. The staleness of the air stifled her breath. But any chance for freedom lay ahead. She had no choice but to move.
One hand along the wall, she felt for direction, then extended her other arm in front like a buffer. It would be slow going. She tried to visually recall the length of the corridor, to give it substance in her mind. Without a notion of up or down, vertigo played havoc with her senses, her equilibrium short-circuiting.
And with every step, the grip of the priest tightened. The man expected to be attacked at any time. And she couldn't argue the point. Being a sadistic bastard, McBride wouldn't play by any rules, so why not have a man stationed in the dark hallway, ready to pounce. To some degree, the priest's hand comforted her. She wasn't alone. But his grasp also served as a reminder that she held his life in her hands.
Cautious with each step, she moved forward. The grit on the wall caked her fingertips. She listened for any sound, but the priest's breathing would mask much of it. She prayed his fear wouldn't get them both killed.
Halfway. She believed half the corridor lay behind them. The real fight would soon begin.
Despite the chill, sweat trickled from her temples and trailed down her spine under her clothes. The sensation played on her nerves, feeling more like the uninvited touch of McBride's finger. His despicable sneer haunted her memory. And in the dark, that image loomed larger than she cared to admit.
As she neared the end of the corridor, she crouched low, pulling Father Antonio with her. Her mind tried to recall the layout of the place. She never got a good look. McBride said there was only one way out, but had that been a lie, too? Her gut wrenched with the weight of her decision. Once beyond the cover of the hallway, if she turned the wrong direction, she might seal their fate with the mistake. Her fingers found the edge of the wall as it crooked into the cavernous warehouse.
Time to fight or die. Her instincts would have to take charge. She didn't have the luxury of deliberating her actions. She tensed her muscles, ready to make her first move. But in that instant, her thoughts turned to Christian and his unique sensory gifts.
Slowly, she closed her eyes and trusted her inner voice—knowing that voice would be his.
Deep within the center of the labyrinth, in a spot especially made for him, Logan crouched with his night-vision headgear activated. A creak of a door warned that the hunt had begun. And from his vantage point, he would watch his prey move along the corridor, then into the maze, bodies edged in a kaleidoscope of pale greens and reds. The barricade construction only allowed his quarry to come toward him, tricking them into believing escape was possible.
But nothing could be further from the truth. Raven and the priest would be served up, warm and breathing, delivered center stage, with him as the star of the engagement. Perfect!
His fingers reached for the knife attached to his belt. His thumb stroked the handle, with the motion gaining momentum, matching his adrenaline rush. He loved the advantage night-vision gear gave him, but it deprived him of one very essential element of the hunt. He lived to see fear in their eyes and smell defeat oozing from the pores of their skin after they accepted their fate, giving their bodies to him. Every fiber in his being cried out for that sensation. It empowered him.
Even now, blood churned in his groin. His body hardened with his imaginings. His need to experience the intimacy of death up close compelled him to use a knife for the kill. He had no choice. It was an aspect of his nature he refused to ignore.
His thoughts fixed on Raven. The smell of her blood already teased his fertile imagination. He pictured her body writhing in death, thrashing against his grip. The flesh of his cheeks grew warm. Without the ability to control his impulse, he quit stroking his knife, a poor substitute. He shoved his hand into his pants, unable to wait for the release that only the kill delivered.
He focused on his need, his breathing urgent and shallow. Then she appeared. Raven being the smaller figure in front, she led the priest to the end of the corridor, then stopped. He would take her first, making the priest an easy target. Two kills nearly sent him over the edge. His efforts grew more frenzied until—
A motion to his right deprived him of gratification.
"Shit!" he cursed under his breath.
Someone else had joined the party—unannounced. Who the hell came without an invitation? And how had they gained access from that location? The intrusion fueled a slow, burning rage. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand free. A sneer warped his face. Whoever it was, they'd have to wait their turn to die.
He heard the paintball rounds slamming below, his men already launching an assault. But given the location of the intruders, the pellets would do no good. The meddlers had too much of an advantage. And to complicate matters, Raven and the priest had moved into the maze, with two of his men focused on them.
Switching to predator mode, he moved out of his bunker, howling like an animal into the void, his unique signal. The eyes of his men were on him. With a motion of his right hand, he gave the signal. Time to play in earnest. Time for Plan B.
Raven heard the paint gun blasts erupting from above, the sound reverberating through the hollow cavern.
What the hell were they shooting at?
Father Antonio gripped her shoulder, giving it a tug. Adhering to her rules about not talking, the man gave her the only sign possible. He wanted to know what was happening. And so did she. To reassure him, she fumbled for his hand. The token gesture would have to do, for now.
A barrage of paintball pellets hurled to the floor, McBride's men obviously targeting a spot across the room. That meant only one thing. Someone else had joined the fray, maybe providing a diversion for her and the priest to escape. Hands out in front of her, she left the security of the wall. She crouched low and moved right with the priest in tow, away from the altercation.
Thud! Smack! Two rounds struck her in the arm and back, splattering liquid over her face and clothes. And by the way her companion reacted, he'd been hit, too. The smell familiar, she remembered her investigation at the church and her meeting with the ME. The odor of isopropyl alcohol choked her. Its vapor stung her eyes. She wiped her face, trying to relieve the burn.