Sweet Seduction Sabotage (22 page)

Still daylight out, but in our tunnel, in the possibly structurally unsound walls of the building, it was pitch black. Well, it would have been without Drew's cellphone to light the way.

Minutes ticked by. I counted them out in my head. Occasionally pacing myself with the second hand on my watch. Sweat dribbled down my forehead and burned when it reached my eyes. Sometimes it would drip onto the air duct's floor. I noticed streaks where Drew had pulled himself through the dust and his own sweat. That didn't bother me, but it was still one of the most disgusting things I'd ever had to do; crawl through a filthy tunnel, the air stale and artificial, as well as stagnant as the air con had been switched off at some stage. Probably as a direct result of one of those explosions we'd heard and felt.

Finally Drew stopped. I couldn't tell why. I listened intently, but no external sounds made me think we'd been discovered or Drew had made out an enemy nearby. My body hurt. My arms and elbows felt both raw and bruised to hell. My hip bones were tender, and my chest ached with the fervent need to suck in a fresh breath of air. I blinked the sting of sweat out of my eyes, not daring to rub them because dust coated my hands and fingers, and I could just imagine what that would feel like. I breathed through my nose, biting back the urge to do so deeply, trying my best to remain calm, to not contemplate the reason why we were here and the fact that the space was so small.

I don't get claustrophobic, thankfully, but I challenge anyone not to be affected by paranoia and panic when crawling through an air conditioning duct in an effort to save your life with the threat of a building collapse hanging over your head.

"I've found another air vent cover," Drew whispered finally. Clearly waiting until he was sure the other side of the cover was safe.

"Is it to the foyer?" I asked.

"No, another room. Do you want to try it out?"

The desperation to stretch my limbs and suck in something of a fresh breath of air was so great I almost insisted he open it. But if he had trouble getting the last cover off, and the screws were on the other side from where we currently were, then how easy would this one be? It could be impossible. It could take half an hour. It could be a waste of time. Because if the terrorists - I'd taken to calling them that in my head, it was better than gun toting bad guys - had locked our cloakroom with instructions from 'the boss' then they'd have locked this one too.

There was just no way of knowing if it was worth the while, and the risk of being detected as we attempted to remove the cover and checked the room out, was too great for potentially little gain. When we came to a cover that showed the foyer or an external hall, then we'd take the risk. Not before.

"No, keep going," I whispered back.

Drew paused, then said softly, "Exactly my thoughts, little star. It's not worth the risk."

He'd come to the same conclusions as me, which in a way was comforting. It reinforced my reasoning, gave me a measure of calm that we were both on the same page. I was not alone inside this dark tunnel. I was not alone crawling through muck and dirt, trying to race my death. I had Drew with me. And I was beginning to see, beginning to
believe
, that I might have Drew with me for a very long time.

My father had left when I was thirteen. My mother, in her own way, left not long after that. I've been searching for an answer as to why. Maybe, I'd been asking the wrong question.

It wasn't, would all men leave me like my father did because of something I'd done?

The question should have been, who would be the one to stay no matter what?

In a filthy, neglected air conditioning duct, in a structurally compromised building, in the middle of an explosive and deathly siege, I'd found my answer.

Drew Kline. A man who lived in rainbows of colours and who wasn't afraid to share their beauty with someone else. Who chased me down, fought off four other guys to win me, and would leave his best friend behind in order to ensure I was safe from harm.

Who does that sort of thing and why?

Another surprisingly easy answer. Drew does, because I'm his little star.

And so, in a filthy, neglected air conditioning duct, in a structurally compromised building, in the middle of an explosive and deathly siege... I smiled.

And it was a mile wide.

The District Court building takes up the corner of Albert and Kingston Streets. Right back to Federal, half a city block. It's approximately ten stories high, the main court rooms and public areas take up the first three floors, then offices and judges' chambers and smaller more informal court or meeting rooms make up the rest, in a structure that appears an add-on when looked upon from the outside. From the fourth floor up the building is half the footprint of the first three floors. I knew all of this from looking it up online when I first started to entertain the idea of giving Drew a little red in his fantasy scene amongst the coats in the District Court's cloakroom. What I wasn't sure about, was what the air conditioning ducts would be like on those upper floors, but I had to assume up there was structurally different than down here on the ground floor.

For starters, we had a huge area to crawl. Larger than the add-on part of the building. By the time we'd found that first air duct cover, ten minutes had passed. By the time we found the next two, half an hour. My watch said six-thirty at night and we were still crawling through the filth of the ducts; tired, dirty, bruised and - speaking for myself - a little defeated.

Structurally the ducts had stayed intact, the odd bend in the metal sidings making us have to squeeze around in impossible positions which slowed us down even more. But nowhere had they fully collapsed or broken so much that we couldn't navigate past. It wasn't exactly treacherous, but occasionally I'd scrape skin against a twisted piece of metal and feel the sharp sting of a cut and the hot trickle of my blood as it fell.

By the time Drew stopped for the third air duct cover we'd been at it for forty minutes. Forty very long and arduous minutes. I'd passed tired a quarter hour ago, and had now entered exhausted, aching and beaten. Part of me thinking we were never getting out of here and would be buried alive. Another part unable to think a damn thing anymore.

"It's a security room," Drew announced on a whisper. His voice sounded parched and unused. Cracking slightly in the middle, making him have to clear his throat which sounded like it hurt.

"How can you tell?" I whispered back, having ensured I swallowed what little saliva I had first before I made a sound.

"Monitors and guard uniforms." His words were reluctant and held the horror of what he was seeing. "They've been shot. The screens and the men."

Neither of us uttered a word, offering the fallen a moment of silence.

"There could be something in there that might help," Drew suggested after a while.

Oh fuck.

"I think we should risk it," he added. "But..." His words trailed off. Then stronger, "But I don't want you seeing any of this."

"I won't be able to avoid it, Drew," I pointed out. If we kept going, I'd have to crawl past. If we escaped through the door in the room itself, I'd have to walk past.

"I know," he said, and the depth of regret in his voice clenched my heart.

"No one should have to see it," I whispered, blinking back tears as they formed.

Drew sighed. "I'm going to start working on the grate, I think I can undo the screws from this side, but it'll take time. Once I get it open, can you promise me you'll stay here while I tidy the room up."

Fuck.

"Shouldn't we leave it as is for the Police? Evidence and all?" I asked, my throat constricting at the task ahead.

"By the time the Police get here the building might not be standing, and I'm more concerned about you, than preserving evidence at this point and time."

I hung my head down and rested it on my folded arms. I was so fucking tired, and now my heart was aching for the reality of the world outside of this tiny space. My discomfort was nothing compared to the lost lives inside that room. Compared to what Drew was seeing and offering to do to protect me from a sight that was surely worse than hell itself.

"Promise me, Kelly," Drew pushed. "Let me do this for you. Please."

He needed to look out for me. I needed him to do that.

"I promise," I whispered.

"Thanks, little star."

I think I fell asleep, which is shocking and sent a jolt of guilt through me when I realised Drew was removing the cover and letting it slide down the wall inside the room. I'd listened to him for quite some time when he started on the screws. Using a pen and his fingers and little else, he'd somehow managed to undo them, causing himself more injuries, I was sure. But I hadn't even heard the first one come loose, I'd fallen asleep well before then.

A quick glance at my watch now told me it had taken Drew twenty minutes and I'd probably only napped for ten of those, but still. I'd
slept
. Who does that in the middle of hell?

"OK," he announced, maybe aware I was awake again. "I'm going in, stay where you are."

I nodded, he couldn't see me, so I cleared my throat and managed to get a, "OK," back out.

He made a sound of pain as he forced himself through the hole, landing in a thump on the floor on the other side. A groan followed, but I sensed more relief, than outright agony in its tone. I was guessing he was stretching his body out, bringing parts of his frame alive after an hour of restricted movement. For a second I was jealous, then I heard him moving heavy objects around in the room. Jealousy left in a rush, replaced with concern.

Two minutes later his head popped back in the air duct and he reached out a hand to clasp mine.

"It's all clear," he whispered, still not ready to speak loudly in case we were overheard.

I gripped his hand in mine and let him haul me closer to the opening, and then, like a slug slipping out of a hole in the side of a tree, I slithered out of the air duct and fell undignified into Drew's arms. He held me close for a few seconds, his face buried in the crook of my neck, then he helped me to my feet and rubbed my body gently, smoothing out the knots in strategic places, bringing circulation back to areas I hadn't even realised had gone to sleep.

"Better?" he asked, staring into my eyes. I offered a smile, his responding crooked one let me know it hadn't been entirely convincing.

I glanced around the room finally and took in the destruction the terrorists had caused. Every single monitor was shattered, as well as the keyboards on the desks, the hard-drives under them, and almost every inch of furniture that was left. What had to be a pile of bodies, covered in jackets, lay in the corner. Blood smeared across the floor to where Drew had dragged them, but other than that, and the odd red slash here and there, I couldn't see any details of how they had been killed.

"How many?" I asked, unable to take my eyes off the pile of what had once been humans walking and talking and
breathing
hours before.

"Three," Drew said softly. His eyes were on my face, I had the sense he was waiting for me to fall apart.

I sucked in a deep breath, realised it was my first relatively clean one since exiting our tunnel, and straightened my shoulders and back.

"Have you tried the door?" I asked, knowing it was probably futile, but needing us to turn our attention elsewhere.

Drew nodded, a clear indication he had accepted I was OK, and turned to the door out of the room. It was different from the one in the cloakroom, and I immediately felt my heart fall. Because if that door had been solid, this one should have hung on the side of a bank vault. Drew tried the handle, and of course it didn't budge an inch. He checked the edges of the door itself with his fingers, making me note the number of scratches and cuts that graced his hands. Finally he turned back and shook his head.

He hadn't even tried to kick the fucker. There was just no point and we knew it.

"What now?" I asked, wondering when this nightmare would freaking end.

"Check the drawers, see if you can find any water or food, or anything that could make opening those fucking air duct covers easier when we move on."

When we move on. Drew never gave up. And he wasn't giving up now. I admired that quality, it showed the measure of the man. I thought I was beaten, lying in that tunnel waiting for Drew to clear up the dead bodies in this room so I wouldn't have to see how wretchedly they had died. But Drew's unwavering strength, his inability to admit defeat, gave me a boost that I badly needed. And so I turned to the closest piece of shattered furniture and sifted through the mess.

Several minutes later having found a Swiss Army knife that had a cork screw, a nail file and a tiny little blade attached, that didn't even cut skin when I tried it against my thumb, Drew announced, "Water."

I turned slowly, suddenly realising how parched my mouth was, and found Drew holding up a half empty bottle of spring water. One of the dead guard's. He'd probably drunk from it this morning. I closed my eyes wanting nothing else but to suck back that liquid regardless of who'd shared the bottle before us.

"You first," Drew whispered, his words coming from right before my face.

My eyes opened and he was already holding the bottle nozzle to my lips. I held his gaze and swallowed the first drop of water I'd had in hours. Liquid gold flowed down my throat. Relief such as I have never felt before flooded my body. Even some of the aches seemed to disappear, which was ridiculous, but true. The room suddenly felt doused in a rainbow.

"Your turn," I whispered, pulling back and wrapping my hand around his wrist, moving the bottle to Drew's lips instead. I watched, mesmerised, as his Adam's apple bobbed, signalling that the water was flowing down his throat now.

He emptied the last of the liquid, having given me slightly more than half of what had been there. He licked his lips, held my gaze, and then leaned in slowly and softly kissed my mouth.

"Thanks," I whispered, when he pulled back.

His smile this time was genuine.

"You're welcome,
sternchen.
"

We stared at each other for several seconds, then Drew glanced back around the room and said, "Come on, let's see what else is here we can use."

I nodded and followed his lead, sorting through debris and miscellaneous items until after some time of fruitless effort we hit gold. Two protein bars, a slightly bruised apple and another nearly full bottle of water. Practically a feast. But that wasn't the best of it. Drew found a tool box, complete with screwdrivers, hammers, pliers, an adjustable wrench, and a retractable box knife. We stared at it for so long, taking in the sight of all those sharp edges and usable tools, that the sound of the building creaking made us jump. It hadn't actually stopped creaking, but we'd been barely still enough to notice it until now.

"I bags the hammer and box knife," I declared reaching for both.

"Just what the hell are you planning to do with either of those?" Drew demanded.

"Break a window," I suggested with a shrug.
Or a skull
. "Slash through particle board and plaster to get to the other side."
Slice down the side of a cheek to draw blood
.

He stared at me for a long moment, then obviously thought it was better I had them, than not at all. Then he reached for a screwdriver and wrench. We both pocketed our weapons - ah, tools. Then looked around the decimated room.

"We should get going," Drew suggested, sounding every bit as reluctant as me to get back into that tunnel.

But we didn't have any choice. We couldn't stay here, the room was a dead end. And what a choice of words to use. My eyes darted to the still form of the bodies in the corner, suddenly needing very much to get the hell out of there. I glanced at the food Drew had placed on the floor by the cover to the air duct.

"How are we taking that?" I asked. I really didn't feel hungry or thirsty right now. Not after reminding myself that men had died in here.

"Like this," Drew murmured, grabbing a protein bar and the apple off the floor. "Put these in your pockets, or if that doesn't work, down your bra." I smirked, he only raised an eyebrow in reply. "I'll take the water and last bar, and then we'll find another room to sit in and eat our snack. I should be able to open the grates now without too much time lost."

As far as plans went it was pretty simple and not nearly good enough to get us outside, but maybe our luck would hold out and the next room we encountered would have a door we could unlock.

"Ever picked a lock before?" I asked Drew, once we'd both climbed back into the tunnel and started to crawl further along the duct. The apple pressed uncomfortably against my chest in my bra, the protein bar and box cutter sat innocuously in one pocket, while the hammer dug painfully into my hip in the other and occasionally thudded against the floor of the duct. I did everything in my power to avoid that for more than just one reason.

"No, have you?" he whispered back.

"Nah, me either. I was hoping your childhood was even more criminal than mine."

"Was yours criminal?"

"Not really."

"Not really?" he repeated, phrased as a question.

"Well, unless you call the few times I was arrested for indecent exposure and disorderly behaviour when I was a teen. Hardly criminal," I added.

Drew remained silent and I thought I might have just shared too much.