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Amanda’s voice carried through the closed window as she talked on the phone. “That’s unacceptable. I want the full team answering to me. No exceptions.”
The front door opened. It creaked this time. Will heard footsteps across the floor.
Amanda made a disgusted noise. “This is my case, Mike. I’ll work it how I see fit.”
Sara whispered, “What is she—”
Will’s expression must’ve stopped her. His jaw felt clamped shut. He was gripped by a sudden, inexplicable fury. He held up his hand, indicating Sara should stay there. Before she could argue, Will headed down the stairs, stepping carefully so the treads wouldn’t creak. He was sweating again. The hornets in his gut had worked their way into his chest, trapping his breath.
Amanda tucked her BlackBerry in her back pocket. She gripped the hammer in her hand as she started down the basement stairs.
He said, “Amanda.”
She spun around, grabbing the handrail for support. There was no mistaking the look on her face for anything but absolute shock. “What are you doing here?”
“Is the girl still missing?”
She didn’t move from the top stair. She was obviously still too shocked to speak.
He repeated his question. “Is the girl still—”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Go home, Will.” He’d never heard anything like fear in her voice, but he could tell now that she was deathly afraid—not of Will, but of something else. “Just let me handle this.”
“Handle what?”
She rested her hand on the doorknob, as if she wanted nothing more than to close him out. “Go home.”
“Not until you tell me why you’re alone in an abandoned building when there’s an active case.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not actually alone, am I?”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m not—” Her words were cut off by a loud crack. Panic filled her eyes. Another crack came like a shotgun blast. Amanda started to fall. She clutched the doorknob. Will lunged to help, but he was too late. The door slammed closed as the stairs collapsed. The noise rumbled through the building like a charging freight train.
Then—nothing.
Will jerked open the door. The knob rattled at his feet. He stared down into absolute blackness. Uselessly, he flipped the light switch up and down.
“Amanda?” he called. His voice echoed back at him. “Amanda?”
“Will?” Sara was on the landing. She quickly took in what had happened. “Give me your phone.”
Will tossed her the phone. He took off his jacket and holster and got down on the floor.
Sara said, “You are not going down there.”
Will froze, startled by the order, the unfamiliar sharp tone of her voice.
“We’re in a crack house, Will. There could be needles down there. Broken glass. It’s too dangerous.” She held up her finger as the phone was obviously answered on the other end. “This is Dr. Linton from the ER. I need a bus and rescue sent to Carver Street for an officer down.”
Will provided, “Street number’s 316.” He sat on his knees and leaned his head into the basement as Sara rattled off the details. “Amanda?” He waited. No response. “Can you hear me?”
Sara ended the call. “They’re on their way. Just stay there until—”
“Amanda?” Will glanced around the hallway, trying to put together a plan. Finally, he turned around and got down on his belly.
Sara pleaded, “Will, don’t.”
He elbowed back until his feet hung down into the basement.
“You’re going to fall.”
He edged back farther, expecting any moment for his feet to hit solid ground.
“There are broken pieces of wood down there. You could shatter your ankle. You could land on Amanda.”
Will gripped the edge of the doorjambs with his fingers, praying that his arms wouldn’t give. Which they eventually did. He dropped straight down like the blade on a guillotine.
“Will?” Sara was in the open doorway. She got down on her knees. “Are you all right?”
Pieces of wood poked into his back like sharp fingers. Sawdust filled the air. Will’s nose had banged into his knee so hard that pinpoints of light exploded in front of his eyes. He touched the side of his ankle. A nail had scraped across the bone. His teeth ached at the memory.
“Will?” Sara’s tone rose in alarm. “Will?”
“I’m all right.” He felt his ankle squick as he moved. Blood pooled into the heel of his shoe. He tried to make light of the situation. “Looks like I was right about needing that tetanus shot.”
She mumbled a shocking expletive.
Will tried to stand, but his feet couldn’t find purchase. He blindly reached out, thinking Amanda was close by. He got on his knees, leaning out farther, and finally was rewarded with a foot. Her shoe was missing. Her pantyhose were torn.
“Amanda?” Carefully, Will picked his way across the shards of wood and broken nails. He put his hand on her shin, then her thigh. He gently felt along until he found her arm folded over her stomach.
Amanda moaned.
Will’s stomach roiled as his fingers followed the unnatural angle of her wrist. “Amanda?” he repeated.
She moaned again. Will knew she’d have a Maglite in the Suburban. He dug his fingers into the front pockets of her jeans, trying to find her keys. He could send Sara out to the car. She would have to search for the flashlight. He would tell her it was in the glove compartment or one of the locked drawers. She would spend several minutes looking for the light, which was exactly what Will needed.
“Amanda?” He checked her back pockets. The tips of his fingers brushed along the broken plastic case on her BlackBerry.
Suddenly, Amanda’s good hand clamped around his wrist. She asked, “Where’s My-kel?”
Will stopped searching for the keys. “Amanda? It’s Will. Will Trent.”
Her tone was terse. “I know who you are, Wilbur.”
Will felt his body go rigid. Only Angie called him Wilbur. It was the name on his birth certificate.
Sara asked, “Is she okay?”
Will had to swallow before he could speak. “I think her wrist is broken.”
“How’s her respiration?”
He listened for the cadence of her breath, but all he could hear was his own blood pounding in his ears. Why was Amanda here? She should be out looking for the missing girl. She should be leading the team. She shouldn’t be here. In this basement. With a hammer.
“Will?” Sara’s tone was softer now. She was worried about him.
He asked, “How long before the ambulance gets here?”
“Not much longer. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” Will put his hand on Amanda’s foot again. He could feel a steady pulse near her ankle. He’d worked for this woman most of his career but still knew very little about her. She lived in a condo in the heart of Buckhead. She had been on the job longer than he had been alive, which put her age in the mid-sixties. She kept her salt-and-pepper hair coiffed in the shape of a football helmet and wore pantyhose with starched blue jeans. She had a sharp tongue, more degrees than a college professor, and she knew that his name was Wilbur even though he’d had it legally changed when he entered college and every piece of paper the GBI had on file listed his legal name as William Trent.
