Into the Dark by Stacy Green

planning his next move? Had he crawled out of the tunnels and slipped back into a normal life, or did he remain down below, hiding like a coward? And who had helped him? Was it someone she knew, a person she’d have to work with?
    Nathan Madigan’s words came back to her. Was he right? Was the Taker so good no one could catch him?
    Nathan didn’t actually say that . Emilie thought about the hostage negotiator’s kind smile. He was definitely the kind of cop that looked good in a uniform, but it was his sense of honor and compassion that made him compelling.
    Otis crept beside Emilie and flopped against her head. His purring motor rumbled in her ear.
    That’s how he got me running off at the mouth about my parents.
    Thankfully she wouldn’t be seeing Nathan again. He posed too much of risk to her carefully walled-in secrets and made her want to talk about things she’d sealed away years ago.
    Emilie closed her eyes. The fan continued its rhythmic turning, and she began to count the clicks as the base rattled. Her body relaxed.
    A masked face hovered above her. Eyes, their depths black and soulless, gazed into hers. Such a shame , the Taker murmured. Far too often, the great historical places of this country are tossed aside because of financial burden. Or because no one can see their potential. We know all about burdens, don’t we, Miss Emilie?
    Emilie sat straight up in bed, her skin soaked in sweat. Just as her mind finally slowed down, the memory had overtaken her.
    She did know all about burdens. She’d spent most of her life as one. The feeling that the partner knew about her past returned. There were too many coincidences in his words, too many hints that he knew more about her than he let on.
    And the Blake poem. How had he known?
    Bach’s “Prelude in C Major” filled the room. Wary of the early hour, Emilie picked up her cellphone.
    Bile rose in her throat.
    Her mother was calling.
     

Chapter Twelve
     
    “Hello?”
    Emilie waited for the voice she hadn’t heard in sixteen years. Would her mother’s two-pack a day smoking habit finally have caught up with her?
    “It’s Sam.”
    Unexpected disappointment washed over her. Her mother hadn’t called. She’d had her husband do her dirty work.
    “Emilie, you there?”
    “Yes.” She cleared her throat in an effort to dislodge the lump that had formed. “Sam. How are you?”
    Her stepfather wasn’t a bad person. She had been eight when Claire remarried, and when he wasn’t working a seventy-hour week, Sam tried to keep the peace between mother and daughter. He’d even taken Emilie to the zoo once without Claire. Those three hours were the happiest Emilie had known since Mémé had died.
    “Fine,” Sam answered. “I—we—read the papers. It’s awful what happened to you.”
    “Claire did more than read.”
    “I told her to keep quiet about all that. She’s got a mind of her own, though.”
    More like Claire wore the pants, and Sam didn’t have the guts to put his foot down.
    “Are there any leads?” he asked.
    “No.”
    “Do you need protection? I could get a full-time security team out there today.”
    “Does Claire know you’re calling?”
    Silence.
    “I guess not. Are you hiding in the closet?”
    “She’s out.”
    “Ah, it’s Thursday.” Emilie smacked her forehead. “Brunch with the girls. How could I forget? Guess some things never change.” Her bitterness oozed out in the form of tears. She rubbed them away. Claire wasn’t worth the effort.
    “I’m sorry. I knew calling would upset you, but I wanted to hear for myself you were all right. What happened between the two of you…please know I had no idea what your mother had hidden. If I had, I would have made her tell you, I swear.”
    She doubted that. Sam couldn’t even stop Claire from running her mouth to the newspaper. Her stepfather had good intentions, but Claire was a skilled manipulator and would have likely convinced him keeping the secret was ‘for the