Colton's Secret Bodyguard

He dismissed the idea of calling Bree. If she was in the clutches of her stalker, the situation was volatile. He didn’t want to risk startling or antagonizing a dangerous man who had repeatedly threatened to harm her.

“Is there another way in?” Trey asked.

“I don’t know. But I know how to find out,” Rylan said. “I have a plan of the building on my laptop. You stay here while I check it out.”

“Okay.” Trey’s face was grim. “But I’m calling for backup, and if I hear a sound that leads me to believe that my sister is in danger, that door is firewood.”

“Goes without saying.”

Rylan sprinted through to the promotions office. Through the glass facade, he could see the school kids getting onto their bus. Evacuating the building was probably a good idea.

He leaned across the reception desk. “Get everyone out of here. Tell them it’s for unscheduled maintenance.”

The receptionist blinked but responded to his air of authority with a nod. As he opened his laptop, he could hear the front desk staff following his instructions. Once he had the plan of the gallery on the screen, he enlarged the basement area. There. On the outside of the building, at street level, there was what appeared to be a set of double trapdoors. There was a note alongside it that read Original delivery chute. Preserved but no longer in use.

His mind was jumping several steps ahead as he left the office and called Trey, relaying what he’d discovered.

“If the chute is not in use, it will have been secured to prevent unlawful entry,” Trey said.

“Don’t worry about that.” Rylan was already on his way out to the parking lot to get his bolt cutters. It was probably better for the sheriff’s peace of mind if he didn’t know about the various pieces of equipment that Rylan kept in the trunk of his car.

“I don’t like the idea of you going in there alone.” Trey’s tone held all the caution Rylan would expect to hear from a law enforcement officer.

“Trust me. I am the best person to do this.” Rylan wasn’t being boastful. This was his area of expertise. Going into the unknown, facing a volatile offender, rescuing hostages... They were all situations he’d been in before. Having snagged up the bolt cutters, he was on the move toward the trapdoor entry to the basement. “Just be ready to come through that door fast.”

“My deputies will be here any minute with the battering ram and pry tools,” Trey said.

When Rylan reached them, the double trapdoors were larger than he’d expected. Made of heavy wood, they were flush with the surrounding sidewalk. He pursed his lips as he studied them. Squatting, he verified his first impression. There was no need for the bolt cutters. The doors weren’t locked.

Unsure what to make of this new development, but unable to spend time analyzing it, he stashed his bolt cutters behind a nearby bush. The doors opened easily, almost as if the old iron hinges had recently been oiled. When he had them both fully open, Rylan knelt on the sidewalk, leaning into the opening.

The metal delivery chute was long and steep, and he couldn’t see the other end. There was a pulley system alongside, presumably for lifting larger items from below. Ducking his head farther into the gap, he attempted to identify any sounds from the basement. Either there were none, or they were hidden by the thick walls of the old building.

Lowering himself into the space, he gripped the sides of the chute. Using his powerful leg muscles to stop himself from hurtling downward like a toddler on a playground ride, he descended slowly into the darkness.

His facial muscles were rigid with tension, his pulse pounding hard in his ears. Cold sweat beaded on his furrowed brow. He knew why. As a soldier, he had been in dozens of combat situations. Since leaving the army, he had faced danger many times, and in many different forms. This was different. This was about Bree.

After what felt like an eternity, Rylan saw a faint glow of light below him. Soon after, his feet slid off the edge of the chute and touched hard floor. Crouching low, he withdrew his gun from its shoulder holster.

There was enough light for him to see his surroundings. He was in a large square room, the walls of which were lined with shelves. Most were stacked with boxes. He figured this was probably one of the places in which the art exhibits were stored. There was no door, just a narrow opening that presumably led to another part of the basement. That was where the light was coming from. It was also the point from which he could hear voices.