Finally, I step out into another chamber. This one is more like a cave, the water creating just a small pool in the center. All around it are rock formations. I don't need my flashlight here. Enough glow comes from the oil lamps hanging from hooks in the stone walls. That same glow touches on the terrified faces of women chained to the stones.
They look dazed, not fully aware of what's going on. But Graciela lifts her head, and her eyes hit me. For a second, it seems like she doesn't recognize me like she doesn't actually believe I'm there. Then her eyes widen.
“Miss Griffin,” she whispers.
“Emma,” I tell her. “Don't worry. I'm here.”
“I am so happy to see you,” she gasps. “I don't know what's happening. I don't know how I got here.”
“Graciela, listen to me. I’m with the FBI. I’m investigating what’s going on at the resort. I'll explain everything to you later,” I tell her. “But right now, we need to focus on getting all of you out. Where's the key to your chains?”
“He keeps it with him,” Graciela says.
“Who? Frederick?” I ask.
“Yes,” she nods. “He brought us down here.”
“Did he take you from the village?”
“No. It was Paul.”
“Paul took you?”
She nods weakly. “Paul is their muscle. He took all of us. He is the one working with Frederick.”
“And he’s the one who supposedly delivered medicine to Emmanuel’s room,” I mutter.
I look around to the other terrified faces and sigh deeply.
“I am so sorry to have to do this to you,” I say. “But I am going to have to leave you here and be right back.”
“No,” she pleads desperately. “I can't be down here anymore.”
“I can't get you out of your chains,” I say. “You have to trust me. I will send someone back for you as soon as I can. I promise.”
“You aren't going to come back?” she asks.
“There's something I need to do. But I promise I'll see you soon. A team of FBI agents is coming to get you out of here, I promise. It won't be much longer. Then you'll never have to face any of this again.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
I wish I had taken the time to blow dry my hair. It hangs cold and still damp against my back. My hair has always been so thick it clings to water and stays wet for hours if I don't dry it. Now it presses between the soft cushion of the chair and my shirt, the cold wetness seeping through and sending chills down my legs. But I don't move from where I'm sitting. The back of my chair is to the hotel room door, and I stare out into the darkness beyond the balcony.
Only the glow of the night light in the bathroom at the end of the bedroom creates shadows in the illumination in the room. I've been sitting here in Room 312 for almost an hour, the anticipation tingling up my legs and in my fingertips. My heart beats hard enough for me to feel it in my stomach and taste it on my tongue.
It seems as if I keep doing this. Placing myself as bait to wait for someone to come. I don’t mind doing it. I’m a trained fighter, and I can more than hold my own. Sure, I could call the police to do this. But I don’t have time for that now. And I don’t know if I can trust them.
No, if someone’s going to take down Paul, it has to be me. And if I have to be the bait, I’ll do it.
The sound of the door handle behind me makes sparks of color jump behind my eyes and burst into my brain. I ready myself, staying as still as I can and concentrating hard on controlling my breaths, so I'm silent in the living area.
The figure slips into the room, and I watch him in the faint reflection on the glass. For a second, I wonder if he can see me, too. The small bit of light from the bathroom might not be enough. But I can't change it now. He stands there for a second, staring at the door, and I close my eyes.
If he can see my reflection, I don't want him to see that my eyes are open. Straining for sound, I listen for his footsteps to cross the room and come closer to me. My muscles twitch. I have to time this exactly right. Not too soon, definitely not too late.
Finally, his footsteps are loud enough for me to know he is within only a couple of feet from me. Jumping up from the chair, I throw off the blanket that was draped over my lap, step up on the cushion of the chair, and launch myself over the back and onto him.
I get the drop on him with a hard cross to his jaw. Paul stumbles backward, obviously stunned, and I grab for my handcuffs to lock onto one of his wrists while he is still confused. I slam the cuff down on one wrist, and it spins over to lock into place, but I can’t tighten it before he rushes into me, shouldering me back and against the wall.
I try to keep my feet under me but slip and hit the ground. I see a syringe roll from his hand under the door to the bathroom. His eyes dart over to it as well. We both lunge for it, but I get there first, slamming the door onto his fingers and getting a roar of pain from him before I jam my elbow into his nose.
I don’t know exactly what’s in that syringe, but I absolutely do not want to find out. It needs to stay far out of the way. I try to position myself
