Almost over. It was almost over. She had only to do these last few simple things.
Carefully she raised her arms over her head and pushed on the grate.
Heavy. Like the one in the cellar. But at least from below she had leverage.
She pressed harder.
Heard a low, sandy crackle.
The grate must be lifting free of caked sediment.
Funny, though. She hadn’t felt it move.
And the noise-odd-it almost seemed to be …
Beneath her.
The rock outcrop she was seated on.
Cracking at its base. Breaking away from the wall in a rush of limestone chips.
Terror stabbed her. Her hands clutched wildly at the grate.
The rock crumbled free, leaving her abruptly unsupported over a twenty-foot drop.
There was a sickening twist in the pit of her stomach, the sensation of a plummeting elevator, and she was falling—
The index and middle fingers of her right hand hooked one of the iron bars.
Suspended by two fingers, she dangled in the shaft.
“Trish!”
Ally’s shout echoed hauntingly. The flashlight wavered.
She couldn’t spare the strength to answer. With her left hand she groped upward. Higher. Reaching higher.
She curled a fist around another bar …
And the grate lurched sideways, releasing a cataract of pebbles and dust.
It was loose in its frame. Her shifting weight had tugged it partly free.
Fighting panic, she straightened her legs and probed the walls of the shaft with both feet, searching for a place to stand.
The grate moved again.
This time it jerked diagonally. The lower right corner popped out of the frame and dipped into the hole.
She screamed as the panel tilted on its side, iron rasping against stone, wet leaves and dead branches showering her in a gritty rain.
Then the grate stabilized, wedged vertically in the drain, her two hands fastened to its leading edge.
There was a stretch of time-a second or a minute-when she simply couldn’t move at all. Any further attempt to find a foothold might upset the grate’s precarious balance.
But she had to risk it. Her aching arms were losing their strength. Her fingers, newly slick with sweat, couldn’t maintain their grip much longer.
Again her shoes brushed the limestone walls, hunting for a crevice, a shelf, anything she could brace herself against.
Chips of limestone pattered on her face and hair. The grate groaned, settling slowly into the hole as the iron edges wore away the loose, flinty rock.
Little time now. A few more seconds, and the hole would be enlarged enough to let the grate slip through.
There. Her right foot touched a slender ridge.
She planted her shoe.
The grate dropped into the shaft.
Instinctively she let go. Rush of metal past her face. Falling forward, she pistoned her arms and slammed both palms against the opposite wall, wedging her upper body horizontally in the sinkhole.
Twenty feet below. Ally jumped clear as the grate impacted the cavern floor. The flashlight threw shapeless curlicues of glare along the shaft.
“Trish” Breathless terror spiked the cry. “You okay”
It was hard to answer. Her mouth wasn’t working right, and there was a choking tightness in her throat.
Finally she forced out words. “Just barely.” She tried for a note of humor. “Got the drain cover off at least.”
With her last reserves of energy she chimneyed up the remaining few feet of the shaft and struggled into the bottom of the well. She knelt, dripping beads of perspiration and trying to remember that ridiculous motto of hers, which suddenly had slipped her mind.
Still on her knees, she looked down at the pale blur of Ally’s face. “Your turn.”
“What do I do with the flash”
Good question. The girl’s dress had no pockets, no belt, nothing that could hold a flashlight.
“Just stand it on the floor. Aim it right up the shaft.”
Ally obeyed, then stood under the sinkhole, the flash setting her dress aglow like a footlight on a stage.
“Good. Now do what I did.”
“You’re kidding.”
Trish smiled. “Without the dramatics, I mean. When you get within reach, I’ll pull you up.”
Ally closed her hands around the same limestone overhang Trish had used when getting started. She struggled to boost herself into the shaft, not quite making it.
Briefly Trish feared the girl lacked the strength to execute a pull-up.
Then with a grunt of effort Ally managed the first stage of the ascent.
“You’re doing fine,” Trish said.
But there was a long way to go, and even now Cain might be planning his next move.
49
Cain paced the cellar, stepping over debris, thinking hard.
“Last time Robinson and the girl were on the loose, they headed straight for the rear gate. Why What’s in that direction”
“The lake.” Tyler narrowed his eyes. “There’s two boats tied up at the dock.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Lilith said. “She was already there. She could’ve taken one of the boats an hour ago.”
Cain had an answer for that. “Not without the ignition key.” He stopped pacing. “The kitchen. That’s why she went in there. The cordless phone was an afterthought. She wanted keys.”
Gage was unconvinced. “Hell, she could just hotwire the ignition. Blair used to do it all the time when him and them Mexicans were swiping boats.”
“Not everybody’s as street smart as your big brother,” Lilith said with a cold smile.
Gage’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean”
“Nothing. Except if he’s such a piece of work, how come Robinson’s got his gun”
“You just shut up about Blair,” Gage said in a tone meant to threaten violence but conveying a greater threat of tears.
“Both of you shut up,” Cain snapped, irritated at the distraction.
Tyler got the conversation back on track. “Lilith is right. Robinson’s a rookie. She’s never even seen a chop shop or a stolen car. Couldn’t hotwire an electric toothbrush.”
“So she comes back here, gets the keys.” Cain saw it now, saw it as clearly as the room around him. “Rescuing the girl is just improvisation. What she intends to do is get away on a boat.”
“And go where” Gage asked, still belligerently skeptical for no good reason.
Cain had studied maps of this area so intensively they were now committed to memory. Other than the Kent estate, there was nothing on the lake’s perimeter but woods and a picnic area, closed to the public at dusk.
He remembered visiting the picnic area on one of his exhaustive reconnoitering trips. He’d stopped by a snack shop, bought a cheeseburger, called Lilith from a kiosk outside-
“Shit. There are phones across the lake. That’s what she’s after. She’s still trying to get through on nine-one-one.”
“How would she know about the phones” Lilith asked.
“She lives as around here, doesn’t she She’s a local. Anyway, that’s where she’s going. She can make it in five minutes-once she gets to the dock.”
Tyler unholstered his Glock, checked the magazine. “Unless we get there first.”
“Do it,” Cain said. “Take the Porsche.” The two younger men were running for the cellar stairs when he added, “Wait.”
They stopped, looking across a waste of rubble.
“If you need to get on the radio, don’t use any of the preset frequencies. She’ll be monitoring.” Cain thought for a moment. The ProCom units transmitted only on the two-meter amateur bands between 140.0 and 148.0. “Set channel one to one-four-five-point-zero. That’ll be our private frequency. She can’t find it on the scan mode.”
“Why would we need the radio” Tyler asked as he and Gage keyed in the digits. “Ain’t you coming to the party”