cough came from out of nowhere and almost sent her over the edge. Cripes. She wasn’t alone up here in this hole.
The cough came again, real close from behind her in the wreckage, a small, muffled sound of distress—and suddenly she knew.
“Jane?” she whispered. “Is that you?”
Tyler Crutchfield sat perfectly still in his poolside chair for only one reason: He had no choice.
These SDF assholes had the damn concession on duct tape, and they’d used plenty to keep him from being able to move in any direction. Hell, he’d been trapped for so long, he was probably paralyzed by now. Otherwise he would have risen up and beaten Lancaster to a pulp with his bare hands, just finished the bastard off. He had dried vomit down the front of his shirt and was sitting in a pool of his own urine, and it was all because of Randolph Lancaster.
Tyler’s last great hope, his only hope, had been the man bound to the pulley rig. Lancaster was slumped over, hanging limply from his restraints, having worn himself out trying to get free from the tangle of chains and cuffs and hardware tying him up. Or maybe he’d had a seizure and died.
Nope. Tyler saw him twitch, the old bastard.
“We’re going to die in this damn basement,” Tyler muttered, then raised his voice a few decibels to make sure Lancaster heard him. “We’re going to die here, you son of a bitch.”
Damn it all to hell! Tyler Thomas Crutchfield was not supposed to die like a filth-wallowing rat in a cage. It was incomprehensible—and yet he felt the doom of death bearing down on him. He wasn’t a psychic, but it didn’t take a crystal ball to know what happened to people tied up in basements, especially ones who’d already had a gun held to their head.
An involuntary shudder wracked his body. Never in a million years would he have believed a trip to Denver would get him killed.
Lancaster ignored him, the same way the old bastard had been ignoring him since Peter “Kid Chaos” Chronopolous had dragged him down here and chained him to the pulley rig.
Not one word. Tyler seethed with the thought. Lancaster had said nothing in Tyler’s defense, made not one plea to Hart for his release, knowing he was blameless for the LeedTech sales to Atlas Exports.
Tyler had never even heard of Atlas Exports until Hart had methodically outlined Lancaster’s acts of treason.
Acts his boss had not denied.
Lies.
That’s all he’d ever gotten from Randolph Lancaster.
Tyler had been such a fool, but he wasn’t the only one. The extent of Lancaster’s treason shook the very foundations of the U.S. government, but no one would ever know. The crime would pass unnoted if he and Lancaster perished in this damn basement.
The bastard.
A muffled groan from the far end of the pool deck brought Tyler’s head around. Sam Walls was reviving, for all the good that was going to do them. They were all going to die down here.
“Walls!” Tyler shouted at him. “Walls! Come on, man, get up! Get up and get over here!” If Walls could get just one of Tyler’s arms free of this damn chair, maybe they could make a break for it.
Except for Lancaster.
That sonuvabitch was doomed, imprisoned in his tangle of chains and handcuffs.
Too fucking bad, Tyler thought. Let the treasonous bastard rot.
“Walls!” Tyler called again. “Come on, man. Shake it off.” And get your sorry ass over here.
Walls groaned again and rolled over onto his back. Geezus. The guy’s leg. It was a mess, and Tyler had to wonder what had been going on with all these Atlas Exports “supersoldiers” Lancaster surrounded himself with. Nothing good, that was for damn sure. No wonder Dylan Hart was playing this game for keeps.
But it shouldn’t include him. He didn’t belong here. He was blameless. Blameless.
“I’ll give you fifty grand if you can get over here, Walls. Come on. Just crawl, man. Just crawl.” He had to get out of here. He really did, or Hart was going to kill him. “Fifty grand, Walls! Can you hear me?”
Money was a great motivator. Not that Tyler had any damn intention of parting with fifty thousand of his hard-earned dollars, or a fifty-thousand-dollar chunk of his trust fund. Hell, no. But honest to God, Walls didn’t look like he was going to last long enough to give a damn.
He broke them up and cannibalized King, took a bite out of him. Dylan Hart’s words slid through Tyler’s mind