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“I’m just about to go inside. Just as a precaution, I’m going to keep you on the line. Stay quiet, though. I don’t want them to think someone else is here.”
“I understand, sir.”
Grant toggled on his flashlight as he approached the building. He scanned the area slowly, his throat parching as the light glinted off a metal door that had been propped open.
“I see a door. It’s open,” Grant whispered. “But I’m going to circle the building first.”
He received no response. Good. Worthington was playing the game well.
He whispered to the man again. “I’m going to turn on the video chat. I want you to record it.”
“Understood,” the man hissed in a barely audible voice.
Grant toggled on his camera.
“Recording now,” Worthington reported.
Grant swallowed hard as he finished his circle of the building. He’d found nothing, not even another car. How had the person inside gotten here? He must have used a cab or a ride-share. Probably so nothing could be traced like a license plate.
“I’m heading inside.”
He inched toward the door, bracing his phone against his gun as he raised it, keeping it at arm’s length.
He stepped over the threshold and scanned the space in search of anyone or anything. Sweat beaded on his brow as he followed the glow of the light down a hall.
“Nothing so far,” he whispered. “Maybe this is just a distraction, and there’s nothing here.”
His heart thudded in his ears so loudly he worried he’d miss a key sound that could alert him to impending danger. He stopped his slow stalk forward, wiping at his brow in a desperate attempt to settle his nerves.
With a hard swallow, he forced himself to move forward again. His muscles ached and a knot formed between his shoulder blades as the tension inside him manifested physically.
He forced his breathing to be slow and steady as he approached the light glowing from a room at the end of the hall.
As he approached the partially ajar door, he called out. “Hello?”
No one answered him. “Who’s in there?”
Again, he received no answer.
He firmed his voice and tried a third time. “This is Grant Harrington. I came alone like you said.”
He used his shoulder to push the door open a little more. It creaked on its hinges, sending a shudder down his spine as he swept his light and gun around the room.
In the center, the single light swinging from the ceiling glinted off a beat-up desk with an equally dilapidated leather desk chair, its back facing the door.
“Hello?” Grant called. “It’s Grant Harrington. Why did you call me here?”
Frustration grew in him as he took a slow step forward toward the desk. “Look, I’m tired of your little game here. If you have information on DG Industries, tell me.”
Every step echoed ominously off the bare brick walls, the silence around him unnervingly thick. A sense of foreboding gripped him, the stillness of the building punctuated only by his own ragged breaths. “Come on, this is ridiculous. I did what you said. I came where you told me to come alone. Now what information do you have?”
He reached the desk and skirted around it, giving it a wide berth. As he circled, he spotted someone in the chair.
“Hey, what kind of game are you playing here?”
He took a few steps closer, his eyebrows pinching as he stared at the shocked expression on the man’s face. He recognized Christopher Metcalfe, though the man’s features were twisted in agony.
“Are you getting this?”
