His team scrambled to comply, but Monroe knew they were too far away. Whatever was happening at that precinct, Trina was on her own. Back in the evidence room, Diaz helped clean Trina's split lip with antiseptic wipes. I'll make that call as soon as my shift ends. 2 hours.
Just hang on. Earlier is better, Trina said. But I've got my own plans. She nodded toward the water bottle he'd brought. Leave that when you go.
Diaz frowned, but didn't ask questions. He packed up the first aid kit and moved to the door. I'll keep watch. Try to buy you some time. As soon as he left, Trina went to work.
Her fingers, though numb from the tight cuffs, managed to grip the metal bottle cap. The vent cover above her was old. Its screws loose from years of vibration. One by one, she began working them free. Outside, Diaz paced the hallway, his police radio crackling with routine traffic stops and domestic disturbance calls.
Every footstep made him jump. Every shadow could be Faulner returning. The USB drive felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket. He checked his watch. 11:47 p.m. The night stretched endlessly ahead as the sound of metal scraping against metal whispered through the evidence room door.
From his post, Diaz could see straight down the main hallway to the booking area. Deputy Rusk sat at the desk, playing games on his phone, obviously bored with night shift duty. The security cameras in the corner blinked their red lights steadily, except for the one pointing at the evidence room. That light was dark. Through the window, Diaz watched Trina work methodically at the vent, her movements precise despite her restraints.
The metal cap spun against the screws with quiet determination. One screw clattered to the floor, then another. She caught them before they could make noise. The radio squawked. "Unit 4, respond to possible 10-54 at Miller's Creek."
Rusk's voice came back. Copy that. On route. The front door slammed as Rusk left, leaving the station even emptier. Somewhere in the building, a phone started ringing.
It went unanswered. The vent cover creaked softly as another screw came loose under Trina's relentless work. Diaz checked his watch again. 11:52 p.m. The night crawled by like molasses as he stood guard, every minute feeling like an hour. While behind him, the sounds of Trina's escape attempt continued with quiet persistence.
The darkness pressed in around Trina as she squeezed her aching body through the narrow vent shaft. Years of dust coated her clothes, and every movement sent shooting pains through her bruised ribs. The basement archives stretched below her like a maze of shadowy shelves and forgotten files. With practiced silence, she lowered herself down, landing in a crouch between two tall filing cabinets. The musty smell of old paper and damp concrete filled her lungs.
Her training kicked in. Assess, adapt, survive. First priority, get oriented. Pale emergency lights cast a sickly glow through the underground space. Row after row of metal shelving units created a grid pattern that stretched into the darkness.