The Buried by Brett Battles Read Free Book Online Page B

He tapped the screen, killing the noise, and swung his legs off the bed.
    Caffeine would be nice, he thought as he stood up. Two or three gallons’ worth should do the trick.
    Nate was already in the kitchen when Quinn entered.
    “I see you slept like a baby, too,” his partner said.
    Quinn grunted as he set his phone on the counter and poured himself a mug of coffee from the pot Nate had brewed.
    “I take it Helen didn’t call with new instructions,” Nate said.
    Quinn shook his head. With the exception of his alarm, his phone had remained silent since their arrival at the safe house.
    He took a sip and began to feel a bit more alive. After another, he asked, “Any noise from our guest?”
    “Not a peep.”
    Quinn cocked his head. “Please tell me she’s not gone.”
    “I took a look in before coming down. She’s still there.”
    Sipping from their cups, they shared a long silence.
    “Did you check the news?” Quinn asked.
    Nate looked at him, not quite understanding, then his eyes widened. “Oh, right.”
    He disappeared into the living room, where the only television in the house was located. Quinn refilled his cup and followed, arriving just as Nate tuned in to a local morning news show.
    On the screen was a helicopter shot looking down on a neighborhood, the focus on a familiar house.
    “Looks like they sent someone to check out your call,” Nate said.
    Dozens of police officers roamed the yards surrounding Samuel Edmondson’s home, their cars jamming the street. Even at this early hour, a crowd of looky-loos had gathered, but could only get as close as a barricade two houses away.
    At the bottom of the screen, a graphic read:
     
    2 ALIVE/2 DEAD IN COLUMBIA CITY HOME
     
    “Turn it up,” Quinn said.
    As Nate increased the volume, an anchor was saying, “…found on the premises. Let’s bring back in Tom Markewicz, who’s on the scene. Tom, what’s the latest?”
    The image switched to a ground-level shot of a reporter standing just inside the barricade. The camera was angled to capture Edmondson’s front door in the distance.
    “Carol, while the police have not yet released any names, neighbors say the home is owned by a man named Samuel Edmondson. One woman told me Mr. Edmondson seemed friendly but tended to keep to himself.” He went on for a while longer, sharing no real information.
    The screen then split into graphic boxes, with the female anchor in the left box. “Any word yet if Mr. Edmondson was one of those discovered inside?”
    “Not yet. All we know at this point is that one of the deceased is a woman and one a man. I’ll report back as soon as I have more.”
    “Thanks, Tom.” The shot of the anchor then took over the whole screen. “Rita Meyers is standing by at Swedish Medical Center with an update on the two people found alive inside the house.
    Another switch, this time to a reporter with the hospital in the background. “Just a few minutes ago a hospital spokesman told us that the two women are in fair condition. From what I understand, neither woman is—”
    Nate turned it off. “It’s kind of weird seeing our handiwork on TV.”
    Weird wasn’t strong enough a word as far as Quinn was concerned. Though he was relieved to have confirmation that the women were no longer in their cells, he had an intense desire to quickly get as far away from the area as possible.
    As he took another sip of coffee, a thump on the floorboards overhead signaled that their guest had woken. This was followed a moment later by the doorknob rattling and a fist slamming against the door.
    “Hey!” Danielle yelled. “Let me out! I need to go to the bathroom!”
    Nate held out his fist. “Rock paper scissors?”
    Frowning, Quinn said, “I’ll do it.” He handed his cup to Nate and headed upstairs.
    “You guys are just like Mr. Black!” Danielle yelled as she continued to hit the door. “New room, different prison!”
    Raising his voice to be heard above the racket, Quinn said,