Adventure of Dallas Fontaine 2

Dallas drops into the crawlspace, dust boiling up around his boots. The chalk arrows run straight for the support pillars, and ahead, a man hunches over wires, canisters, and a timer box.

Murderbone lands beside him, low and silent. The silhouette jerks at the sound, one hand snapping toward the wiring as if to finish the job before Dallas closes the gap.

Alder March steps out of the shadows behind the rig, coat dark with grime, one hand resting near a detonator lead. The canisters are packed tight, the kind of crude load that turns a wedding into a massacre.

Rourke shifts to shield the wires, while March keeps the choke point covered. Above them, the floor thuds with distant music and the weight of guests dancing over the kill zone.

One wrong move here, and the main hall becomes rubble.

Dallas surges across the crawlspace and slams into Rourke's side. The wires whip free in his hands as the timer box jerks off line.

Murderbone launches at March's outstretched arm, jaws clamping hard on the wrist near the detonator lead.

The sabotage rig spasms, canisters clattering against concrete as one loose lead sparks blue and dies.

March staggers back, arm trapped in Murderbone's grip, while Rourke claws at Dallas and loses his balance beside the exposed wiring.

Above them, the music keeps playing through the floor. From the tunnel behind the rig, a fresh scrape of shoes answers the chaos, and both men hear it.

Dallas drives Rourke flat and rips the last detonator lead free at the same time. The line comes loose with a sharp snap, and the little box in the rig goes dead in his hand.

Rourke's grip breaks. He folds over the wiring, breath punching out of him, while Dallas pins his shoulder to the concrete and keeps the cut wire out of reach.

Murderbone does not let March lean in. The dog hauls on the trapped wrist, forcing March sideways, and a grimy Harbor Unit badge drops from his sleeve into the dust.

The scrap of movement in the tunnel behind the rig gets louder. Chalk arrows catch the crawlspace light, pointing past the canisters toward a low gap under the hall.

Above them, the floor thumps with dancers, unaware. Below, the tunnel answer scrapes closer, and the torn lead in Dallas's hand points straight at the open crawlway.

Dallas’s shot cracks through the crawlspace, and Alder March jerks backward, the tunnel plan dying with him.

He goes down hard against the braces, and the Harbor Unit badge skitters in the dust as Murderbone recoils from the sudden drop.

Rourke stares at the fallen man, then at the dead timer box, panic flooding his face.

Dallas is already moving. He surges past the rig and into the low gap beneath the hall, following the chalk arrows into the dark.

Behind him, Murderbone snaps toward the opening, then lunges after Dallas as dust shakes loose from the boards above.

Farther inside, something metal scrapes once, quick and deliberate, from the tunnel ahead.