CLOSE CALL, page 1
CLOSE CALL
(A Kari Blackhorse Suspense Thriller—Book Two)
B L A K E P I E R C E
Blake Pierce
USA Today and #1 bestselling author Blake Pierce is the author of numerous series in the mystery and thriller genres, spanning 10 years of work, including the Jessie Hunt, Ella Dark, Rylie Page, Faith Bold and Rachel Gift series. Blake's most recent latest releases are the Jenna Graves, Alison Payne, Isla Rivers and Kari Blackhorse series.
Please visit blakepierceauthor.com to learn more, join the email list, receive free books, and stay in touch.
Copyright © 2025 by Blake Pierce. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SERIES BY BLAKE PIERCE
KARI BLACKHORSE
ISLA RIVERS
ALISON PAYNE
JENNA GRAVES
THE GOVERNESS
RACHEL BLACKWOOD
SHEILA STONE
FINN WRIGHT
MORGAN CROSS
JULIETTE HART
FAITH BOLD
FIONA RED
DAISY FORTUNE
AMBER YOUNG
CAMI LARK
NICKY LYONS
CORA SHIELDS
MAY MOORE
PAIGE KING
VALERIE LAW
RACHEL GIFT
AVA GOLD
A YEAR IN EUROPE
ELLA DARK
LAURA FROST
EUROPEAN VOYAGE
ADELE SHARP
THE AU PAIR
ZOE PRIME
JESSIE HUNT
CHLOE FINE
KATE WISE
THE MAKING OF RILEY PAIGE
RILEY PAIGE
MACKENZIE WHITE
AVERY BLACK
KERI LOCKE
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Robert Vaughn had never been afraid of the dark until now.
The beam of his flashlight cut through thick shadows, revealing just enough of the abandoned uranium mine to unsettle him—rusted equipment frozen in time, support beams warped from decades of pressure, the skeletal remains of an operation long forgotten by most. His Italian leather shoes, perfectly suitable for the Meridian Energy boardroom, crunched over what might have been the fragile bones of small animals.
"Watch your step here," his guide said, echoing against the stone walls. "Timber's rotted through."
Robert carefully stepped over a collapsed flooring section, his fifty-eight-year-old knees protesting the movement. The winding descent had already taken them deeper than he'd expected, and each step further from daylight intensified the pressure in his chest—a sensation his cardiologist would disapprove of.
Twenty-six years at Meridian Energy had earned him the corner office with the mountain view, the vacation home in Sedona, and the respect of industry colleagues who'd watched him climb from junior analyst to executive vice president of strategic development. What it hadn't prepared him for was this subterranean journey, following a near stranger into the literal remnants of the company's complicated past.
His guide appeared at his office door yesterday afternoon and was introduced by Jennifer Garcia from legal. "He knows the old Sleeping Dog Mine better than anyone," she'd said, her eyes conveying more than her words. This wasn't the first time Meridian had sent Robert to handle delicate matters. His reputation as a problem-solver preceded him—the man who could transform regulatory roadblocks into strategic advantages, who could find profit where others saw only liability.
The mine, dormant since the 1980s, represented both. A potential asset buried beneath decades of complicated history.
"How much farther?" Robert asked, hearing the strain in his own voice. The air tasted metallic, tinged with something he didn't want to identify. Dust particles danced in his flashlight beam, and he tried not to think about what might be entering his lungs with each breath.
His wife Caroline would be furious if she knew where he was—not just because of the potential danger, but because he'd promised to cut back on work after his minor heart attack last year. Their youngest daughter's college graduation was just three weeks away, and Caroline had made him swear he'd make it without another medical incident.
"You're not indispensable, Robert," she'd told him, her voice softening the harshness of the words. "Not to the company, anyway."
The memory made him frown. Thirty-two years of marriage, and she still didn't understand what drove him. His father had worked the same factory job for forty years, coming home with hands permanently stained by industrial grease and a spine bent from repetitive labor. Robert had promised himself a different path—one where he controlled his destiny instead of being controlled by it.
"Central chamber's just ahead," the guide replied, moving with surprising agility for someone who claimed to know the mine only from old surveys and reports. "Best spot to assess structural integrity."
There was something odd about the guide that Robert couldn't quite place. During their brief interactions, the man had been perfectly professional and knowledgeable about mining operations and geological formations. Yet Robert had caught him staring several times with an intensity that seemed personal rather than professional.
Robert adjusted his hardhat, the battery-powered lamp atop it providing general illumination while his handheld flashlight allowed for closer inspection. The equipment felt foreign to him—like costume pieces in a play where he'd been miscast. He belonged in boardrooms and executive retreats, not hundreds of feet below ground in a forgotten mine.
But when CEO Malcolm Pierce had casually mentioned the potential value of revisiting some "legacy assets," Robert had recognized the unspoken assignment. It was how things worked at his level—initiatives that needed to be explored without creating paper trails or alerting shareholders. Just a quiet evaluation of possibilities, Jennifer had emphasized. Nothing to worry the board with yet.
This assessment was off the books—no official documentation, nothing that might trigger community pushback or regulatory scrutiny. If the preliminary geological surveys were accurate, Sleeping Dog Mine could be worth revisiting despite its troubled history. Uranium prices were climbing again, and extraction technologies had advanced significantly since the mine's closure.
A distant rumble vibrated through the tunnel, causing small cascades of dust and pebbles from above. Robert froze.
"Just settling," his guide reassured him without breaking stride. "Old mines breathe and shift. Nothing to worry about."
Robert wasn't convinced but continued following anyway. He'd skimmed the safety records during last night's preparation—knew about the collapse in '79 that had trapped three miners for nearly thirty hours before rescue. The incident had been blamed on inadequate support structures, an issue Meridian's predecessor company had supposedly addressed in other sections of the mine.
The tunnel widened as they entered what must have been a central processing area. The ceiling rose beyond the reach of Robert's flashlight, creating the unsettling impression of infinite darkness above. The remains of machinery loomed like prehistoric creatures, their purpose lost to time and corrosion.
He swept his light across what appeared to be an ore processing system—conveyor belts now hanging in tatters, sorting tables tilted at odd angles from decades of ground shifting. The scale of the operation impressed him even in its decay. According to the records, Sleeping Dog had been a significant producer during its operational years, helping fuel America's Cold War nuclear ambitions.
Of course, those same records made no mention of the illnesses that had plagued nearby communities in the decades that followed. That information had come from other sources—memos marked "confidential" and legal settlements with non-disclosure agreements.
The kinds of documents that disappeared into storage rooms, never to be referenced again.
Robert pushed the thought aside. Every industry had its shadows, its uncomfortable truths. Energy production had always required difficult trade-offs. His job wasn't to judge the past but to secure the future—Meridian's future, its shareholders' futures.
His own future.
His retirement fund needed just a few more years of growth before he could ensure Caroline would be taken care of if anything happened to him. Their grandchildren's college funds needed strengthening. The lakeside property they'd been eyeing in Minnesota wasn't going to buy itself.
"Remarkable preservation, considering," Robert said, speaking mostly to fill the silence that had grown increasingly uncomfortable. "The preliminary geological surveys suggest significant deposits remain untapped in the eastern sections."
He turned to find himself alone.
The abrupt solitude startled him. One moment his guide had been there, a few steps ahead; the next, vanished completely.
"Hello?" His voice bounced back at him, slightly distorted. "Are you there?"
Nothing.
Robert's heartbeat quickened, the steady thump becoming uncomfortable against his ribs. He swept his flashlight in a wide arc, searching for any sign of movement among the shadowy equipment and fallen rocks.
"This isn't funny," he called. "If there's a safety concern, we should exit immediately."
Still nothing.
Had there been another tunnel entrance he'd missed? Perhaps his guide had stepped around a corner to examine something and was out of earshot. But the silence felt deliberate, calculated even.
The mine seemed to absorb his words, offering only the distant sound of water dripping somewhere in the darkness. Robert pulled out his cell phone—no signal, as expected, but the screen's blue glow provided momentary comfort in its familiarity. The time read 9:47 PM. They'd been underground for nearly an hour.
He turned back toward what he hoped was the tunnel they'd entered through, only to find multiple dark openings staring back like empty eye sockets. The realization that he couldn't identify which passage they'd used sent a wave of coldness through him that had nothing to do with the mine's ambient temperature.
Which one had they come through?
Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool underground air. He tried to recall any distinguishing features from their journey inward, but the tunnels all looked disquietingly similar in his memory.
Robert took a deep breath, forcing himself to think logically. Panic was the enemy in any crisis situation—that's what the corporate emergency training always emphasized. He still had his flashlight, his hardhat lamp, a small emergency water bottle, and a basic first aid kit attached to his belt. He wasn't injured or in immediate danger.
As far as he knew.
He chose the leftmost opening, taking careful steps toward what he believed was the exit. The path sloped upward, which seemed promising.
"I'm heading out," he announced to the empty mine, hoping his guide would hear and follow. "We can reschedule this assessment with a proper team."
The words echoed back at him, hollow and uncertain.
As he walked, Robert found himself thinking about the mine's history—not the sanitized version from company archives, but the messier reality he'd glimpsed in redacted reports and hushed conversations over his years at Meridian. Local opposition had been fierce when closure was first proposed in the early '80s, despite growing evidence of contamination issues. Jobs versus safety—the eternal struggle of resource-dependent communities.
He remembered the photographs he'd seen once in an old file: protests outside Meridian's regional office, signs bearing names and faces of community members claimed by rare cancers. The images had been included in a risk assessment report that had ultimately recommended settling several lawsuits quietly rather than facing public scrutiny.
Robert had signed off on that recommendation without hesitation. It was the pragmatic choice, the one that protected the company's interests. He'd never visited the affected communities, never seen firsthand what the reports clinically described as "health anomalies in proximity to extraction operations."
The tunnel narrowed unexpectedly, forcing him to turn sideways to navigate past a partially collapsed section. His breathing quickened as claustrophobia threatened to overwhelm him. The air felt thinner here, though he knew that was likely psychological rather than actual atmospheric change.
He'd nearly cleared the tight passage when his flashlight beam caught something on the wall—markings that didn't look like natural formations or standard mining notations. He brought the light closer, revealing what appeared to be symbols carved into the stone. Some resembled animals, others geometric patterns he couldn't interpret.
Native American petroglyphs? This deep in the mine? It seemed unlikely, yet there they were, clearly deliberate and ancient-looking. Robert ran his fingers over the etchings, feeling their depth in the rock. Something about them sent an involuntary shiver through him.
He continued forward, eager to put distance between himself and both the tight passage and the unsettling carvings. The tunnel began to widen again, and he felt a slight movement of air that suggested he might be approaching an opening.
Relief flooded through him as he rounded a bend in the tunnel—only to freeze mid-step.
A figure stood blocking his path, silhouetted against the dim light filtering from somewhere behind. For a brief, relieved moment, Robert thought it was his guide. Then the figure moved forward, and the beam of Robert's flashlight illuminated a face—or rather, what should have been a face.
Instead, an intricately carved wooden mask stared back at him, its features twisted into an expression that wasn't quite human. The eyes behind the mask's narrow slits reflected his flashlight with an animal-like gleam. The figure wore what appeared to be traditional clothing, adorned with symbols similar to those he'd just seen carved into the tunnel wall.
The figure stood perfectly still, saying nothing. Somehow, this silence was more terrifying than any words could have been.
"Who are you?" Robert managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "What is this?"
The figure tilted its head, as if studying him. Even without seeing the face behind the mask, Robert sensed judgment—cold, absolute judgment—emanating from the figure.
His mind raced through possibilities. A protester who'd somehow discovered their unofficial assessment? A homeless person using the abandoned mine for shelter? Some kind of bizarre prank orchestrated by younger executives testing his resolve?
None of the explanations felt right.
"Look," Robert said, attempting to regain his corporate confidence, "I don't know what this is about, but I'm a senior executive with Meridian Energy. This property is technically still owned by our subsidiary holdings. You're trespassing."
The words sounded ridiculous even as he spoke them, but corporate authority was his reflexive response to uncertain situations. It had served him well in boardrooms and negotiations. Here, facing a silent masked figure in the bowels of the earth, the language of corporate power felt as useless as his Italian leather shoes.
The figure remained motionless for several heartbeats longer. Then, with deliberate slowness, it raised one hand. Something metallic caught the flashlight's beam—a knife with a bone handle, its blade stained with dark substances Robert didn't want to identify.
In that moment, Robert Vaughn understood with perfect clarity that he would not be attending his daughter's graduation. He wouldn't be returning to his corner office with the mountain view. He wouldn't be growing old with Caroline in their Sedona retreat.
He thought of the unsigned birthday card sitting on his desk back at the office, intended for his oldest son who'd stopped speaking to him three years ago after a particularly heated argument about "corporate responsibility." He thought of the promises he'd made to be a different kind of father than his own had been, promises that had gradually eroded under the constant pressure of career advancement.
He thought of the communities whose names he'd carefully avoided learning while signing off on settlement packages designed primarily to protect Meridian rather than make amends.
His final regret wasn't for the life he was about to lose, but for the one he'd failed to actually live—a life defined by balance sheets and quarterly projections rather than the values he'd once believed would guide him.
His last thought, as the figure lunged forward with impossible speed, was of the mine itself—how places like these held memories, absorbed pain and greed and desperation into their very walls.
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