Legitimate Lies

by Cosgrove, Julie B;

We nodded in union.

  He tapped his earpiece. “Let’s do this, people.”

  A few more men, dressed in all back, emerged.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Niamh and I sat in the back seat. An agent and Tom slid into the front. The other agents and Mac rode in the car ahead of us. Niamh leaned over. “They told me Robert is your husband?”

  “Yes.” I gave her a quick glance. “I never knew what he did until about six months ago.”

  “Wow. What a nightmare for you.” She clicked her tongue. “At least I had an idea where my life was headed. Well, sort of.”

  I leaned forward so Tom could hear me over the hum of the car’s engine. “When it’s all over, will you come get us?”

  The NCA agent who drove and Tom exchanged glances. Then the driver answered. “We’ll communicate with the agents who are watching over you. They’ll bring you when we give them the all clear.”

  Something about their expressions hit me wrong. Did they anticipate a reenactment of the OK Corral? A chill slithered down my spine as the gravity of this plan dawned on me. And I was supposed to sit quietly in a gazebo a hundred yards away while the man I loved dueled with the man I vowed to cherish until death parted us? Not a chance.

  “Tom, Niamh and I will go speak with the dowager together. That way she can see they were trying to dupe her, right?”

  “You mean after it’s all over? Yeah, that’s the plan.” Tom craned his neck towards us as he twisted as far as his shoulder restraint would allow. “Just make sure she can tell you two apart easily enough.”

  “As soon as I open my mouth, there will be no doubt who is who.” I drawled the sentence in exaggerated Texan.

  The agent, who drove, chuckled. That started us all laughing. The tension in the car oozed out the tailpipe. But in the back of my mind, a new plan formed.

  She crossed one long leg over the other, and tugged on her skirt.

  “You look real nice, Niamh.”

  She smoothed her hair. “More presentable to meet my grandmamma, huh?” She fanned herself. “Phew. I’m nervous, aren’t you?”

  I squeezed her other hand. “All will work out.”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, we emerged from the cars and crept into the glen. Mac slipped behind the wheel of the SUV while the agents pushed our car into the brush. Tom tapped the top of the SUV. He leaned into the driver’s side window. “Okay. You have your instructions, Mac. Remember, we’re watching.”

  After Mac’s taillights faded from view, the rest of us began our trek to the gazebo.

  My thoughts suddenly returned to the first night in these woods. “What happened to Spud?”

  Tom walked closer to me. “The vagrant who hid you from view? He disappeared in the ruckus. Who knows where he is now.”

  Niamh added. “Probably decided to save his own skin. It’s what these old vets are used to doing.”

  I shrugged. “I guess. He was sweet to me, though.”

  Tom leaned in and whispered. “God sends angels in the strangest forms sometimes.” He winked and strode to join the lead agent. I turned to detect the others pulling up the rear.

  Niamh picked up on my thoughts. “You think there will be enough? The few times I met your hubby, he surrounded himself with some tough muscle.”

  “They know what they’re doing.” I prayed it to be true. “Tom’s got a good idea how many goons mill about the manor grounds. He’s been surveying them.”

  I had to trust Tom. He obviously informed the agent who ran the point on this, as they say, of the whole story. Ahead the gazebo loomed in the wane of the moonlight, like some long ago remnant from a movie set. Niamh let out a deep sigh.

  “This is where you and Barry would meet, isn’t it?”

  She answered in a soft yes. Then she trudged ahead.

  Tom’s arm slipped around my waist. “You ready, hon?”

  “Yes. Niamh is, too. I admire her strength. This isn’t going to be easy for her.”

  “True. Drudging up a lot of skeletons tonight.” He squeezed me to him and kissed the top of my head.

  I grabbed Tom’s arm and spoke in a low hiss. “Wait. I should come as well.”

  Even in the dim moonlight I could see his eyebrow cock. “Back into the tunnel? You?” He puffed through his cheeks. “I don’t think so, Jen. I can’t afford for your phobia to rear its ugly head.”

  “It won’t. I want to go with y’all.” I planted my feet into the soft sod. “I can’t sit up here in this gazebo and not know if you are okay.” The last words escaped from my lips with a sob.

  He pulled me to him. “And I can’t put you in danger like that. You said Robert’s become unstable. Who knows what his mood will be.”

  I pulled away to gaze into his eyes. “I’m going in that tunnel, Tom. I’ll make sure Niamh gets to the dowager when the time comes. Besides, I honestly think Robert will listen to me once you capture him. He’s a broken man.”

  Tom angled his head. “Well, hon…”

  “Tom, I know that look in her eyes. She’s not planning to come back to the gazebo.”

  “You sure?”

  I raised my voice. “Niamh. Are there other stairs that lead to the family’s quarters other than the ones from the kitchen to the dining room and through the main hall?”

  She stepped closer to us. “Yes, there’s another. The servants use it. How did you know?”

  “I read British historical novels.” I placed my arm around her shoulder. “You want to get to your grandmother before the ruckus begins, don’t you?”

  She bobbed her head. “We’re not sure how frail she truly is. Her heart might fail from fright or shock when men storm her home.”

  “She’s right, Tom.”

  Niamh rested her hand on Tom’s arm. “I should be with grandmamma. Please.” Her eyes shimmered with fresh tears. “I can keep her calm.”

  I gave Tom a serious look. Tom returned my gaze. “Stay here.”

  I reached for Niamh’s hand and patted it.

  He called over the head agent. “Get Mac on the horn. Tell him to meet the ladies at the entrance to the livery and sneak them into the dowager’s room via the servant’s stairs.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  Tom scoffed. “I have two very determined women here. They both seem bent on going into that manor with or without our help.”

  The man’s eyes moved from me to Niamh and back again. “Do you both understand the dangers involved? You must stay out of our way.”

  The two of us nodded and answered him in unison. “We will.”

  Tom pulled him aside and whispered something to him. The head agent’s face became solemn. He let out a sigh. “Okay. If you’re certain.”

  Tom’s eyes focused on me. “Absolutely. She’s been in worse scrapes.”

  The agent bobbed his head. “Very well. Not exactly protocol, though.” Then he clicked his fingers. The other agents gathered around him. “Okay, folks. No torches until we are in the tunnel.” He swiveled back to us. “Ladies first.”

  I tapped Tom on the back. “Torches? Isn’t that a bit medieval?”

  Tom leaned into my ear. “He means flashlights.” Then he tugged on my arm. “You sure you can handle her? What if she turns?”

  “You mean if she’s really on Mac and Robert’s side? I don’t think she is. Niamh just wants to protect her grandmother.”

  He pulled his ear bud out. “Here. Wear this. If you need help, just speak normally. One of these men will come to your aid.”

  I placed my hand over his and closed his fingers over the hearing device. “And what about you?”

  Tom pried my grip away. He kissed my cheek, and then gently slipped the instrument into my ear. “I’ll be fine. Trust me. Now go”

  “I’ll be praying for you.” I patted his almost-not-there love handle.

  “Ditto.” He lifted his voice. “Ready?”

  The agent in charge nodded. “Okay, people. Time is now. Watches synced?�
�

  Niamh checked hers against his and the agents. “I hope I don’t get my skirt smudged in that tunnel. Grandmamma always insisted on fastidiousness.” Her words cracked as the emotion of the reunion swept over her.

  “Niamh, will she be strong enough to take it all in?” I dashed my gaze to my hands. “I mean mentally.”

  “Depends on how much of Dr. Wilson’s happy shots are in her system, right?”

  I tucked my lips in my teeth.

  “When I think of what she’s been through…” She blinked a few times then raised her eyes. “If I cry, my mascara will run.”

  Did I have any makeup on at the moment? Doubtful. Not since…wow, Florida? And Tom had never said a word. The man had definitely seen me at my worst enough times. When this was all over, I’d make sure he saw me at my best.

  Niamh started off with me at her heels. Within a few minutes we reached the entrance. The agents lifted the moss-covered doors with what seemed as no effort at all. I shot one last glance at Niamh before she entered into the dark corridor.

  Shuddering off the familiar chill, I followed.

  The passageways weren’t as intimidating with flashlights and Niamh’s guidance. Our footsteps echoed against the dampness. We walked in silence, with only Niamh’s occasional whisper telling me which way to turn. Dirt covered arches gave way to taller corridors of stone. The ground beneath our shoes became rock as well. After a long passageway and two turns, Niamh stopped. “We’re here. Up those stairs to the livery.”

  I grabbed her elbow. “Okay, Niamh. We can do this.”

  She smiled and clicked off her torch.

  In the distance the careful footsteps of Tom and the other agents told me they walked about five minutes behind us. That should give Niamh and I ample time to get to the family quarters. We stayed on the stone steps and waited for the signal from Mac. After an eternity of a few moments, a creak sounded over our heads. The planked ceiling lifted and Mac crouched as he peeked in. “Come on.”

  We scrambled out of the tunnel into the livery room. Mac put his hand out and stopped. He craned his head around the corner, listened, and motioned us ahead.

  Suddenly, Niamh yanked the back of his shirt and slammed him against the wall.

  “You think I don’t know my way through my own house?”

  She slapped the fool on his cheek and kicked him in the groin. He crumbled into a deep groan.

  I stood, my pulse thumping in my ears in disbelief.

  Niamh grabbed my hand. “Come on, back into the tunnel. She lifted the hatch.

  I halted. “What about the servants’ stairs?”

  “He will have told Robert’s men to watch for us.” She motioned with her head. “Go.”

  Suddenly, men’s voices and hurried footsteps came closer. Mac groaned louder.

  Niamh cursed. “Not enough time. Hide.” She abandoned the hatch and shoved me down the hall into another darkened room. The smell of brass cleanser stung my nose. We slid under a large wooden table against the wall and balled ourselves into a fetal position. I held my breath and closed my eyes.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Voices grew louder. “Idiot. Where did they go?”

  A smack echoed, and another groan from Mac.

  A gruff, male voice sounded. “Andrew. The hatch is open.”

  “Well, go on. Go after them. They can’t have gone far.”

  More shuffling of feet and Mac’s cry of pain. “Get up, you worthless…” Andrew’s voice. “We’ll let Robert deal with you.” Their footsteps faded.

  I looked over at Niamh, my vision more adjusted to the dark room. She crawled out, and I followed her back into the livery. A finger went to her lips. She quietly eased the hatch closed. “Hand me those.” She pointed to five boxes. Each weighed a good fifteen pounds.

  “What’s in here?”

  “Rations. Probably from the Cold War.”

  We placed them on top of the hatch. With a wink, she dusted off her hands. “That’ll hold them.”

  “But what about Tom and the other agents? They’re bound to be in the tunnel by now.”

  Niamh nodded. Her eyes widened. “Exactly.”

  She’d led Robert’s goons into a trap. I patted her on the back. “Very good, Niamh.”

  She tapped her finger to her temple. “There is another passage, but we will have to be very quiet. It’s through the kitchen, by the back door. But it’s ancient. No one uses it anymore.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  “We don’t have a choice. Besides, it may be sturdy enough.”

  I huffed a quick prayer through my mouth.

  We took off our shoes and crept along the corridor barefoot. Our path turned left and into the scullery. Niamh wrapped her fingers around a built-in broom cupboard. She removed a bucket and two mops. “Help me open it.”

  Together, we pulled the left-hand side. After a few creaks, we stopped and listened for any reaction. Only the cat, nestled into a basket on the floor, responded. It arched up, stretched out its front paws and curled back into a tight ball.

  One more pull and it gave way to reveal a small storage room. Niamh nodded. “Okay. To the right is a false wall. It leads up four flights into the tower. We will then have to descend two more to the hall where Gran’s room is. Got it?”

  I gave my head a deep bob. She winked and motioned me inside. With her mouth strained tight against her teeth, she eased the cupboard door closed again. “Phew. So far so good. We’ll wait here a minute.”

  Our hips touched the walls. “Close quarters.”

  “Not claustrophobic are you?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “Let’s keep going, then.” Niamh motioned with her fingers. “One, two, three.”

  Together we shoved with our shoulders. The wall growled like an awoken giant. I winced.

  A man called out. “Hey, what was that?”

  Another baritone voice answered him. “Shut up. These old manors groan in the wind. The other guys have to be around here somewhere.”

  Someone spoke right outside the closet where we crouched. Michael? “Find them. Robert wants us all gathered in the dining room for further instructions. Expecting a raid.”

  Mac must have squealed like a pig.

  We waited until their footfalls faded before we proceeded, pressing our weights against the sides of the tiny space. Niamh punched the button on her illuminated watch. “We better hurry. Let’s go.”

  With one more shove, the wall gave way and stairs appeared, laced in dangling cobwebs. I pulled one off my arm with a shudder. I hated spiders with a passion.

  Niamh took the flashlight out of her shirt pocket, flicked it on, and motioned me to follow.

  We trudged in silence on the balls of our feet, step by step. One steep flight, two. Niamh stopped with her hand to her stomach. She sucked in a few deep breaths.

  Mine came in huffs as well and my legs wobbled. “Can we rest a minute?”

  “Yeah,” she breathed. “Good idea.” She slid to sit on the stone step and wiped her brow.

  The small stairwell felt clammy and cramped as if all the air had been sucked out of it centuries ago. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. What I’d give for a drink of water. “I can’t believe two flights of stairs winded me. When and if I ever get back to the states, I’m renewing my gym membership.”

  Niamh gave me a chuckle. “It is rather steep. Ready?”

  “Sure. Onward.”

  The next sets we took at a slightly slower pace. The last one curved in a tight spiral at an even more exaggerated slant. An old, thickly woven kemp rope looped from iron rings became our only source of grip. I prayed it wasn’t rotted by time and moisture. And rats weren’t chewing on it. If my hand landed on one…

  We took each narrow step sideways as we circled upwards. At the end sat a wooden door with wrought iron hinges. Dusty cob webs veiled it like mosquito netting. We pulled them away, wiped our palms and shoved against it. It opened with a lot less effor
t than I thought it would.

  “Praise God. Not locked.”

  “Right.” Niamh entered the small hallway and pulled back a heavy damask curtain.

  There lay another door. She gave me a quick grin. “I think this is where they hid the mad family members.”

  I stared at her. “Seriously?”

  She shrugged. “Probably not. Just forgotten in one of the myriad of renovations over the centuries. I may be the only one who knows it’s here. One day while playing hide and seek I found it.” It opened with a slight creak into a round room. “Welcome to Narnia.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  The last wisp of setting moonlight illuminated through the cracks in the wooden turret roof to show a room barely five feet in diameter. A pungent odor of dust penetrated my senses. My palms moistened, and my breath quickened.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I shuddered the childhood phobia away. “I got locked in my grandmother’s trunk once playing hide and seek in her attic. Scared me to death.”

  “Dear, Lord. I imagine so.” She set her shoes down, and I did the same.

  “The cobwebs, dust and the smell…it brings it all back.”

  “Hmm. Sorry. This way.”

  We gathered our shoes and shuffled to another door. Ahead lay a small stair case spiraling downward, just as steep as the one that had led us up. We tackled it at a quicker pace and halted briefly in a hallway before venturing down it to the next flight of stairs.

  Several floors down, a grandfather clock chimed midnight in solemn metered dongs. The rest of the house fell eerily quiet. Niamh motioned for us to proceed. Her delicate toes felt for each creak and groan of the wooden stairs under the carpeted runner, as her memory recalled their location. I followed, literally, in her footsteps.

  At last, as the distant Westminster chimes struck the quarter hour, we stood on the floor where the family bedrooms lay. Niamh pushed open the wall panel to reveal one of the guestroom’s closet.

  “Now I really feel like I’m in a scene from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”

  We tiptoed to the bedroom door. Niamh laid her hand on it as she slowly opened it. No goons guarded the halls. Down the left Niamh’s room sat, door shut tight. She gave it a quick glance and sighed. “Gran lives this way.”