“What do you see?” He handed her the light.
Carefully, she stepped over the legs, edged up the dirt wall and kneeled down at the torso of the taller skeleton. She held the light over the body. “The ribs are broken. Look.”
Weston walked to the edge of the body and leaned forward. “Damn, you’re right. Good eye, PI.”
She held the light over the skull. “And, holy shit, the skull is cracked. Bad.”
“Someone beat the shit out of the guy.”
“Assuming it’s a guy…yeah, I’d say so.” She stepped over to the other skeleton, squatted down and scanned it from head to toe. “I don’t see anything obvious, like cracks or fractures on this one. But…” She looked up at him as a feeling of doom washed over her. “There’s no question about it—the taller one was murdered.”
“And if one was murdered, there’s a pretty good chance both—
Suddenly—WHAM!
She surged to her feet and spun around. Like a flash of lightning, Weston drew his gun and pointed it to the dark tunnel.
Fear ran like tingles over her skin. She whispered, “What was that?”
His steely eyes remained forward, laser-focused on the tunnel. The echo from the loud bang stopped, and everything went silent. Eerily silent.
After a moment, he said, “The trap door.”
“The trap door closing?”
He nodded. “Slamming shut.”
“Oh, my God, Weston. Do you think someone…”
“Maybe, or the wind, or maybe just the weight of it.” He looked at her. “No one came down. It’s okay.”
“Is it?” Panic began to bubble up. Her nerves were shot. Fried. She couldn’t handle any more drama tonight.
“I want you to stay here. I’m going to check it out.”
“Stay here with the skeletons?”
“Just pretend they’re dolls or something.”
She wrinkled her nose, and still whispering, said, “What the hell, Weston? What kind of freaky-ass dolls were in your house?”
He grinned, eyes still on the tunnel. “I’ll be right back. Take a few deep breaths. Everything’s going to be okay. Okay?”
Right. Everything’s going to be okay. She was just standing in a secret tomb under her office next to two skeletons, one of which had been brutally murdered. Yep, everything was just fine and dandy.
When she didn’t answer, he glanced at her. “Okay? Stay here. Get your gun out.”
Her gun. She completely forgot she’d carried it down with her. She pulled it from her belt and exhaled, feeling a bit of relief.
“Okay.” She paused. “Be careful.” She watched him walk out of the room. “Wait, Weston! The lantern!”
Through the darkness, in a voice that was calm and steady, he said, “You need it more than I do right now.”
“No. Please, take it.”
After a minute of no response, she assumed he went on without it. She slapped her hand over her face and shook her head. What an ass she was being. What a scaredy-cat baby. What a wuss. She needed to get ahold of herself, immediately.
She needed to get away from the damn skeletons.
She walked to the far end of the small room, giving her some space between the corpses, closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
And another.
What the hell was wrong with her?
This was not like her. No matter what the situation—no matter what—she was always the one who was in control. Emotionless. Never shaken.
She took another deep breath but felt her chest squeezing. She took a quick breath, and another, feeling like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room.
Was she having a panic attack?
A fucking panic attack?
“Okay, Roxy. Okay, you’re okay.” She whispered to herself while gasping for air. “Okay, you’re okay. You’re okay.”
She slid down the wall, closed her eyes and breathed.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
As her pulse started to slow, the reason for her erratic behavior hit her like a ton of bricks.
She’d almost lost her sisters today.
Her only family.
Ten years ago, she’d made a promise to them. She would take care of them. She would make sure nothing bad ever happened to them. She would keep them safe.
And not five hours ago, she’d almost lost them.
She’d almost let them down.
Tears threatened to sting her eyes as emotions flooded her.
She’d almost lost her sisters at the hand of someone else.
She clenched her jaw, opened her eyes and stared at the bones in front of her, imagining that she was looking at the dead body of Krestel, the witch that had almost taken her sisters from her.
Her everything.
She pushed off the floor, her mind racing. They had to find her. Find the book, and find her—a task that had proven to be very difficult thus far.
And then they had to kill her.
She inhaled deeply, just as a dark figure emerged at the doorway.
“We’re locked in.” Weston stepped inside.
“What?”
“We’re locked in.”
“You’re joking.”
“Believe me, I wish I were.”
“Did you push hard? Hit at it?”
“Seriously?”
Okay, stupid question.
He continued, “It feels like something fell on top of the door. Like it’s blocked. Maybe bricks from the pizza oven or something.”
“Do you have your cell phone?”
“Nope, upstairs.”
“Mine, too. In my bag… dammit!” She began pacing. “What the hell are we going to do?”
He stared at her for a moment and then said, “Hunker down. It’s going to be a long night.”
CHAPTER 7
“Hunker down?”
“Got a better idea?”
She laughed—a cackle, really—then shook her head. “Unbelievable. This is unbelievable.” She glanced at the lantern on the ground. Her eyes grew to the size of golf balls as she looked up at him. “Please tell me you recently put new batteries in that thing.”
“Okay. I recently put new batteries in that thing.”
Her jaw dropped. “Weston. Seriously, please tell me you did.”
He scratched his head. “Yeah… maybe a week… or a few weeks ago.”
“A few weeks ago.” She laughed again, almost deliriously this time.
Okay, he needed to ease her. He sure as hell couldn’t stay down in a dark-ass tunnel all night with a woman acting like a crazed, caged animal.
He shifted his weight, considering his best approach. He wasn’t the best at calming, consoling, or hell, anything to do with a woman’s emotions for that matter. He was a black-and-white kind of guy and emotions were all sorts of different shades of grey.
Maybe he just needed to remind her that the situation was only temporary. Maybe a long temporary, but still temporary.
“I’m assuming your sisters, or assistants, will be here first thing in the morning, right?”
Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sure… I mean I think so. Not to work of course, but to check things out.”
He flashed his best light-hearted smile. “Well, we'll be out of here in no time, then. Nothing to worry about.” He glanced at his watch. “Just eight or nine hours until then.”
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. He watched her closely, trying to gauge her emotional status.
From the moment he’d met her hours ago—and combined with everything he’d heard about her—he’d pegged her as one tough woman. High-maintenance, maybe, but tough nonetheless. But not right now. Not since he’d scared her half to death in the hallway. No, he was looking at a woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders, about to snap.
And dammit if something in him didn’t want to take some of that weight off. Along with her pants, of course.
He took a
step toward her. “Let’s take a break from this room for a minute.”
She looked away, and he swore he saw the glint of a tear in her eye. He lightly grabbed her hand.
“Let me just take one more look at them, okay?”
“Roxy, you need to sit down and relax for a minute.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Not next to two corpses.”
“I know. You’re right. Just one more look.”
Damn, this girl was stubborn. “Quickly.”
He watched her pick up the lantern and carefully step around the bones until she was looking straight down at the bodies. Her gaze intensified and he knew she was already beginning to put together clues to solve the mystery of the murdered duo. She was a born investigator, it was written all over her.
She frowned, zeroing in on the pelvic region of the tall skeleton, then squatted down.
“What do you see?”
She yanked up her sleeves. “Dammit, I wish I had my gloves.” She hesitated for a minute, then shrugged, and very slowly slid her hand between the skeleton’s bones.
“It’s like the board game Operation.”
Without breaking her concentration, she said, “So you obviously grew up in the eighties.”
He grinned and made the loud, obnoxious buzzing sound as if she'd touched a bone.
She nearly jumped off the ground. “Stop that!”
He laughed. “Seriously, what do you see?”
She didn’t answer, just carefully lifted a tiny glass container from underneath the skeleton.
“What is it?”
She held up a small vial. “This was directly underneath it.” She stood, grunting softly in pain.
He helped her step over the bones. “You need to take the weight off your back for a while.”
“I will.”
“Sure you will.” He took the vial from her and turned it over in his hands. “There’s a piece of paper in it. Let’s open it.”
“This really should be done in a sterile environment.” Frustrated, she looked down the dark tunnel as if willing the trap door to swing open.
“We’re assuming these bodies have been down here since before your parents purchased the house, right?”
“Right.”
“Considering the environment, I think it’s safe to assume that any trace evidence is long gone.”
She took the vial back. “You’d be surprised.” And cocked her head. “What do you know about trace evidence, anyway?”
“True-crime shows have come a long way the last few years.”
She grinned, and stared down at the small glass bottle in her hand, weighing her options. “Okay, let’s do it. Let’s open it.”
“Not here. In the tunnel.”
She nodded, and as he followed her out of the room, he glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t go anywhere, you guys.”
She chuckled. Good—progress.
“Here, let me help you down.”
Her cheeks reddened as he lowered her into a seated position on the dirt. She was embarrassed that she was hurt, which confirmed what he already assumed—this was a strong woman who didn’t like to show weakness. And that was a quality he could relate to.
He sat next to her—not too close, not too far away.
“It’s a screw top.” She took a deep breath and flexed her fingers.
“Roxy, you’re not doing brain surgery. Just open the damn thing.”
After setting the lantern in front of them, she unscrewed the lid and tapped the bottle on the palm of her hand until a faded, yellow-tinted piece of paper slid out. She carefully unfolded it.
They both leaned forward.
Written in black ink were multiple letters, numbers, and lines, making a honeycomb-type pattern across the paper. He raised his eyebrows. “It’s a chemical compound.”
“A compound? For what?”
“A drug.”
“Like a prescription drug?”
He nodded and took the paper from her, studying it closely. “Prescription, or illegal, of course.”
“How do you know it’s for a drug?”
“I recognize most of the compounds—they’re very commonly used in drugs.”
"How do you know that?"
He paused, cleared his throat. “I went to medical school.”
“What? You did?”
He smirked and slid her the side-eye. “I’m not sure if I should be insulted by your surprise.”
“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay. Anyway,” He quickly changed the subject. “Yeah, I’m positive this is the compound for a drug. Think of it like a recipe—a formula to make a drug.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. “Why would a formula for a drug be down in a tomb?”
“Pretty damn good hiding place.”
“Hiding place. Maybe they were keeping it from someone, or something. Hiding it with their bodies? No that doesn’t make sense.”
“It was under his bones, right?”
“Right.”
“Not buried?”
“No.”
“It’s scribbled, like it was written fast or something.” He glanced toward the tomb, in deep thought. “And you think they were murdered, right?”
“Definitely the tall one.” Her eyes widened, realizing where he was going with these questions. “And I found this bottle right below what would have been his stomach.”
“He swallowed it.”
“Possibly, yes.” She sat up with renewed energy and a twinkle in her eye. Yes, this woman loved a good mystery.
She continued, “And based on the location, he had to have swallowed it right before he was killed. Otherwise, it would have been further down in his bowels.”
“So he swallowed the vial to hide the formula from whoever the hell was about to beat him to death for it.”
“Exactly.”
They both leaned forward, staring at the black writing.
She looked up at him and in almost a whisper said, “What drug would be worth dying for?”
Just then—blackness. A darkness as black as tar surrounded them.
A second passed before she said, “Soooooo, how many weeks ago did you put new batteries in the light?”
“Try months, sweetheart.”
She groaned.
“Hey, I didn’t exactly expect to get trapped down in a secret tunnel, okay?” He blinked while his eyes adjusted to the blackout, hoping he would be able to see a tiny bit—at least enough to make out shapes and outlines of objects. Nope. He couldn’t see his hand a half-inch in front of his damn face.
Dammit.
She shifted her weight. “Well.”
“Any chance your buddies might swing by the house tonight?”
“Not a shot in hell. I told them to stay away until the morning.”
Pause. “The morning.”
Pause. “Yep.”
He felt her shiver next to him. He hadn’t noticed, but it was chilly against the dirt—and only going to get colder, which meant they’d need to huddle up. And huddling up with this woman without making a move was going to be the biggest test of his life.
He hesitated, knowing that he needed to tackle the subject lightly considering accepting help was not something Roxy was inclined to do.
“I think it’s supposed to dip into the thirties tonight.”
No response.
He leaned over and extended his arm. “Come here.”
Nothing.
He sighed. “Look, we’ve got at least eight hours down here, under ground. It’s going to get cold, and this is not the time to go all feminist on me. Take the help, Roxy.”
After a moment, she scooted closer and nestled against his side as he wrapped his arm around her. She released a barely audible sigh.
“There. Was that so hard?”
“Sorry.” She took a deep breath. “It’s been a hell of a day, and I’m not myself… and I can’t stand that.”
“It’s okay not to be perfect all the time.�
� He paused. “Everyone has bad days, and everyone has their breaking point. Trust me.”
She said nothing, but pressed a little harder into him. He wrapped his arm tighter around her and squeezed her shoulder. He felt a rush of sexual awareness and was shocked at the flutter of excitement in his stomach. Like a schoolboy making his first physical contact with the captain of the cheerleading squad that he’d been pining over for years.
Whoa. He hadn’t felt that in a long time. A very long time.
She rested her head on his chest.
A solid minute of silence slid by.
Finally, she said, “Thank you.”
His heart skipped a beat, and a smile crossed his face. He leaned down and kissed her softly on the top of the head.
“Go to sleep, Roxy.”
CHAPTER 8
A loud bang shook her from a deep sleep.
She opened her eyes to total darkness and panic shot through her.
Where the hell was she?
She felt movement beside her.
“Good morning.”
His low, deep voice sounded softly from the darkness that surrounded her, and the events of the evening before began to unjumble in her head.
She was in a secret tunnel under her office, which she had found just hours after the kitchen exploded—she was in a secret tunnel with the incredibly sexy Weston Cage.
Oh, my God.
She sat up, instantly aware that she was practically on top of him.
Again, oh, my God.
He shifted his weight. “I think someone’s here.”
Above them, she heard a muffled voice call out, “Roxy?”
“Scar.”
She scrambled up, her back feeling like it was tied in knots.
He wrapped his hand around her arm. “You okay?”
“Yeah, let’s get the hell out of here.”
“My pleasure.”
He took her hand and slowly led her down the pitch-black tunnel.
When they reached the staircase, he guided her hand, wrapping it around a step. “Hold onto this. Stay here. I’ll climb up.”
She nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see her. The steps creaked and groaned as he climbed up and then—
Bang, bang, bang! His heavy fist pounded the door.
The footsteps above them stopped.
He banged again, and the steps pivoted and jogged to the trap door.
“Hello?”
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