by Liz Johnson
Apparently he’d learned to read her mind in the four weeks they’d known each other. Since she didn’t have anything to hide anymore, she didn’t mind. She wouldn’t have minded being able to read his mind too. But that was a distraction they couldn’t afford tonight.
Suddenly his face twisted, and he blinked hard. “What is that?”
She caught a whiff of it again. “Oh, sorry. That’s me. Projectile vomit.”
He looked like he had to wrestle his smile down to the mat, and even then the corner of his mouth tilted up.
“Let me go change. I’ll be right back. Meet you here?”
“Sure. Then we’ll go find Ruth’s favorite spot.”
She took off for the locker room, which was beginning to clear out, and as she stripped out of the foul dress, she thought of everything she knew about Ruth and everything she knew about Devereaux.
Ben had said that in one of the letters, Claude had identified Ruth’s favorite spot on the estate. She didn’t know where that was, but something about it didn’t sit well in her stomach.
She needed Claude to be her great-grandfather. But she was starting to wonder if she wanted him to be.
George had made some valid points in his letters to Ruth. And he had no reason to lie—except that he was clearly in love with Ruth. But even she had questioned Claude’s motives and been struck by his forwardness with her.
Millie sighed as she slipped on clean clothes and deposited her costume into the bin to be picked up by the cleaners.
It wasn’t that Claude was a bad man. Ruth wouldn’t have fallen for someone like that. But maybe he didn’t know her. Maybe he didn’t really know her at all.
And if he didn’t know Ruth, Millie wasn’t sure she wanted to risk their last chance on him.
Like a woodpecker trying to get her attention, a memory kept pushing at her. Grandma Joy had said that her mom’s favorite spot was on the south end of the property. But there wasn’t a creek there or the copse of trees she’d mentioned. That couldn’t be it.
As she bent to tie her shoes, careful of her ankle that was still a little swollen, her brain kept going through everything she knew about Ruth’s summer at the Chateau. There was that night with Claude on the beach, but that was too broad of a location. And there was the picnic with George at Christ Church of Frederica. George had said it was his favorite place in all of St. Simons. And Ruth had said . . . what? That she loved it too? That it might be her favorite spot too?
But it wasn’t on the Chateau’s property. And she wouldn’t have stashed her diary so far away. Would she? No. No way would she have moved it from the hidden hole in her guest room to a church more than two miles away.
Then another memory struck Millie so hard that she nearly fell off the bench.
The gazebo. Ruth had said she loved the gazebo.
If Millie was going to stake their last chance on anything, she’d rather it be Ruth’s own words.
Grabbing her bag, she slung it over her shoulder and slammed her locker shut. She took two quick steps toward the door before her ankle yelled at her, and she had to slow to an easier amble.
When she made it back to Ben, he’d all but blended into the surrounding coverage. The lights had been turned down—standard after-hours protocol—and his dark uniform disappeared into the green leaves. It took her two visual passes of the spot where she’d left him to recognize his shape.
“You ready?” she asked.
He reached for her hand, and she slid her fingers between his without thinking. It wasn’t a big deal. They’d touched a hundred times before. But she couldn’t ignore the bolt of lightning that zipped up her arm.
Tugging her toward a side entrance, he led the way, but she pulled back and said, “Where are we going?”
“The billiard room.”
Millie cringed. “I’m not sure I trust Claude Devereaux’s assumption about Ruth’s favorite spot. Besides, that seems like such a strange place to be her favorite.”
His eyebrows dipped low. “You think he’s wrong?”
“What do you think? You read the letters from Claude. Do you think he knew her well enough to know where she’d hide something so precious to her?”
Ben chuckled, running his free hand down his face. “I think Claude Devereaux was generally a good guy.”
“And?”
“And I think he was arrogant and self-centered. And a terrible poet.”
Millie let out a short burst of laughter. “And?”
“And I think he knew her about as well as he knew any woman.”
She gasped. He didn’t really think that Claude was Ruth’s soul mate, did he?
He held up his hand as though he could ward off her panic. “I don’t think he knew any woman very well. It’s hard to when you’re so focused on yourself.”
Millie couldn’t contain her smile. “Way to give me a heart attack.”
Between snickers, a question began to ease its way across his face. “I thought you wanted him to be your great-grandfather.”
That tug-of-war she’d felt earlier was back. Last time it had felt like a tug on her heart. This time it felt more like a war. “I . . . I do.” She paused. “But I . . . want to know that Ruth was happy. You know what I mean. That she was with someone who loved her, not just someone who could give her a fancy life. You know?”
“I get it.” He glanced in the direction they’d been headed. “But if Claude was clueless, where would it be?”
“Early on in Ruth’s journal, she said something about the gazebo.”
“The one on the north lawn?”
She shrugged. “It’s the only one I know of. And I think it has benches.”
“And you think the journal could be stored in there?”
Millie didn’t have much more than another shrug and a whole lot of speculation to offer. “I think that if she was looking for a private place to write her thoughts, the north lawn first thing in the morning might have been just about perfect.”
Ben didn’t say anything, but the line of his jaw worked back and forth several times. She couldn’t read his expression in the light, and her brain tried to backpedal as fast as she could. “You think this is a ridiculous idea.”
He squeezed her hand. “Not at all. Let’s go to the gazebo.”
He took off at a quick pace, and she tried to keep up, but her legs were decidedly shorter than his, and her ankle gave out on the third step. Squeaking like a chipmunk, she jerked her hand free and hopped on her good leg as she tried to massage the pain away.
“Millie,” he said on a breath, kneeling on the ground by her feet. “I’m sorry. I forgot. Are you all right?” All puppy-dog eyes and regret, he reached for her waist to steady her.
Not that touching her was exactly the way to keep her on her feet. His fingers were warm and firm, but they set off an earthquake in her middle that threatened her bare knees, tight chest, and everything in between.
“Fine.” Grabbing his hands, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hold them in place or push them away. But when her fingers brushed his, she knew. Definitely the first option.
“Can you walk? I could give you a piggyback ride or something.” There was a note of humor in his voice, but it was laced with something else that she couldn’t quite identify.
Suddenly this Ben disappeared, Sir Robert-Ben taking his place. Decked out in armor and wielding a sword with a silly name, he looked ready to face whatever battle was to come.
And she had absolutely nothing to say to him. Not a single syllable.
“Millie?” He still knelt, still knightly, his voice dropping with concern. “Do you need me to carry you?”
Yes. Definitely yes.
But she closed her eyes and shook her head, praying the motion would dislodge whatever daydream she’d conjured. She blinked slowly and sighed when Ben was back to only Ben. Her Ben.
“All right.” He stood. “Want to try this again?”
She could only manage a nod, traipsing after him at a
much slower pace.
The lawn was nearly black as they shuffled across it. The deep red wood of the gazebo didn’t differentiate itself from the rest of the night until they were nearly upon it.
Ben helped her up the steps, and she dipped her head in a quick thank-you, her breath suddenly too shallow to get the words out. The lawn wasn’t that expansive, but taking extra care with her ankle had drained her. She wanted nothing more than to sink onto the closest bench, its wooden seat worn smooth by decades of wind and rain. But they didn’t have time for that.
Falling to her knees, she pressed at the lip of one of the benches. It didn’t budge. It didn’t even pretend to.
She strained harder, pressing her palms beneath the lip and putting all of her weight into it. Still nothing.
She shot Ben a look as he pulled out his flashlight. The beam illuminated first the top of the seats and then the underside. He said nothing as he ran his fingers along the bottom of the lip of the bench beside hers. And then he stopped. With a wink he reached to the back of the seat and pulled it straight up.
She jumped up and did the same to the bench before her. “How’d you know to do that?”
“Hinges.” His smirk said so much more than that one word, a subtle reminder that she should be glad he was there. And she was. Not just because he’d figured out how to open the bench seats.
There were so many things she wanted to say to him. Like how glad she was that he hadn’t run when he’d discovered the truth. Like how glad she was that for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t alone. Like how his touch made her want to melt.
Okay, maybe that last one could wait a little while. But still, it was true.
Ben shined his light into the box in front of her. It was empty except for a few beetles that had found a safe spot inside. Then he moved onto his. Also empty.
They worked their way around the eight seats one at a time. She held her breath and prayed this would be the one as he opened each lid. And let it out on a sigh with each reveal. Her heart beat harder, her hands clenched into fists at her stomach.
Seven empty benches, save for a few spiders unhappy to be disturbed.
That left one. Millie’s fists shook and she tried to swallow, but her mouth was far too dry. “I don’t know if I should be hopeful or just admit defeat.”
Ben looked up from where his beam rested on top of the last bench. “Always hope.”
“Easy for you to say.”
He grinned. “Sure. But don’t forget, my financial future is riding on the treasure map in that diary too.”
“Oh. Right.” She’d nearly forgotten that he was in this for the money. She’d promised him half of whatever she found. Even if it was just a finder’s fee. Amid everything with Grandma Joy, she’d nearly forgotten that he needed money almost as much as she did. But he’d never exactly told her why.
Maybe that was the secret he’d been keeping.
“You ready?”
She pressed a hand to her thundering heart, took a gulp of air, leaned in closer to his shoulder, and nodded. “Do it.”
He pulled the bench open, the hinges squealing their unhappiness at being disturbed after nearly a century. But open they did.
When his flashlight beam swung into the open box, it was as empty as all the rest. Her stomach fell, and the back of her eyes burned. She’d wasted their last shot. “I’m sorry.” It was all she could muster, but not nearly enough.
Ben didn’t appear to be listening. His swung the flashlight beam back and forth over the bottom of the box, his head cocked to the side. “You see that?”
No. But she leaned over his shoulder anyway, seeking out whatever had caught his eye.
“They don’t line up.”
She frowned and shook her head, still not seeing what he had focused on, until he reached out and ran his finger along a seam between two boards at the bottom of the box. She gasped. The boards didn’t line up. They didn’t match. One rested on top of the other. With a small grunt, Ben pulled the top one away.
Suddenly his light swung over something brown. Her heart nearly stopped. And then she lunged for it. It was some sort of thick leather cloth that had been fashioned into a drawstring bag. She flicked away an angry beetle and stared at the package in her hands, which were suddenly trembling.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
She nodded. But she didn’t really need to. “This is it.” She could feel the sharp corners of a book beneath the case, its covers unbending, and ran her fingers along the book’s spine. She didn’t need to open it to know that she finally held what they’d been looking for. But whether it contained the map they needed wasn’t as clear.
Tugging at the drawstring, she pulled it open, and he lent his light to the process.
“Hey! Is someone out there?”
Millie jumped, her gaze crashing into Ben’s and her heart pounding in her throat. Immediately he turned off his light, and beneath the roof of the gazebo it was pitch-black. No moon. No stars. Just darkness.
Another light, bright and long, played across the grass a hundred yards away, but the sweeping motion of the beam was growing closer.
“Theo.” Ben whispered it so low that it was more a rumble than a word. But she knew what it meant. If they were found, they’d both lose their jobs, probably be fined, and absolutely lose the journal.
“What are we go-oing to do?” She hated how her voice quaked, but there was no getting around it.
He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his chest, which rose and fell in rapid succession. “We have to run.”
She began to nod, then stopped before she remembered that not only could he not see her but she also couldn’t run. “My ankle.”
He paused. The beam of light grew closer to them. Theo called again, and Ben’s heart pounded beneath her hand.
She had to do something. But there was only one thing to do.
She shoved the journal against his chest. “Take it. Run. Hide.”
“I’m not leaving you, Millie.”
“Do it. You have to. It’s the only hope we have of keeping the journal.”
He shook his head, but she felt it more than saw it.
“Quit being so stubborn. If you wait, he’ll see you. Go.” She pushed the package against him again. “Just go. Take it.”
His head turned this way and that, but it wasn’t the emphatic shake of before. It was like he was looking for something. And not quickly.
“What are you doing?” She managed to hold back the last two words, but her tone definitely implied you idiot. “Run.”
“All right. But you’re coming with me.”
“I can—”
Before she could finish the statement, he’d grabbed her arm and swung her around to his back. “Hold on.”
She didn’t have much choice, so she wrapped her arms over his shoulders and squeezed her knees around his sides as he took off, racing across the grass, racing for the house. But there was nowhere to hide, nowhere that Theo wouldn’t find them.
“Hey, hey, you! Stop!” Theo’s voice was high and whining, and his light was still yards away from them. But not for long. Not when they reached the lit aurora of the house. He’d know. He’d see them.
Her heart slammed into her breastbone. There was no way this would end well.
seventeen
Ben gasped, straining for air as the darkness surrounded them. He’d thought chasing Billy earlier that night had been difficult, but running from Theo while carrying Millie was liable to put him in the ground. Quite literally. If he stumbled, they’d both be up to their necks in mud.
Stay on your feet. Stay on your feet. Stay on your feet.
He chanted that to himself over and over in his mind. He didn’t have enough oxygen to utter a word.
Besides, his ears were focused on listening for the other set of footfalls. Theo didn’t look like he worked out a bunch, and Ben was pretty sure his longer legs could win a fair footrace. But this wasn’t fair. So Be
n had to use any advantage he could think of. And the only thing he could think of was a secret. A secret passage, to be exact.
Carl had said there was an entrance on the north side. Past the main entrance. Down three steps and behind a shrub.
Theo shouted again, but his light didn’t reach them. Not yet anyway. But it was close. And getting closer.
Ben’s foot slammed against a stone paver, and Millie bounced hard against his back. She grunted but said nothing else, then she readjusted her clasped hands in front of his throat. No wonder he couldn’t breathe. But there was no air to tell her she was strangling him.
Almost there. Almost there. Go. Go. Go.
He wanted to jump down the steps in one leap but couldn’t risk it with Millie in tow, his center of balance way off. Slowing just enough to take them carefully, he gasped for whatever breath he could find.
“What are you doing?” Millie whispered in his ear, sending a full-body shiver through him. “The door is right—” Her body stiffened, and he smiled—even though she couldn’t see it—when he knew she’d picked up on his plan.
“Come back . . . here!” Theo shouted, but he was clearly winded too. And too far behind.
Ben looped around the palm tree, reached for the wall, and ran his hand along it in the darkness. The handle was supposed to be at waist height, a sun in all its radiant glory.
And it was right where Carl had said it would be. Ben pushed his palm against the sun’s face, and a tiny portion of the wall sank in with a groan. It wasn’t a wide gap, and he had to set Millie down to squeeze through. But he kept her hand in his, pulling her into the darkness.
Spinning her into his arms, he moved her against the cool stone wall, his arms around her, shielding her. Her face was pressed into his chest. He could feel her gasps.
“Why are you out of breath?” He kept his voice low but couldn’t keep the humor from it. “You didn’t have to run.”
She pressed a hand flat against the front of his shirt and pushed. It wasn’t hard enough to say that she wanted him to back off. Which was good, because he didn’t want to.
His heart should have been slowing, but its wild tattoo only increased as he leaned his nose into her hair. In a room that smelled of wet rocks and stale air, she smelled of soap and woman. Clean and fresh.