by Lynn Patrick
They’d gotten only as far as the split when Heather stopped, saying, “Wait a minute. What’s that?”
She was shining her light on a crack in the wall just ahead.
“Another entry?” Rick flashed his light in every direction to make sure no one was lurking nearby. “Stay back a minute.”
He moved closer and the beam broke as it met the crack. Close enough to look inside, he took a quick glance then slid the hidden doorway open.
“An empty room,” he told Heather before stepping inside.
* * *
THOUGH THEY WERE separated by a mere few feet, Heather felt exposed. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a soft scraping sound behind her.
“Don’t worry, it’s probably just vermin,” Rick said as he set his tools down on a big table in the center of the room.
“Rats?”
Rats were plenty bad as far as Heather was concerned, though not as threatening as a human up to no good. She glanced around, unable to see much in the darkness. For the past few minutes, she’d had the weirdest feeling, like someone had been watching them. Undoubtedly Rick’s tension was affecting her imagination. She quickly stepped inside the room and shone her light around the dark recesses, slowly taking the beam in a big circle. The walls were lined with shelves. All empty.
“It looks like this was a storage room,” she said.
“Probably where Flanagan kept his illegal stash.” Rick walked over to the shelving as if to take a closer look. “His men could have brought kegs of whiskey or cartons of bottles onto the property via the lake and boathouse.”
“If the size of the room is any indication, it looks like selling alcohol during prohibition was big business in this area.”
“Flanagan’s stock was Chicago mob related,” he said. “I imagine this was his distribution center. He could have stored the alcohol in here, then to fill an order, his men could have brought it up through the coach house—”
“—where they would have a truck waiting inside where it couldn’t be seen,” she finished. “Now the multiple tunnel entries are making sense.”
“What I need to know is how long ago the intruder was in here.”
“You’re sure the door wasn’t cracked open all along?”
“I’m positive that it wasn’t even open when we passed it earlier.”
Heather’s pulse quickened and invisible fingers crawled up her spine. “What are you saying?”
Rick frowned and swung back toward the opening. “That someone was just in here while we were in the tunnels. Let’s get out. Now.”
She stepped backward across the threshold, part of her thinking she felt a malevolent presence behind her...hot breath on the back of her neck. Before she could turn around, a heavy hand hit her in the middle of her back and shoved hard. She was flung forward, back into the storage room, right into Rick. The door slid shut behind them with a bang.
“What the...” That was all Rick said.
She clung to him, frightened out of her mind. “Someone pushed me! He was right behind me, Rick.” It had been an aggressive, hostile shove.
“He’s shut us in here.”
She clung to Rick with all her strength. “What’s going on? Is he going to kill us?”
Their hearts beat hard, nearly in unison. Rick cradled her against him.
Finally, he said, “My guess is we surprised him and he’s just slowing us down. I knew something was off!”
“And we’re locked in?” Heather also had felt danger in the air. Her imagination hadn’t been playing with her, after all. Someone had been sneaking around after them.
“Let me see what I can do.” Gently, Rick released her and felt around the door, pushed, tugged. But it stayed firmly in place.
“There’s got to be a way.”
As she held her lantern to light the area for him she saw his growing frustration as he failed to find a release. He slammed the flat of his hand into the metal panel. Then his expression tightened and froze like a mask. His breathing grew rapid but shallow. Unbelievable as it seemed, she thought, The Terminator was getting a little claustrophobic.
When he gave up the search and fell back against the wall, his head bowed, his hands tightened into fists, Heather fought her own panic. What was wrong with him? Being locked in here was definitely creepy, especially with some criminal type messing around outside. But Rick was a take-charge kind of guy and he looked ready to fold.
“You said the intruder was slowing us down. He’s probably gone by now.” Meeting up with the person who pushed her was her greatest fear.
“I’m sure he’s gone. But we’re still locked in.”
He was definitely claustrophobic.
“Why don’t we call for help?”
“Help?” he repeated, not seeming to get what she was suggesting.
“The housekeeper.”
“Cora? She doesn’t know how to get in here.”
“You can tell her how. She doesn’t have to come alone.”
“Then everyone will know about the tunnels.”
“Um, I know you were trying to keep your activities down here secret because you feared one of the employees was working with the intruder, but that’s kind of a moot point now, wouldn’t you agree?”
Rick blinked a few times and his features pulled into a frown. “Of course. You’re right. What was I thinking?”
What was he thinking? she wondered. What was wrong with him?
She might have asked had he not pulled out his cell that very moment. As he punched in a number, his hand shook a little. She was shaking inside herself.
Seconds later, he muttered, “I should have known!” His jaw clenched. “No signal in here!”
“Let me try mine.”
But she couldn’t get a signal, either. Biting her lip so that she wouldn’t burst into tears, Heather returned her cell to her pocket. They were going to be all right, she told herself. They were just temporarily locked in. They would get out of here, and they would be fine.
Taking a deep breath, she talked herself into control, but, with his back still against the wall, Rick was clutching his phone like he would never let go. His gaze was focused on something internal. He no longer seemed to know she was even in the room. Sweat broke out along his hairline. A single bead was working its way down the side of his face.
“Rick,” she said softly.
He didn’t seem to hear. He was frozen by something she didn’t understand. “Rick!” she said louder.
He blinked and focused on her. No answer.
“Rick, what’s wrong?”
“Trapped. We’re trapped.”
His voice sounded rough. Forced. A chill shot through her. He was more than just a little claustrophobic. He was having some kind of panic attack.
“We’re not trapped,” she said evenly as she moved closer to him and put a reassuring hand on his arm. She had to keep herself calm so she could find a way to talk him down. “We’re just locked in this room for the moment, but we’re going to get out. It’s going to be all right.”
At least she hoped it would be.
His muscles had tightened with his building stress, but the human connection seemed to get through to him. He blinked and met her gaze. Then his expression softened, and he sagged a little and sucked in a deep breath.
“Hey, sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Heather tightened her hand on his arm reassuringly before letting go. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s just that...”
“Just what?” she asked.
“A bad memory. Being trapped.” He pulled a hand through his hair. “I don’t like tight places. Being underground.”
The army...had to be. That had been his life until he’d decided to try
out being a civilian mere months ago. But what in the world had happened to him? Heather wondered.
Not about to play that guessing game, she said, “Let’s do something to get out of here. You did bring your tools with you.” Even as she said it, he straightened and his expression shifted into something more familiar. “Maybe you can crash your way out of here.”
“The pry bar.” Rick pushed away from the wall and fetched his tools.
Heather took a relieved if shaky breath. Thank goodness. She couldn’t help but wonder about that bad memory, but she wasn’t about to ask.
When Rick set down the bag close to the door and pulled out the pry bar, she asked, “What can I do to help?”
“Just stand back.” He maneuvered the tip at the door’s edge. “I think I’ve got it.”
He levered the bar, adjusted it and levered it again. The door didn’t budge. He slid the bar lower until he couldn’t move it any further and then tried again. The door whined and creaked, and with Rick’s mighty shove, clicked open a crack.
“You got it!”
“I believe so.” He reached a hand into the break, felt around and finally managed to slide the door open. “Yep. Got it!”
“Then let’s get out of here.” Heather started to go past him, but he held out an arm to stop her.
“Wait a minute.” He replaced the pry bar in his tool bag, which he slung over his shoulder. Then he shone his utility lamp into the tunnel. “Looks clear. Whoever locked us in here is gone. Stay tight next to me.”
Heart racing again, Heather did as he ordered. Even though Rick was himself again, she didn’t relax until they got up the stairs and back onto the main floor of the coach house.
* * *
RICK COULDN’T BELIEVE he’d caved in to his fear, and in front of Heather of all people. She’d kept calm, despite her own fears, and had brought him back to himself, but what must she be thinking?
“What now?” she asked. “Do we call the police?”
“I’ll call Detective Morse and tell him what happened.”
“He needs to know that someone was down there and pushed me into that room with you.”
“Thankfully, you weren’t hurt.”
“But someone had bad intentions.”
“True,” Rick grunted. And the situation had been enough to trip him up mentally. The therapist he’d worked with after the disastrous mission had told him this could happen, but he’d never felt trapped like that before.
“What if one of us had been harmed?” Heather asked. “What if I had fallen? Or what if the thief stole something again? Or maybe he’s going to. He could think we’re safely locked up, and he can do whatever he wants.”
“Like I said, I think we surprised him and he probably took off. But I plan on checking the house and the entire grounds and telling Cora about the incident.”
To his surprise, she said, “I’ll go with you.”
He’d expected her to leave the moment they got out of the tunnels. Had expected her to hotfoot it away from him and never look back. That she seemed to be offering him such support surprised him. Other than his mother, he’d never known such a generous woman. Or such a courageous one. She was supportive in spite of her own scare. Would he ever be able to give her such support in return?
“Thanks, Heather. Let me lock up the tools first.”
Opening the shop area, he set the bag and utility lights on a shelf, then secured the room once more.
“Rick, I almost forgot about this.” Heather pulled something from her jeans pocket and held it out to him. “I found it in Taylor’s pocket last night.”
He took what looked like a ten dollar bill from her. Frowning, he carefully inspected it and saw that it had a gold seal and the words Gold Certificate. He checked the date—it had been minted more than ninety years ago.
“Did Taylor say where she found this?” he asked.
“Unfortunately not. Do you think she could have stumbled onto the treasure room?”
He shrugged. “Maybe that’s where she was when we were looking for her.”
“I can try talking to her about it again. She was in one of her moods yesterday. Impossible.”
“I noticed.” Rick pulled out his wallet and secured the bill. “As soon as I get back into my apartment, I’ll put this someplace safe until I can give it to Phillips. In the meantime...”
They left the building and walked over to the mansion. It was nearly dusk, and shadows were already lengthening. They entered through the kitchen.
“Rick, you missed dinner,” Kelly said, starting when she took a better look at them. “What have you two been doing? Rolling around in the dirt?”
Realizing they were not only dusty but streaked with grime, Rick said, “Something like that.”
“That’s pretty much my job, and Rick doesn’t mind lending a hand,” Heather added, covering for them.
“You want me to get you something to eat? I was just putting everything away.”
“Thanks, Kelly, but I have to find Cora and then check out some things. It may take a while. I can nuke a dinner from the freezer.”
Kelly made a sound of exaggerated horror. “I’ll pack something for you and leave it on the island. You can pick it up on your way back to the coach house.”
“Hey, thanks.”
Rick indicated Heather should follow him as he headed for the dining room, where the last of the guests were leaving their table.
“Cora’s not here,” Heather said.
“I’ll call her.” He was about to pull out his cell when the housekeeper stepped out of the rotunda, looking very concerned. “There she is.”
When Cora saw them, her eyes widened. He indicated they should go out on the front portico, which was vacant. The housekeeper followed, but she seemed preoccupied.
“Cora, is there a problem?” Rick asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. It’s just that David...uh, Mr. Guildfren...never came to dinner, and his car is in the lot, so I got worried and checked his room. But he wasn’t there, either. I can’t imagine where he’s disappeared to.”
“He’s probably holed up somewhere, relaxing and reading or something,” Rick said, glancing at Heather, who was, for some reason, frowning. “I’m sure he’ll turn up.”
Cora’s expression cleared. “Yes, of course. You were looking for me? What is it, Rick?”
“Our uninvited guest was here.”
“Where?”
“In the tunnels,” Heather said. “He pushed me into a store room and locked us in there.”
“You saw him?”
“No, but I felt him.”
Cora’s face blanched. “I’ve felt him, too.”
“Which simply means your senses are well developed.” Rick patted the housekeeper’s arm. “But he’s not a ghost, Cora, so take it easy.”
“How do you know that for sure?”
“I felt a flesh and blood hand on my back,” Heather said. “Believe me, this guy is plenty real.”
Though he didn’t say so, Rick thought he’d take a ghost instead of a dangerous criminal any day.
“I’m going to take a fast tour of the mansion, Cora, to make sure the thief isn’t lurking around the corridors. If you see anything of value missing, you need to alert me right away so that we can make another police report.”
“I’ll do another inventory,” she promised as Rick opened the door to get his own search underway.
Heather stuck with him as he toured the downstairs rooms, then checked each of the unoccupied rooms in the family wing. They walked the halls of the other wing, but Rick didn’t knock on doors or open them and disturb paying guests.
“Well, that’s it, then,” he said. “The thief seems to be gone.”
“Or hi
ding. I thought you wanted to check the grounds.”
“I just realized it’s dark enough that movement will set off the cameras. If he’s still sneaking around, I’ll know.”
And he would collar the thief and deliver him personally to Detective Morse. He still needed to call the detective and let him know there had been another “incident.”
“You must be hungry. I’m sure Kelly packed up enough food to share.”
Heather looked torn. “Thanks, but I don’t want my brother to feel like I’m taking advantage. Besides, I would like to spend some time with my girls tonight before they go to bed.”
“I don’t blame you.” He’d want the same thing if he had a family. “I’ll walk you to your SUV.”
Heather nodded. “I appreciate that, considering the circumstances.”
He waited until they were out of the house and headed for her vehicle before apologizing again. “Listen, Heather, I’m sorry I let you get involved in this situation.”
“I was already involved, Rick. The sod cutter. The shovel.”
“But I never should have let you go into the tunnels with me,” he said as they started through the parking lot. “I had no idea I was putting you in danger.”
“You didn’t. And now that I’ve calmed down, I realize the guy wasn’t trying to kill me, just get me out of the way. Besides, exploring the tunnels was my choice. I wanted to go.”
Right. To watch his back. Which she’d had to do in spades. “Then I’m sorry about how I reacted when we were trapped.”
Heather stopped and put a hand on his arm, reminding him of the way she’d done when they’d been trapped in that underground room, triggering a rush of something that made his chest grow tight.
“Rick, please, don’t. I get it.”
“Get what?” he choked out.
“When Scott came home between tours, he told me about how terrible war could be on a man. Not only physically. He had friends who were scarred inside and couldn’t talk about what they’d gone through.”
Rick had never been able to talk about it, either, not with anyone but the therapist who’d seen him through the aftermath, and that had been reluctantly. How could anyone who hadn’t been there understand? He hadn’t even been able to talk to Murphy about what had happened to them—how they could have ended up like the other two men—and Murphy had kept his own counsel.