by Jana DeLeon
The rental car had gotten stuck on her way to laMalediction in just such a storm, and the road was still muddy when she and John had gone into town yesterday. It was probably a river by now, or a bayou…whatever they called them. And without a way to call for the Sheriff, that was a dead end, too. She closed the laptop and shoved it in her backpack, then tucked the mouse in beside it. Worse case, she’d ask John to take her to Cypriere and she’d call a taxi to take her to New Orleans. She could always deduct the million dollars or so the taxi would likely charge as a business expense.
No matter what, she wasn’t staying at laMalediction one more night.
She made a quick trip through the bedroom and picked up her discarded clothes, trying not to think about the night before…how she’d felt so alive, then so destroyed all in a matter of hours. Wasted emotion, and on what—a fling with a stranger that, at best, was over when she finished her book? So it had ended a little early, and a little abruptly, but the outcome was still the same—she would leave Louisiana. He would not.
Her few belongings stowed in her backpack, she sat on the couch and pulled on her tennis shoes, preparing for the fifty yard dash to the main house. It would take her a couple of hours to pack the rest of her equipment and belongings, then there would be nothing keeping her here.
The front door of the cottage opened and her heart clenched when she saw John walk inside. His expression was troubled, but not like it had been the night before. This was different. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
He pulled off his wet jacket and hung it on a hook by the front door, seeming to avoid looking at her. “There’s a tree down just before the main gate. It’s completely blocking the exit to the estate.”
“But we can move it, right? I mean, you have that chain saw, and I’ll help.”
John shook his head. “It would take weeks to cut a tree that large, and I don’t even have enough gas to last that long, even if I wanted to try. It’s not going anywhere without a tractor to pull it out of the way.”
Olivia bit her lip. “My cell phone doesn’t have a signal.”
“Neither does mine.” John shuffled his feet a bit and ran one hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to come out and say it.”
Olivia took in the unhappy, almost pained look on his face, and knew she didn’t want to hear whatever excuse he was about to deliver from the night before. It wouldn’t change a thing. “You don’t have to—”
“That tree was cut. Intentionally. Someone took a chain saw to the base of it so that it would fall right across the front of the gate.”
Olivia gasped. Her mind whirled with thoughts, reasons why someone would block the gate, and none of them were good. “Is there a way around it?”
“Not with a vehicle.”
“He’s trying to trap me here.”
John nodded, his expression grim. “It looks that way.”
Anger slowly began to overtake fear, and Olivia felt a flush start at her neck and move up her face. “Well, he’s got another thing coming if he thinks a tree is going to stop me from leaving.”
“You can’t drive through the tree and you can’t call for backup, so he has effectively prevented you from leaving. At least for now.”
“I’ll walk. I’ll take only my laptop, and I should still make it to Cypriere before dark. Surely, a phone works somewhere in that town.”
John sighed. “Walk? You really think that the person who locked you in the tunnel and tried to kill me last night is going to let you stroll out of here? You wouldn’t stand a chance against him in this swamp and he knows it.”
Olivia slumped into a kitchen chair and clutched her face between her hands. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her. At this house. First the tunnel and now this—for the second time in her life, Olivia was terrified while fully awake. “What chance do I stand here?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Even if I lock myself in the back bedroom and nail the door shut, he could set the cottage on fire, or have another tree fall on it. For that matter, the walls are so old and thin that he’d probably have a good chance of taking me out just by randomly firing that gun of his into the cottage.”
John stared down at her, the angst on his face clear, but he didn’t argue with her words, nor did his expression change even slightly when she uttered them. She wasn’t telling him anything he hadn’t already thought of. Given his real job, he’d probably thought of at least ten more things that her mind hadn’t yet gotten around to.
He kneeled beside her and placed his hand on her knee. “We’ll take precautions…make sure both of us are as safe as possible.”
“He tried to kill you last night. How can we make things safe if you can’t even leave the cottage without the risk of being shot?”
“But I already left the cottage. If he’d wanted to kill me, he would have had a clear shot this morning.”
Olivia shook her head. “Then why didn’t he?”
“Maybe because we can’t leave now.”
“But as soon as we can call for help…”
John nodded. “We have to find him before that happens…turn the tables by stalking him.”
“Go on the offensive? That’s crazy.”
“Not as crazy as sitting around waiting for his next move.”
Olivia blew out a breath. “But how can we turn the tables on him when we don’t know who he is, where he is, or what he wants from me? We’re completely in the dark, literally and figuratively.”
“Not exactly,” John said and stood.
Olivia looked up at him, confused by his reply. He glanced out the picture window at the main house, and a thought flashed through her mind. “The drywall dust—he left tracks?”
John nodded. “Faint, but they lead right into a brick wall.”
Olivia smiled. “Sounds promising.”
“In this case, yeah.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” Olivia hopped up from her chair, her energy beginning to recharge; her hope beginning to rise.
“I was waiting on you. I know how you feel about me, and I don’t blame you, but I need your help.”
Olivia stared, taken aback at his admission, and then chided herself. He couldn’t afford to leave her alone, and he had to find his sister. The only chance of doing that meant uncovering the intruder’s secrets, and she was the key to it all. “Of course.”
She took her laptop out of her backpack and sat it on the table then slung the backpack over her shoulder. “But this time I’m taking supplies. I’m not about to get caught in another small, dark space without backup.”
He pulled her rain jacket from the coatrack and tossed it to her. “I found a sledgehammer in the tool shed yesterday. It’s coming with us. I have no trouble dismantling this place stone by stone if I have to.”
He pulled on his own jacket and stepped out the front door and into the rain. Olivia zipped up her jacket and followed behind him, unable to keep from thinking that she was chasing the devil straight into hell.
JOHN PLACED THE LANTERN next to a brick wall in the basement, wishing the intruder hadn’t stolen Olivia’s spotlight. It would have made a big difference in the dim basement, and John had been unable to find anything in the tool shed that compared. The lantern flame cast a dingy yellow shadow onto the walls, giving the space a grim look.
Focusing his attention on the faint steps that led to the wall, he erased the fanciful thoughts from his mind. Grim look. Damn, he was starting to sound like one of those novels Olivia wrote. Unfortunately, the word really fit the moment. They were trapped, being stalked by an unknown person or persons, his sister had now been missing for six days, and he’d been a damned fool and hurt the one person he’d ever felt anything for besides his mom and sister.
There was nothing to be done about it now. He looked down at the prints in front of the wall, studying them as he would those of any animal he tracked in the woods. Olivia crouched down for a closer look at the prints and ran her hand acr
oss the wall directly in front of the last two prints.
“I don’t feel anything down here, and nothing sticks out as a possibility for a trigger point,” Olivia said.
“I think it’s on the top somewhere, maybe even the ceiling,” John said.
Olivia rose up from the basement floor. “What makes you think that?”
John pointed at the footprints. “Look at the last prints. The toe is darker than the rest of them. Like he pushed his body weight up on his toes.”
Olivia studied the footprints for a moment and nodded. “You’re right. That’s smart. I wouldn’t have thought about it.”
Despite the emotional wall between them, John still relished Olivia’s appreciation for his ability. “You pick up a lot tracking. And I’ve read a lot of books.”
Olivia nodded. “All the forensic investigative techniques have really changed things in a good way. I’ve done a lot of research on forensics for my books. Talked to a lot of cops. But reading or even writing about it doesn’t make you capable of practical application. That takes a level of talent.”
John reached up and placed his hand on the ceiling above them. “Well, let’s see if we can practically find that trigger switch. Otherwise, the only thing I’m applying to that wall is a sledgehammer.” He ran his hand across the roof line in front of the brick wall, first directly against it, then moving back from it a bit at a time, testing the entire surface for bumps or indentations.
“We know something else about the intruder now,” Olivia said.
“What’s that?”
“He’s shorter than you.”
John paused for a moment, looked over at Olivia and smiled. “You’re right. I can lay my hand flat on the ceiling without standing on tiptoe. Assuming the intruder only needs to press the spot with his finger, he could be three or more inches shorter than me.”
Olivia frowned. “Which totally leaves out Tom Breaux, the cook. He’s easily as tall as you. Damn, he was our best bet.”
John shook his head. “I don’t know about that. Tom may very well be doing something illegal that he doesn’t want anyone to know about, but he’s not more or less a suspect than anyone else. My bet is the old caretaker’s not all that tall. He didn’t have any tools stored on the top shelf in the tool shed. And then there’s our friend the sheriff. He’s a few inches shorter than me.”
“I should be so lucky. That man really gets under my skin. I hate liars.”
A flash of guilt passed through John at her last statement, but then he couldn’t really blame her. He hated liars, too, even though he’d deliberately chosen to become one. “I agree, he knows more than he’s telling. He didn’t look surprised in the least at your story, just annoyed.”
“Maybe he’s stealing the china, piece by piece.”
John’s fingers passed over a slight indentation in the ceiling and he paused. “I think I’ve got something here.” He pressed his finger firmly into the indentation and a panel of bricks slid silently back, revealing a narrow walkway beyond.
Olivia’s eyes widened. “Wow. I knew it had to be here, but do you realize what kind of engineering it took to make something as heavy as that wall work so quietly?”
John nodded and picked up the lantern from the shelf next to the opening. “Good engineering and a whole lot of WD-40. Someone’s maintained these passages well, and I can’t see any ethical reason why.”
“What do you see?” Olivia stepped next to him and peered into the tunnel.
“Not much. All I can make out with this light is another solid wall ahead, so either the passage turns off somewhere that we can’t see from the opening or there’s another hidden door.” He looked over at Olivia. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
Olivia stared into the dim passageway and bit her lower lip. “We don’t have a choice,” she said finally. “I mean, I could stay behind but that’s not exactly a great option, either.”
“No, it’s not.”
She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “You’re bringing the sledgehammer, right? I mean, just in case this closes and we can’t get it back open.”
“Absolutely. And I can do one better.” He walked to a corner of the basement and picked up a piece of metal pipe. “This should do,” he said and jammed the pipe at the bottom of the opening tight against the sliding panel.
“Unless someone moves the pipe.”
“That’s what the sledgehammer is for.” He placed one hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “I’m not leaving your side for a minute. You won’t get trapped down here again. I promise.”
Olivia nodded, but he could still see the apprehension in her expression. Not that he blamed her. The woman had been through more in the last couple of days than some cops saw in thirty years on the force. He lifted her backpack of supplies from the basement floor and wrapped the strap around the handle of the sledgehammer, then pulled the entire pack over one shoulder.
Olivia handed him the lantern and turned on her own handheld flashlight as he stepped into the passageway. He took a couple of steps, then glanced back to make sure Olivia was all right. Her face was drawn but she didn’t look panicked. Lifting the lantern out in front of them, he continued down the narrow passage about twenty feet when it made a ninety-degree turn to the left. “There’s a turn.”
“That’s good,” Olivia said. “At least we don’t have to figure out another trigger switch.”
John nodded but didn’t reply. The light from the lantern didn’t extend far into the pitch-black tunnel, but from where he stood, he couldn’t see an end. Continuing this way might leave them cornered deep in the basement with no alternate way out. He passed the lantern to Olivia and pulled his pistol from the waistband of his jeans. “Just in case,” he said and took the lantern back. “You should check your own.”
Olivia pulled her pistol from her waistband and checked the clip. “I’ve checked it at least five times since we left the cottage this morning.” She gave John a grim smile. “I’m hoping I don’t get to use it—this is awfully close quarters.”
“Which is why we have to be very careful.”
“Right, careful.” She checked the safety on the pistol and stuck it back in her waistband.
John elected to keep his pistol firmly gripped in his shooting hand and started down the passageway counting off his footsteps as he walked so he could get an idea of how long the passage was and where it might be located under the main house. He estimated they’d traveled thirty feet before they hit another wall.
“I am so sick of dead ends,” Olivia said as she peered around him. “Someone had a serious obsession.”
“Or was extremely paranoid.”
“Well, I can’t really say much about that. I think I bought a ticket on the paranoia train a while back.”
John shook his head. “It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you.”
“Thanks for reminding me that my impending death is not merely the work of my overactive imagination.”
John handed Olivia the lantern and began a search on the ceiling with his hands. “Look at it this way—it’ll make a great story once it’s all over.”
“No one would believe it. Fiction has to make sense even though real life often doesn’t.”
“Hold the lantern up a little higher, if you can,” John said and looked over his shoulder at Olivia. “I feel a bump or something where my left hand is, just behind me. Can you make out what it is?”
Olivia raised the lantern up close to the ceiling, then let out a choked cry.
Chapter Fourteen
Before John could ask what was wrong, Olivia grabbed his arm with her free hand and yanked it down from the ceiling. Then she jumped back a foot from where she’d been standing, her eyes wide and still looking up. John looked up and saw black spiders running in all directions across the ceiling.
“It’s a nest,” Olivia said, her voice shaky. “You had your hand on a nest of spiders. I am officially freaked out.”
John chec
ked his hand to make sure he hadn’t brought any of the creatures back down to visit. “At the risk of lowering my masculinity status, that was definitely not cool.”
“If it makes you feel any better, they’re not a poisonous breed.”
“And you know that how?”
“Old houses have bugs. I make it a point to learn all the bugs and snakes of a region before I visit, so I can avoid the ones that may kill me.”
John stared. Compared to the women he knew, Olivia Markham was a study in preparedness. Hell, he’d bet she even had most of the men he knew beat. “Well, then that does make me feel better.”
“I wish I could say the same.”
“I think it’s safe to say that the trigger switch is not likely buried under a bed of spiders. I’m going to check the walls.”
Olivia passed him the lantern. “Take a peek before you touch anything.”
“Good idea. The next batch might be poisonous.”
“Or a snake, and I gotta tell you, if you find a bed of snakes, I am out of here. I’ll take my chances with the intruder.”
“Duly noted,” John said as he held the lantern up close to the wall on the left of the dead end and scanned for anything else living. “All that’s here is some mildew.”
He placed his hand in the top corner of the wall and ran it across the surface, then paused when his fingers dipped into the brick. He pressed into the dip and heard Olivia gasp. He turned around and saw Olivia pointing her flashlight into an opening on the opposite wall.
“It’s a room,” she said, “and it’s not empty.”
John stuck the lantern into the opening and it cast a dim glow around the room. It was small, maybe about twelve foot square and bookcases lined every wall from floor to ceiling with books and boxes scattered among them. A long table sat in the center of the room, a pile of books in the center of the table and a single chair pulled up in front of it.
Olivia stepped inside the room and shone her flashlight along the shelves. “Looks like a library,” she said, “like the one upstairs in the main house. Well, except for the two inches of dust and lack of windows and light.”