With difficulty they persuaded Gage to eat a little food and remain quietly in his house while they reconnoitered.
“Time was, I’d have been with you, step for step. But it’s been a while since Kuwait. But I’ll tell you what. The Big House is shut up. Windows and doors boarded up, barring the kitchen door. Gotta have a way to bring in them looky-loos. And the coal hatch in the basement ain’t even bolted. Not that the furnace takes coal anymore, that was long before my time, but it’s handy wide to bring things into the house.”
“They are holding a woman prisoner, Mr. Gage,” Neil said. “Where would they have her stashed?”
Gage scratched his thin hair. “Not the basement. On account of that coal hatch. Not the ground floor cause ever’ room’s chock full of furniture, couldn’t make it secure no how. Got eight bedrooms to choose from. Likely she’d be upstairs.”
Which was no help at all. He’d have to find Blythe the old-fashioned way, by nose.
CHAPTER 49
Blythe~
To the accompaniment of Lazarus’ snores, Blythe made her way around the room opening cupboards and testing shelves. Nothing except shelf paper. Her disappointment was crushing. She had been so sure she’d find the laundry chute. They were standard conveniences in houses of this vintage. Her house had one. The Drakes’ had a really big one.
Finally on the other side of the room, she made a find. Not a chute, but baskets of rags crammed onto the bottom shelf. Enough for six households. Probably thriftily saved for cleaning, and considered too valueless to warrant taking when the bedding had been packed.
The shelf above the rags held a plaid blanket that smelled strongly of dog. It was moth-eaten and full of holes, but she wrapped it around her shoulders. She needed to conserve body heat. The temperature was dropping as the night drew on. And the heat from the rad was feeble at best. The colder she got, the more energy she would burn to keep going. That sandwich hadn’t gone far.
At last she found what she was looking for. A rectangle had been cut into the beadboard on the back wall of the cupboard directly opposite the sink. A shelf had been installed right across it, but it was flimsier than the other shelves, and had not been nailed into place.
It was hard to remove the long plank quietly, but conscious of Lazarus right outside the door, she wiggled it gently until she got it clear of the cupboard. If she couldn’t get the chute trap open, or fit inside it, it would make a weapon of sorts. It wouldn’t stop a bullet, but she could bash heads with it.
She returned to what she devoutly hoped was the trapdoor. The rectangle was tall and narrow. Awkwardly placed too. Probably why it had fallen into disuse. Also those laundry chutes were a household hazard. Children got stuck or fell down and died.
Now that she had the shelf out, she could see that the chute trap was nailed shut. But whoever had done it had used thin, short finishing nails. The wood had shrunk, leaving the nails loose.
She fit a key into the crack at the top and pried. Eureka. The trapdoor creaked open. The hinge at the bottom had a strong spring. It snapped shut as soon as Blythe released the edge. She barely caught it before it could bang. She knew she was working against the clock. Eventually Lazarus would wake up and come in to rape her. Even if he had to kill Jinx to get the key.
She had thought of a use for the shelf. Laid in front of the door, the edge wedged partway under the bottom crack. The next time the door was opened, it would jam on her improvised doorstop, leaving an opening just a few inches wide. Probably keeping the tweeker out for a few valuable seconds. But seconds might count. Anyway it was the best she could manage.
A cold damp draft redolent with mildew and sea drifted out of the trap. She removed one of the keys from the ring and wrapped it in a rag, tying the bundle with another rag. It seemed to take an eternity before she heard the faintest of thumps.
Okay.
No way a fully-grown woman would survive that long drop. Even if she didn’t stick in the chute and suffocate. This shaft didn’t gently slope to the basement like a kiddie slide, it was a straight fall. Thirty feet or more to the hard cold basement floor — if she was on the third floor and not in the attics. Which was better? A dead fall or Lazarus and his perversions?
CHAPTER 50
Neil~
They had left Gage holding his service revolver in one shaky hand, promising to call an ambulance and the cops as soon as they neutralized his attackers. It just remained to do that thing. You couldn’t see the house let alone the stars out here. Only the waves beat ceaselessly. Their reminder that dawn was approaching.
Their night goggles were useless. No, not useless. They weren’t picking up any signals, because nothing alive was moving in the toxic mist around the house. Nothing meant no sentinels to detect their arrival. It was as silent as death too. The sudden crunching of gravel beneath their boots sounded loud as gunfire. As one, the three of them moved off the path into the weeds.
It had to be the triumph of hope over reason that he felt the pulse of Blythe’s ring quicken in tempo as they approached the decrepit mansion. But hope was all he had.
CHAPTER 51
Blythe~
The rest of the rags were next. She pulled her boots off, wrapping them in the blanket before throwing them down the chute. They landed quietly. Her clothes went after the boots.
No turning back now. She was naked, with Lazarus only a few yards away. He wouldn’t care about her gooseflesh. The thought gave her the courage to do what had to be done.
She climbed onto the edge of the trap, placing both legs inside. It was a tight fit. The tin that lined the chute was rough and cold against her skin. Tetanus city. She was quaking. Cold and scared. Dang, but she hated heights. One last task. She tugged the cupboard doors closed behind her. They didn’t quite meet in the middle. If only she were a contortionist.
She was glad, however, that she had taken the time to remove the nails from the trapdoor, otherwise they would now be digging into her naked ass. She took rabbit. Without enough weight to hold it open, the trapdoor banged shut. Would Lazarus hear it over the thumping pipes?
She dropped like a stone. Relax. You have to hit bottom relaxed or you die. Was thirty feet high enough to reach terminal velocity?
Instinctively, Blythe tried to slow herself with outstretched limbs. She succeeded only in caroming off the rusty sides. The thin sheet metal still had enough flexibility that as she ricocheted against them, they shook more and more.
The vibrations set off moaning and then ferocious rumbling. Crap. She had created her own thunder. The booming was even louder than the clanking of the boiler and the banging of the rads.
She had fucked up big time. She could taste Lazarus’s foul breath. Feel the Dom’s brown nails.
As soon as her three captors figured out there was no storm to go with the thunder, they would check on their prisoner. On that realization, she landed on her tail, bounced hard, and despite the stack of cloth and her clothes, lay stunned and breathless. Every muscle hurt, but her legs worked.
Get up. Your bruises can wait until later. If there is a later.
Her ring still provided a dim twilight glow. Her ring! She couldn’t see it, but apparently it was still on her forefoot. Bless her possessive dragon.
She lay in a roofless wooden box. Probably the raised floor of the box had also cushioned her fall because she was far from dead. Was she going to have to take woman to get out? Repeated shifts would use up valuable energy, but a bunny couldn’t jump many times her body height.
No. The box had double doors held in place by pressure catches. She thumped with her powerful rear legs and the lightweight latches popped open. She was in the basement all right.
Upstairs she could hear Lazarus hollering to Jinx. He didn’t immediately break down the door, probably because that would ruin Blythe’s prison. Violent tip-tapping told her Jinx was up, dressed, and alert.
Blythe had to make the most of her head start. She hopped straight ahead, figuring she would hit
a wall. Yup. Hard. This basement had been made by digging a hole, squaring the edges, and then bracing the dirt with mortared field stones. The earth on the bottom had been packed to make a firm floor.
Over time, concrete had been poured as needed, to make level surfaces for washing machines and workbenches. Maybe there were patches of dirt left. If so she was golden. If she could dig, she was so out of here. But all she felt under her paws was cement.
She went left. No stairs. No door. Just concrete to the stone wall. Same on the right. Her heart sank. But on this side, mortar had cracked and broken, a fieldstone had fallen out of the foundation wall. Or been pushed out. She could have cried for joy when she bumped into it. Some enterprising skunks had dug a lovely Blythe-sized hole.
But the respite provided by Jinx and Lazarus’ confusion did not last long. Screeching wood on wood informed her that her prison door had jammed. Lazarus responded with heated profanity, kicks, and threats. She had run out of time. It was past time to get the heck out of here. She scrambled into the hole, digging frantically.
Jinx’s frantic instructions echoed down the chute. Obedient to her urging, Lazarus swore and wrenched the locked closets open to the shriek of splintering wood. Blythe dug faster. Heavy boots thundered on the staircase and ran along the landing and down the next flight. There was no time to enlarge the hole and leave in human form. No time for anything.
Before Lazarus could reach the main floor, Dom’s nightmare voice spoke, a loud as a bullhorn. “Halt, Blythe Warren.” It rattled her heart, and froze her blood.
She fought the terrible compulsion to obey, forcing her front legs to move dirt and her hind legs to backfill. The tunnel seemed endless, that icy voice more imperative. But away from Dom’s dreadful smell and those terrible eyes, and shielded by earth, she was better able to resist the command.
She dug as if her life depended on it. Which it assuredly did. Her head popped up. Not a star glimmered in the fog-covered sky, but the damp and salty air was sweeter than roses. Here in the woods, Dom’s dreadful summons was mercifully muffled. She could draw a full breath. But this was no time for a rabbit to rest.
She took off, heading deeper into the trees, as if all the devils of hell were in hot pursuit. As perhaps they were. Surely she could find someplace to hide? Before she reached that dubious safety, a pair of silent wings swooped and carried off its diminutive lifeless prey. The owl reminded her that the night held manifold dangers for a small woodland creature.
Behind her, more thunder rattled the night. Not thunder, gunfire. They were shooting at her. Again.
CHAPTER 52
Neil~
The team was almost at the Big House, when the hullabaloo started. First thunder roared, then a pause filled by voices loud with frustration and fury. A man’s and a woman’s howls. Footsteps thumped. Shortly afterward, the ear-splitting shriek of wood being damaged assaulted the night.
They’d been spotted after all.
A deep, androgynous voice, as ominous as the tolling of a bell, and infused with terrifying paranormal power hailed Blythe Warren. Crap. They should be wearing earplugs. But who could have predicted a gut-wrenching voice like this? Where was his mate?
Out of the corner of his eye, Neil saw movement. A horned owl, gray wings spread wide, swooped low and struck without warning. Silently it glided into the trees to eat its dinner. Several other equally small creatures scurried into the safety of roots and bushes and vanished. Neil held fast to the strength of the pulses from Blythe’s ring. She couldn’t be that owl’s dinner. Not his mate.
By the time the man and woman ran out the back door, firing long guns at anything that moved, Neil and the wolves had spread out and taken cover. Or at least as much as they could in this patchy mix of wildflowers, berry bushes, and slender young trees. They needn’t have worried. This pair of villains were not concerned with raiders. They had misplaced their hostage.
The terrible voice ceased its unnerving call. The relief was incredible, as if the crushing weight of boulders had been taken off his chest. The trigger-happy couple didn’t seem to notice. They gazed warily into the trees. After a brief pause, the woman braced herself.
“Come on, Lazarus, the Dom won’t like it that she got away.” She headed toward the trees still hollering at her reluctant henchman. “You fucking asshole, if you don’t follow orders, I fucking swear I’ll drop you here.”
“Okay, Jinx.” Feet dragging, the man trailed after her.
On Merritt’s sign, they surrounded and took down first Lazarus and then Jinx. While Neil’s gloved hand covered her still swearing mouth, Merritt and Packard relieved the woman of her gun and taped her mouth shut. She joined Lazarus on the ground. The three of them applied zip ties to their captives’ ankles and wrists. Now for the owner of the dreadful voice, this Dom, who presumably was the gang leader.
Neil was desperate to head into the trees to look for Blythe. He had to hope the owl wasn’t dining on his mate. But Merritt pointed to the house. They would hunt Dom as a team. Where would the owner of that petrifying voice be? Waiting inside for his backup to return? Or abandoning ship? Depended on what he thought was going down.
The only ways out of the house were the coal hatch or the back door. Merritt signaled that Neil was to guard the hatchway which Gage had kept clear of weeds. A set of concrete steps led up to a trim path. Neil positioned himself behind a clump of cedars and watched.
On the second floor something gigantic burst out a window. Wood splintered with loud squeals like nails against a blackboard, glass shattered and tinkled onto the porch roof. A huge winged creature leaped out and was borne away into the paranormal fog.
Neil could see feathered wings nearly as wide as his own and a head with an enormous curved beak. What was it? Some type of dragon? A phoenix? It looked and stank like a nightmare. He aimed his rifle at it, but the beast disappeared into the thickened mist.
He heard nothing but a feral shriek that chilled his blood and filmed his body in sweat. And then whatever it was circled back on wings of fire, its long scaly neck carried in an S curve. Neil fired, but the beast’s cry had shaken him, and his aim was off. Or the freak was bulletproof.
Two red beams like lasers shot from the creature’s glowing eyes. They hit the roof, which had to be a hallucination. That was not how eyes worked. With another disturbing cry the thing was gone. Neil took dragon, there was no other way to catch their quarry. Its putrid trail would be easy to follow.
Suddenly the roof burst into flame. Simultaneously, explosions shook the house. Glass broke. The oil tank went off like a fire bomb, blasting flames out the hatchway. The motor cruiser tied up behind Gage’s cottage exploded. Tongues of fire licked the sky. Gage ran out of his house carrying a fire extinguisher nearly as big as he was.
The jet ski sent water a hundred feet high as it too erupted in a blaze. The roar and heat were everywhere. Neil could battle the fires, or he could pursue the monster. Blythe might have escaped, more likely she was trapped in the burning house. He had no choice. He had to leave his prey to the hawks.
He drenched the house. Unlike the purple and green flames that had threatened Blythe’s cottage, this was ordinary fire. He blasted it with ice. The roof caved in. He dumped more ice into the attics. And dowsed the basement blaze. That acrid paranormal smoke, however, still roiled from the chimney.
Shit.
The smog was being generated in the fireplace. He had to extinguish it. His lungs were afire. No, they were frozen. Bleeding. Dissolving. He ignored the pain and blew a mighty blast of frost down the chimney. He was astonished when the smoky steam immediately dissipated.
The boarded-up windows didn’t let in enough oxygen to feed fires on the upper floors. Once the attics were out, the blaze spluttered, hissed and went out. Hacking and spewing ice in uncontrolled jets, Neil landed on the unmown field. A small animal darted out of the trees and raced toward him.
He was naked, kneeling with his arms open, when his brave little bunny bounded i
nto them. Bip bop boo.
CHAPTER 53
Blythe~
She had totally run out of puff, but she tried to smile when Neil came out of the head. Aside from wet hair he looked immaculate. Naked but polished. How did he manage that effortless elegance?
She had showered at Mr. Gage’s cottage, but she still felt pretty frowzy. The late Mrs. Gage had not run to hair products. And although her flowered frock was spotless, it was something special in the dowdy line.
Neil knelt at her feet and began to unlace Muriel Gage’s canvas runners. “You were supposed to get in the bunk while I was cleaning up.” He pulled the shoes off.
“Sorry. I guess it’s all catching up to me.”
He tugged her to her feet and dealt efficiently with the row of snaps that fastened Muriel’s daisy-spangled house dress. He eased it off her arms, his touch both calming and exciting. “Bedtime,” he said. “You want that nightgown thing?”
“It was kind of Mr. Gage to lend it to me, but I believe you can keep me warm without it.”
“I’ll do my best.” He flung the spread back revealing crisp white sheets and fluffy pillows.
She finally registered the palatial accommodations. Full-sized bed, thick rugs, mahogany cabinetry, and a proper bathroom. “Where did you get this boat?”
“Didn’t I say? Phillip Olander lent us a whole bunch, and provided us with hawks to skipper them. I commandeered this motor yacht for us.”
“Oh. That was generous of him.” She had expected Mr. Olander to pay her bill promptly, but not to put his possessions at Neil’s disposal.
“You saved Veronica and Megan from being kidnapped. Let’s just say Grandpa Olander is very grateful. He offered to pay ransom too.”
He lifted her off her feet and knelt on the bed to lay her down against the wall. Heat bloomed along her side when he joined her. She flipped to her side and snuggled close, laying her head on his chest, raising her lips to meet his. His hand ran up and down her spine as if assuring himself she was safe.
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