One Dark Wish, page 13
“That’s right.” He knew her voice well enough to know that she was trying hard not to sound surprised. “It’s Shakespeare.”
Nate had nothing to say to that. In his world, the phrase was attributed to Fletcher Ames, the lead torturer in the POW camp where he’d spent two long years. As for the other line about not trusting Kells, that was just psy-ops bullshit.
“While you rest, I’ll go upstairs and get my dad’s bag.”
She left, and he couldn’t help himself. Despite the wretched headache driving nails into his eyes, he tracked her graceful movements as she left the room. Once alone, he pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. The pressure helped with the light show. The sounds of the house offered a soothing white noise: the AC compressor kicking on and the icemaker dropping cubes.
He’d always wanted to live in a house like this, with a wife, even kids. He’d no idea how a man went about doing something like that, and he’d never come close to meeting a woman with whom that would happen. But it was easier to fantasize about something he’d never have than work through the possibility that Kells couldn’t be trusted.
Nate inhaled and exhaled until the caffeine kicked in and the humming abated. The need to fight something drifted away. Even the pain in his temple had retreated, as if surrendering to the power of bacopa and feverfew. Whatever those were.
A shuffling sound upstairs drew his attention to the ceiling. A crashing noise made him sit. Thumping on the second floor had him with his gun drawn, down the hallway, and in the foyer, where he saw Sarah on the stairs in the arms of another man.
Etienne Marigny stood on a step with Sarah in front of him, a knife at her throat. Blood dripped down her arm. “I wasn’t expecting you, Walker.”
Nate fixed his weapon on Etienne’s ugly-ass face with the pointed nose and black eyes. Nate had only met Etienne once, on the Isle of Grace. The violence that’d poured out of him then was even more intensified now. “Let her go.”
Etienne smelled Sarah’s neck. “No.”
“Ugh!” She twisted until he ran the blade against her breast.
“Don’t fight him, Sarah,” Nate said. “What do you want, Etienne?”
“My coz wants the solution to Miss Munro’s cipher. In return, her father will be released.”
“My cipher is unsolvable,” Sarah said.
“That’s too bad,” Etienne said. “My coz wants it by Sunday. Or else your father stays put.”
Nate moved closer, his sight pointed at Etienne’s forehead. “After delivering your message, how were you planning on getting away?”
Etienne smiled, and Nate heard a click and felt a gun barrel forcing his head forward.
“Nate!” Sarah’s eyes widened.
“Don’t worry.” He kept his voice casual. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had a gun to my head.” And if God gave him more days, it wouldn’t be the last.
“At least you’re not on your knees trading things for your men’s lives. I wasn’t there the night you gave away your medal.” Etienne’s eyes lowered to Sarah’s neckline, where her camisole had been pulled down, exposing the upper fullness of her breasts. “I just heard the stories.”
“Release her. If Remiel needs the cipher, he won’t want her hurt.”
“It’s not her we’re going to hurt.” Etienne’s lips touched her hair. “Not too much.”
“Who’s Remiel?” Sarah struggled until Etienne gripped her ponytail and yanked her head back. She yelped and clasped his hand that held the knife to her throat.
“My cousin.” Etienne licked her neck, and she kicked him despite the blade near her jugular. “And he’s going to love you. He prefers women who fight.”
“Sarah,” Nate ordered. “Stay still.”
“Drop your gun,” the man behind Nate said in a gravelly voice.
Nate placed his weapon on the floor. The moment Etienne glanced at Sarah’s neckline again, Nate spun and knocked away the armed man’s gun. Nate grabbed the man’s arm at the same time as a gunshot exploded from across the room. A bullet ripped through the air and hit the man in the chest.
Sarah screamed, and the body landed on the ground with a loud thud. The man’s eyes were still open, but his breathing had stopped. The bullet hadn’t exited and the only blood seeped from a small wound. Nate’s ears rang, but instead of covering them, he found his gun and aimed it at Etienne.
That’s when Nate saw another man on the second-floor landing, his weapon with a silencer pointed at Etienne. Not the backup Nate would have wanted, but he’d take it.
Etienne’s hand with the knife shook while he asked the shooter, “Who are you?”
The man bowed at the waist. “My Prince calls me Cassio.”
Chapter 15
A scream snagged in Sarah’s throat. Etienne pushed the knife’s edge harder against her jugular, and he wrapped his other arm over her breasts. His gaze shifted between Nate and Cassio, both of whom now had guns pointed at Etienne’s head.
She forced herself to breathe. Oxygen was the only thing that could combat the light-headedness making her woozy and nauseated.
Cassio came down one step, and she found herself airborne. Etienne had thrown her into Nate’s arms. They both landed on the floor, with Nate’s body taking the force of the fall. They rolled, and Nate’s weight crushed her lungs.
By the time they scrambled to their feet, with Nate keeping her behind him, Cassio had taken Etienne. Cassio held Etienne’s own knife to his throat and whispered something. Etienne’s face drained of color. His lips turned gray, and his nose looked so sharp it seemed two-dimensional.
When Cassio released Etienne, he stumbled down the stairs toward the door.
Nate was about to block Etienne, but Cassio ordered, “Leave the fiend. He carries a message.”
Nate shouldered Etienne as he ran past. When the front door slammed, Sarah’s knees turned to tapioca. She sank, only to land within feet of the dead man with the open eyes. The hyperventilating started again, and she scooted until hitting the opposite wall. Her racing heart felt like it’d swelled three sizes, leaving no room in her lungs to inhale.
Nate had almost killed that man to save her.
Nate shoved his weapon in his back waistband. “Why did you let Etienne leave?”
Cassio came down the stairs with the eerie Fianna gracefulness that almost defied gravity. “Our ways are not your ways, but justice is always served.”
“I don’t—”
Cassio lifted a hand. “The Prince demands the cipher remain unsolved. If the cipher is solved, one of your men will die.”
Sarah dragged herself up by grabbing onto the grandfather clock. Her body ached, and she couldn’t stop trembling. “This Remiel person wants me to solve the cipher or else my father will stay institutionalized.”
“’Tis a quandary indeed, my lady. But there’s a greater risk than your father’s life. And sacrifices must be made.”
“My father is not a sacrifice.”
“Sarah.” Nate’s voice had lowered in pitch and volume, and he pointed at the dead man. “Don’t argue with Cassio.”
She clamped down her gag reflex. Cassio had killed without any show of remorse.
“Who?” Nate’s hard voice shook the chandelier. “If the cipher is solved, which of my men dies?”
“’Tis the Prince’s choice of man, time, and place.”
“This doesn’t make sense.” Sarah fought to keep her voice level. “Why does Remiel, whoever he is, want me to solve the cipher, and why does the Prince care?”
Red and blue lights flashed through the windows. A moment later, sirens sounded.
“Someone heard that shot and called the cops,” Nate said to Cassio.
“Leave by the patio,” Cassio said. “I’ll care for the dead. Go on foot. Return to your lord.”
The police cars blocked the driveway, and Detective Elliot got out.
“Go. Now.” Cassio grabbed Nate’s arm. “Remember your oath. And the consequences.”
“Why can’t we stay?” she asked. “I met Detective Elliot two weeks ago. I’m sure he’ll listen.”
“No,” Cassio ordered. “To save those you love, you must save yourselves.”
* * *
Nate took her hand and led her into the kitchen. He grabbed the file, her sweater, and her straw bag, which was heavier than it looked, and dragged her into the garden. At the farthest corner of the property, he helped her climb a four-foot-high stone wall.
“Where are we going?”
They jumped down, crossed the street, and entered an alley. “To the gym.” He guided her across another street and found his phone. Before he could dial, Sarah gripped his wrist.
“We have to talk to the police.” She pointed down the alley where a cruiser whizzed by. “We need to tell Detective Elliot what happened. Explain about Etienne holding me hostage.”
“No.” Nate dropped her bag and spun her until her back was to the wall. “Your arm. It’s bleeding.”
“It’s a scratch.” Etienne had cut her when he’d come up behind her. “We can’t leave. There’s a dead man in my house.”
Nate took his handkerchief out of his pocket and tied the white cloth over the wound and around her upper arm. “We’ll talk to Detective Garza.”
“But—”
“No.” Her eyes widened, and he cursed. Between the adrenaline burn, his heart pumping wildly, and his frustration over Sarah’s inability to take orders, he was having a tough time controlling his emotions.
She hit him in the chest with her small fist. “You don’t understand.”
No, she didn’t understand. He moved until his body touched hers, and then he kissed her. His lips tilted over hers, demanding a response. He’d no right to kiss her. And this was the worst time to do so. But he couldn’t control himself. One arm circled her waist, dragging her closer, until they melted into one another. And the most amazing thing happened. Despite the violence surrounding them, all the unanswered questions, his pulse evened out. The constant aching in his head lessened. And the humming he’d learned to live with since leaving the prison hospital, the same humming that led to seizures and migraines, eased.
In the empty space left behind, he felt a quiet peace.
She threw her arms around his neck, and he increased the pressure, unable to do anything other than take all she was willing to give him. Kissing her was a more powerful drug than anything he’d bought on the street or found in the fighting ring. Kissing her made him feel strong, healthy, and whole.
He moved one of his hands to hold her head. He didn’t care if she felt how she affected him. He wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed. His body had woken up, and now the erection demanding attention could be seen from the space station. His lips over hers, her lips softening beneath his, became his entire world. A whirlwind of desire, a maelstrom of need, an aching for more. Yet, in the midst of those emotions, he found an island separate from his life of chaos and violence. A single moment of grace. Something he never would’ve dreamed would be possible for him again.
Sarah broke the kiss and whispered, “Nate?” The word came out soft and low, her breath skimming over his sensitive lips. He moved to kiss her again.
“Nate!” She stared at something over his shoulder.
Reluctantly, he turned to look down the alley toward the street. Two cop cars had stopped.
Sarah was right. This was no time to— He inhaled sharply. A man in a black hoodie stood in the shadows, eerie as shit, watching them.
Nate was torn. If he’d been alone, he would’ve confronted the man—fought him if necessary—to figure out what was going on. But he couldn’t fight this man and protect Sarah at the same time. “Sarah, we’re going to run. And we’re not going to stop until I say.” He squeezed her hand and adjusted her bag on his shoulder. “Ready?”
At her nod, he took off, dragging her behind him. They raced through a courtyard and down a dark alley, crossed a street, and entered a garden square packed with people. He paused behind a live oak tree and waited. Sarah stood next him, breathing heavily.
He counted to ten and…bingo. The hooded man had followed.
Sarah pointed to the sky. A police helicopter hovered. That meant the cops realized there’d been a shot fired at Sarah’s house and were looking for a gunman. That also meant the cops would block off roads.
“Do you have sunglasses?”
She nodded and also found a sunhat and a scarf in her bag. Once she tied the silk scarf around her neck and put on the hat and glasses, he took her hand, weaving between tourists and horse-drawn carriages. He made a quick detour into a souvenir shop where he bought a black baseball cap and a shopping bag decorated with palmetto trees into which he dropped Sarah’s straw purse and his jacket.
A few alleys later, they hit their first roadblock at the Reynolds Square garden. Keeping to the shadows between the ivy-covered buildings, they worked their way into the edges of the crowd, with Sarah’s smaller body behind his. He had to get to the opposite side of the square.
Another helo swirled overhead, and his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Trucks of local news crews cut off a horse-drawn carriage, and people gathered on street corners.
He hiked the heavy bag higher on his shoulder. What did she keep in it? Rocks?
Sarah pointed to a cart selling bottles of water. “Can we get some water?”
He bought two. As she gulped, a drop of water escaped, and he watched it trail down her chin, along her throat, down to her collarbone. He turned away and took a long drink himself, almost finishing the bottle in one swallow until, fifty yards away, the hooded man appeared.
Nate tossed their bottles in the trash, pushed Sarah into a crowd of people, and headed toward a church. The police had cleared the street of cars and carriages.
She pointed to the stone church that looked like a miniature abbey with side passageways. “I know this cemetery. We can cut through the graveyard to a parking lot.”
The hooded man, stuck in the crowd, stood on a bench, scanning the area.
Nate followed Sarah through an ornate iron gate, into the overgrown churchyard, and down the crushed-shell path. It wound through an undergrowth of wildflowers, palmettos, and broken headstones. He heard snapping twigs and loud breathing, not sure if it was his, Sarah’s, or the man behind him. He rounded the corner of a large mausoleum and saw the ten-foot-tall iron gate leading to a parking lot. The gate was locked. They were trapped.
His mind ran through every scenario, all of which ended with a violent confrontation.
He looked back. The man’s hooded head bobbed as he searched the cemetery.
She tugged his arm. “What are we going to do?”
Fight. He handed her the bag and found his gun. “Hide behind that—” Something caught his attention. Graffiti on the church’s door. A white skeleton hand holding a black cutlass. “Follow me.”
He ran toward the door and barely stopped before pushing it open, thanking every angel in Heaven that it wasn’t locked. Once Sarah was through, he shut the door and turned the dead bolt. It was dark in the hallway, and the wall switch didn’t work. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. When she turned on her phone’s flashlight, he said, “Look for a door.”
They moved down the stone hallway, dodging chairs and boxes.
“There!” Sarah pointed down a flight of stairs.
He stepped carefully, his weapon ready. Water and mold coated the walls and made the stone floor slippery. It took a few pulls before the latch released. It was even darker and danker inside the passageway.
“I’m not sure about this.” Her voice trembled. “Where are we going?”
“To a tunnel beneath the city.” Although he’d no idea where it would lead or if it was even passable. He and his men had been clearing out tunnels between the gym, the club, and Prideaux House. Although the tunnels ran underneath the entire historic district, Kells had chosen these three to clear first and, eventually, set up an underground command post. Since all of the men worked at the gym and the club and would eventually move to Prideaux House, Kells figured that if Remiel attacked them in the city, the tunnels would give them a safe place to regroup and plan their counterattack. Unfortunately, of the tunnels needed minor work; others were filled with metal bed frames and debris from a nearby hospital. Some had trash and rats.
The one thing they had in common was the graffiti found near each hidden entrance: The Prioleau family sigil of a skeletal hand gripping a cutlass with the words sans pitié written below. Calum, in his uniquely arrogant-yet-not-obnoxious way, had claimed ownership of this underground network that most of the world, except for the city’s water and power workers, had forgotten about.
“How did you know the entrance to the tunnel was here?” She raised her phone’s flashlight to expose at least twenty stone steps heading down. “Or about the tunnels at all?”
“Long story.” He paused to take her bag. She’d removed her hat and her sunglasses. “Hold the railing. The stairs are wet.” Once off the bottom step, he turned right. “This should take us toward the river.” He saw her worried face in the shadows. “Do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t forget to breathe.”
Chapter 16
Zack stared at the guy in front of him. It was Zack’s turn for desk duty, and he’d hoped to work on his evidence to help Nate. But Zack had had no idea the desk was so busy with fielding phone calls, complaints, and questions about bathroom facilities. “Excuse me?”
“Duuuuuude.” Antoine, with bottle-blond hair and a red running suit sporting neon-green stripes down the side, dropped an elbow on the raised counter. “It’s always been this way. My guys use your backyard garden for our business transactions, and we offer protection.”
“You and your salesforce deal—”
Nate had nothing to say to that. In his world, the phrase was attributed to Fletcher Ames, the lead torturer in the POW camp where he’d spent two long years. As for the other line about not trusting Kells, that was just psy-ops bullshit.
“While you rest, I’ll go upstairs and get my dad’s bag.”
She left, and he couldn’t help himself. Despite the wretched headache driving nails into his eyes, he tracked her graceful movements as she left the room. Once alone, he pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. The pressure helped with the light show. The sounds of the house offered a soothing white noise: the AC compressor kicking on and the icemaker dropping cubes.
He’d always wanted to live in a house like this, with a wife, even kids. He’d no idea how a man went about doing something like that, and he’d never come close to meeting a woman with whom that would happen. But it was easier to fantasize about something he’d never have than work through the possibility that Kells couldn’t be trusted.
Nate inhaled and exhaled until the caffeine kicked in and the humming abated. The need to fight something drifted away. Even the pain in his temple had retreated, as if surrendering to the power of bacopa and feverfew. Whatever those were.
A shuffling sound upstairs drew his attention to the ceiling. A crashing noise made him sit. Thumping on the second floor had him with his gun drawn, down the hallway, and in the foyer, where he saw Sarah on the stairs in the arms of another man.
Etienne Marigny stood on a step with Sarah in front of him, a knife at her throat. Blood dripped down her arm. “I wasn’t expecting you, Walker.”
Nate fixed his weapon on Etienne’s ugly-ass face with the pointed nose and black eyes. Nate had only met Etienne once, on the Isle of Grace. The violence that’d poured out of him then was even more intensified now. “Let her go.”
Etienne smelled Sarah’s neck. “No.”
“Ugh!” She twisted until he ran the blade against her breast.
“Don’t fight him, Sarah,” Nate said. “What do you want, Etienne?”
“My coz wants the solution to Miss Munro’s cipher. In return, her father will be released.”
“My cipher is unsolvable,” Sarah said.
“That’s too bad,” Etienne said. “My coz wants it by Sunday. Or else your father stays put.”
Nate moved closer, his sight pointed at Etienne’s forehead. “After delivering your message, how were you planning on getting away?”
Etienne smiled, and Nate heard a click and felt a gun barrel forcing his head forward.
“Nate!” Sarah’s eyes widened.
“Don’t worry.” He kept his voice casual. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had a gun to my head.” And if God gave him more days, it wouldn’t be the last.
“At least you’re not on your knees trading things for your men’s lives. I wasn’t there the night you gave away your medal.” Etienne’s eyes lowered to Sarah’s neckline, where her camisole had been pulled down, exposing the upper fullness of her breasts. “I just heard the stories.”
“Release her. If Remiel needs the cipher, he won’t want her hurt.”
“It’s not her we’re going to hurt.” Etienne’s lips touched her hair. “Not too much.”
“Who’s Remiel?” Sarah struggled until Etienne gripped her ponytail and yanked her head back. She yelped and clasped his hand that held the knife to her throat.
“My cousin.” Etienne licked her neck, and she kicked him despite the blade near her jugular. “And he’s going to love you. He prefers women who fight.”
“Sarah,” Nate ordered. “Stay still.”
“Drop your gun,” the man behind Nate said in a gravelly voice.
Nate placed his weapon on the floor. The moment Etienne glanced at Sarah’s neckline again, Nate spun and knocked away the armed man’s gun. Nate grabbed the man’s arm at the same time as a gunshot exploded from across the room. A bullet ripped through the air and hit the man in the chest.
Sarah screamed, and the body landed on the ground with a loud thud. The man’s eyes were still open, but his breathing had stopped. The bullet hadn’t exited and the only blood seeped from a small wound. Nate’s ears rang, but instead of covering them, he found his gun and aimed it at Etienne.
That’s when Nate saw another man on the second-floor landing, his weapon with a silencer pointed at Etienne. Not the backup Nate would have wanted, but he’d take it.
Etienne’s hand with the knife shook while he asked the shooter, “Who are you?”
The man bowed at the waist. “My Prince calls me Cassio.”
Chapter 15
A scream snagged in Sarah’s throat. Etienne pushed the knife’s edge harder against her jugular, and he wrapped his other arm over her breasts. His gaze shifted between Nate and Cassio, both of whom now had guns pointed at Etienne’s head.
She forced herself to breathe. Oxygen was the only thing that could combat the light-headedness making her woozy and nauseated.
Cassio came down one step, and she found herself airborne. Etienne had thrown her into Nate’s arms. They both landed on the floor, with Nate’s body taking the force of the fall. They rolled, and Nate’s weight crushed her lungs.
By the time they scrambled to their feet, with Nate keeping her behind him, Cassio had taken Etienne. Cassio held Etienne’s own knife to his throat and whispered something. Etienne’s face drained of color. His lips turned gray, and his nose looked so sharp it seemed two-dimensional.
When Cassio released Etienne, he stumbled down the stairs toward the door.
Nate was about to block Etienne, but Cassio ordered, “Leave the fiend. He carries a message.”
Nate shouldered Etienne as he ran past. When the front door slammed, Sarah’s knees turned to tapioca. She sank, only to land within feet of the dead man with the open eyes. The hyperventilating started again, and she scooted until hitting the opposite wall. Her racing heart felt like it’d swelled three sizes, leaving no room in her lungs to inhale.
Nate had almost killed that man to save her.
Nate shoved his weapon in his back waistband. “Why did you let Etienne leave?”
Cassio came down the stairs with the eerie Fianna gracefulness that almost defied gravity. “Our ways are not your ways, but justice is always served.”
“I don’t—”
Cassio lifted a hand. “The Prince demands the cipher remain unsolved. If the cipher is solved, one of your men will die.”
Sarah dragged herself up by grabbing onto the grandfather clock. Her body ached, and she couldn’t stop trembling. “This Remiel person wants me to solve the cipher or else my father will stay institutionalized.”
“’Tis a quandary indeed, my lady. But there’s a greater risk than your father’s life. And sacrifices must be made.”
“My father is not a sacrifice.”
“Sarah.” Nate’s voice had lowered in pitch and volume, and he pointed at the dead man. “Don’t argue with Cassio.”
She clamped down her gag reflex. Cassio had killed without any show of remorse.
“Who?” Nate’s hard voice shook the chandelier. “If the cipher is solved, which of my men dies?”
“’Tis the Prince’s choice of man, time, and place.”
“This doesn’t make sense.” Sarah fought to keep her voice level. “Why does Remiel, whoever he is, want me to solve the cipher, and why does the Prince care?”
Red and blue lights flashed through the windows. A moment later, sirens sounded.
“Someone heard that shot and called the cops,” Nate said to Cassio.
“Leave by the patio,” Cassio said. “I’ll care for the dead. Go on foot. Return to your lord.”
The police cars blocked the driveway, and Detective Elliot got out.
“Go. Now.” Cassio grabbed Nate’s arm. “Remember your oath. And the consequences.”
“Why can’t we stay?” she asked. “I met Detective Elliot two weeks ago. I’m sure he’ll listen.”
“No,” Cassio ordered. “To save those you love, you must save yourselves.”
* * *
Nate took her hand and led her into the kitchen. He grabbed the file, her sweater, and her straw bag, which was heavier than it looked, and dragged her into the garden. At the farthest corner of the property, he helped her climb a four-foot-high stone wall.
“Where are we going?”
They jumped down, crossed the street, and entered an alley. “To the gym.” He guided her across another street and found his phone. Before he could dial, Sarah gripped his wrist.
“We have to talk to the police.” She pointed down the alley where a cruiser whizzed by. “We need to tell Detective Elliot what happened. Explain about Etienne holding me hostage.”
“No.” Nate dropped her bag and spun her until her back was to the wall. “Your arm. It’s bleeding.”
“It’s a scratch.” Etienne had cut her when he’d come up behind her. “We can’t leave. There’s a dead man in my house.”
Nate took his handkerchief out of his pocket and tied the white cloth over the wound and around her upper arm. “We’ll talk to Detective Garza.”
“But—”
“No.” Her eyes widened, and he cursed. Between the adrenaline burn, his heart pumping wildly, and his frustration over Sarah’s inability to take orders, he was having a tough time controlling his emotions.
She hit him in the chest with her small fist. “You don’t understand.”
No, she didn’t understand. He moved until his body touched hers, and then he kissed her. His lips tilted over hers, demanding a response. He’d no right to kiss her. And this was the worst time to do so. But he couldn’t control himself. One arm circled her waist, dragging her closer, until they melted into one another. And the most amazing thing happened. Despite the violence surrounding them, all the unanswered questions, his pulse evened out. The constant aching in his head lessened. And the humming he’d learned to live with since leaving the prison hospital, the same humming that led to seizures and migraines, eased.
In the empty space left behind, he felt a quiet peace.
She threw her arms around his neck, and he increased the pressure, unable to do anything other than take all she was willing to give him. Kissing her was a more powerful drug than anything he’d bought on the street or found in the fighting ring. Kissing her made him feel strong, healthy, and whole.
He moved one of his hands to hold her head. He didn’t care if she felt how she affected him. He wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed. His body had woken up, and now the erection demanding attention could be seen from the space station. His lips over hers, her lips softening beneath his, became his entire world. A whirlwind of desire, a maelstrom of need, an aching for more. Yet, in the midst of those emotions, he found an island separate from his life of chaos and violence. A single moment of grace. Something he never would’ve dreamed would be possible for him again.
Sarah broke the kiss and whispered, “Nate?” The word came out soft and low, her breath skimming over his sensitive lips. He moved to kiss her again.
“Nate!” She stared at something over his shoulder.
Reluctantly, he turned to look down the alley toward the street. Two cop cars had stopped.
Sarah was right. This was no time to— He inhaled sharply. A man in a black hoodie stood in the shadows, eerie as shit, watching them.
Nate was torn. If he’d been alone, he would’ve confronted the man—fought him if necessary—to figure out what was going on. But he couldn’t fight this man and protect Sarah at the same time. “Sarah, we’re going to run. And we’re not going to stop until I say.” He squeezed her hand and adjusted her bag on his shoulder. “Ready?”
At her nod, he took off, dragging her behind him. They raced through a courtyard and down a dark alley, crossed a street, and entered a garden square packed with people. He paused behind a live oak tree and waited. Sarah stood next him, breathing heavily.
He counted to ten and…bingo. The hooded man had followed.
Sarah pointed to the sky. A police helicopter hovered. That meant the cops realized there’d been a shot fired at Sarah’s house and were looking for a gunman. That also meant the cops would block off roads.
“Do you have sunglasses?”
She nodded and also found a sunhat and a scarf in her bag. Once she tied the silk scarf around her neck and put on the hat and glasses, he took her hand, weaving between tourists and horse-drawn carriages. He made a quick detour into a souvenir shop where he bought a black baseball cap and a shopping bag decorated with palmetto trees into which he dropped Sarah’s straw purse and his jacket.
A few alleys later, they hit their first roadblock at the Reynolds Square garden. Keeping to the shadows between the ivy-covered buildings, they worked their way into the edges of the crowd, with Sarah’s smaller body behind his. He had to get to the opposite side of the square.
Another helo swirled overhead, and his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Trucks of local news crews cut off a horse-drawn carriage, and people gathered on street corners.
He hiked the heavy bag higher on his shoulder. What did she keep in it? Rocks?
Sarah pointed to a cart selling bottles of water. “Can we get some water?”
He bought two. As she gulped, a drop of water escaped, and he watched it trail down her chin, along her throat, down to her collarbone. He turned away and took a long drink himself, almost finishing the bottle in one swallow until, fifty yards away, the hooded man appeared.
Nate tossed their bottles in the trash, pushed Sarah into a crowd of people, and headed toward a church. The police had cleared the street of cars and carriages.
She pointed to the stone church that looked like a miniature abbey with side passageways. “I know this cemetery. We can cut through the graveyard to a parking lot.”
The hooded man, stuck in the crowd, stood on a bench, scanning the area.
Nate followed Sarah through an ornate iron gate, into the overgrown churchyard, and down the crushed-shell path. It wound through an undergrowth of wildflowers, palmettos, and broken headstones. He heard snapping twigs and loud breathing, not sure if it was his, Sarah’s, or the man behind him. He rounded the corner of a large mausoleum and saw the ten-foot-tall iron gate leading to a parking lot. The gate was locked. They were trapped.
His mind ran through every scenario, all of which ended with a violent confrontation.
He looked back. The man’s hooded head bobbed as he searched the cemetery.
She tugged his arm. “What are we going to do?”
Fight. He handed her the bag and found his gun. “Hide behind that—” Something caught his attention. Graffiti on the church’s door. A white skeleton hand holding a black cutlass. “Follow me.”
He ran toward the door and barely stopped before pushing it open, thanking every angel in Heaven that it wasn’t locked. Once Sarah was through, he shut the door and turned the dead bolt. It was dark in the hallway, and the wall switch didn’t work. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. When she turned on her phone’s flashlight, he said, “Look for a door.”
They moved down the stone hallway, dodging chairs and boxes.
“There!” Sarah pointed down a flight of stairs.
He stepped carefully, his weapon ready. Water and mold coated the walls and made the stone floor slippery. It took a few pulls before the latch released. It was even darker and danker inside the passageway.
“I’m not sure about this.” Her voice trembled. “Where are we going?”
“To a tunnel beneath the city.” Although he’d no idea where it would lead or if it was even passable. He and his men had been clearing out tunnels between the gym, the club, and Prideaux House. Although the tunnels ran underneath the entire historic district, Kells had chosen these three to clear first and, eventually, set up an underground command post. Since all of the men worked at the gym and the club and would eventually move to Prideaux House, Kells figured that if Remiel attacked them in the city, the tunnels would give them a safe place to regroup and plan their counterattack. Unfortunately, of the tunnels needed minor work; others were filled with metal bed frames and debris from a nearby hospital. Some had trash and rats.
The one thing they had in common was the graffiti found near each hidden entrance: The Prioleau family sigil of a skeletal hand gripping a cutlass with the words sans pitié written below. Calum, in his uniquely arrogant-yet-not-obnoxious way, had claimed ownership of this underground network that most of the world, except for the city’s water and power workers, had forgotten about.
“How did you know the entrance to the tunnel was here?” She raised her phone’s flashlight to expose at least twenty stone steps heading down. “Or about the tunnels at all?”
“Long story.” He paused to take her bag. She’d removed her hat and her sunglasses. “Hold the railing. The stairs are wet.” Once off the bottom step, he turned right. “This should take us toward the river.” He saw her worried face in the shadows. “Do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t forget to breathe.”
Chapter 16
Zack stared at the guy in front of him. It was Zack’s turn for desk duty, and he’d hoped to work on his evidence to help Nate. But Zack had had no idea the desk was so busy with fielding phone calls, complaints, and questions about bathroom facilities. “Excuse me?”
“Duuuuuude.” Antoine, with bottle-blond hair and a red running suit sporting neon-green stripes down the side, dropped an elbow on the raised counter. “It’s always been this way. My guys use your backyard garden for our business transactions, and we offer protection.”
“You and your salesforce deal—”
