Anything He Wants: The Betrayal(5)
I tentatively took his hand, still unconvinced whether it was a good idea, but nevertheless took that first step down into the dark passageway.
2
I found out very quickly that I didn’t like secret passages.
There was little light along the narrow tunnel. We passed lightbulbs spaced several yards apart but only two worked along the entire corridor. The main light came from a flashlight phone app, reflecting dully off the slick wood floor. I kept a firm grip on the back of Jeremiah’s shirt to keep from slipping on the rotting planks.
The passageway’s proximity to the ocean left everything covered in moisture; I didn’t dare touch the walls glistening in the low light. The tunnel was warmer than above ground but humid, a cloying darkness I was desperate to escape. It seemed to go on forever, the walls pressing ever closer. Right as I was readying myself to push Jeremiah aside and flee the rest of the way we came to a stop and the light shone up at a trap door above. Jeremiah twisted a metal ring and pushed, but the door didn’t budge. He heaved at it twice and it finally ripped free, making a sound like wood splitting. There wasn’t much light streaming in from the new room, either, but definitely more than in the dark tunnel which was a welcomed relief.
“Climb up,” he said, and I noticed a metal ladder against the far wall. The chill from the rungs bit into my hands as I scaled the short distance into the new room. There was a marked difference in the temperature and ambient humidity as I realized we were back in the house. I had only a moment to recognize the kitchen pantry, shelves lined with cans and packaged goods, before the door was wrenched open. Blinded by the sudden light, I gave a surprised squeak and raised my hands in surrender as three guns were pointed in my face.
“Stand down,” came Jeremiah’s order from below. After a moment’s hesitation the guns were lowered, and I sat back on the floor, my feet still inside the hole. The guards stepped back as Jeremiah pulled himself from the dank opening. I scooted sideways to make room, not trusting my jelly-legs after that scare, but Jeremiah lifted me effortlessly to my feet and escorted me from the tiny room.
The living room and kitchen were full of people, mainly guards, so Lucas stuck out among the group. He was flanked by two men, and as I came into view he gave me a quick once-over. I thought I saw relief flash across his face briefly before the smirking mask settled back in place.
Jeremiah fixed his brother with a glare, striding toward the smaller man. “If you don’t tell me what you—”
“Archangel.”
Jeremiah paused. “What’s Archangel?”
“Archangel isn’t a what, but a who.” Lucas shifted uncomfortably, a petulant look on his face. “Can’t we lose the cuffs?” he asked, rattling the thin chain. “My poor shoulders can’t take much—”
“Lucas,” Jeremiah growled, cutting off his brother and ignoring the request, “who is Archangel?”
“An assassin, and a very good one at that. Pricey as well.” He rolled his eyes. “Contrary to what you may think, I wasn’t the one to hire his services; I even tried to warn you as soon as I heard about the hit.”
“When?” Jeremiah asked sharply.
“The night of the charity gala in France. I tried to call your cell but there was no answer.” Lucas snaked a look at me, a twinge of regret in his eyes. “I should have left a message but instead I decided to contact you directly. By the time I reached your room, however, it was too late.”
Jeremiah spoke first, his voice suspicious. “The caller was a blocked number.”
“A hazard of the profession.” Lucas’s lips rose into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. I got the impression the grin was an automatic response, an oft-used professional mask, because something flickered in his eyes and the smile disappeared. “I decided to contact you directly but I was only a minute behind the medical team dispatched to your room. I saw you raging about and knew something had happened.”
That bit of information got Jeremiah’s attention. “You were there?”
Lucas nodded once somberly. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I approached you then and didn’t want to cause a scene—in the state you were in, you would have throttled me—so I stayed back.” Lucas snuck a look toward me. “I apologize for not being faster.”
“I’m alive.” As far as forgiveness went, the words were a paltry expression of gratitude, but I saw another brief flash of relief across his face. My mind was having trouble equating this man with his chosen career; I couldn’t see Lucas as an arms dealer. I guess even bad guys can have a heart.