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Panic spiked through me in waves.
Amelia shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “If you see your husband before I do, tell him that if he’s involved with Pier 19, not even I can help him. He’ll be on his own.”
She turned and marched back to her partner.
I watched in a daze as the two agents got into the SUV and drove away. My mind spun with a myriad of words and broken phrases, none of which made any sense even as I strung them together.
Who was Amelia Rossi? And what was she to Lucifer? Pier 19?
Lucifer said he would be at Bianco’s ... and then he’d come home to me ...
I shook my head, refusing to believe the intrusive thoughts that questioned Lucifer’s honesty, his loyalty.
Pier 19 . . .
My mouth opened to ask the guards if they knew anything about the elusive location, but then I thought better of it and slammed it shut.
There was only one person who might answer that question with full transparency if he thought he stood something to gain in doing so.
I just needed to break into a dungeon to ask him.
Another row of books plummeted to the study floor.
I squinted into the darkness of the bare shelf as my hand ran along the smooth surface, searching for something that might open a secret door.
And then I found it—directly behind The Count of Monte Cristo.
Laughter flittered from my throat. The synchronicity was apropos.
The circular metal button gave way and the two towering bookcases coasted apart, revealing a secure steel door. I traced the keypad with the tip of my finger. It differed from the locks on the mansion’s access doors.
I nibbled on my thumbnail while glaring at what stood between me and my answers. Between me and my nemesis.
Where would I even start with cracking the code?
I loathed the fact that I was at Raphael Flynn’s mercy. That I needed his help. I hadn’t worked out how I was going to convince him to talk to me given that I’d shot him the last time we’d been in the same room. But none of that would matter if I couldn’t open the damn door.
My eyes flicked upward to the surveillance camera overhead. Finn had the power to control the locks remotely.
I clasped my hands together under my chin, flashing a sincere smile. “Please, Finn ... I just want to talk to him ...”
Nothing. Not that the cameras could talk back.
Defeated, I dragged my feet to the couch. I flopped down face-first with a demoralized groan. I’d stay right here until someone found me. Hopefully, that someone would be my husband with all his limbs attached, ready to explain Amelia Rossi and Pier 19 to me.
The undeniable sound of a deadbolt unlatching echoed in the stillness of Lucifer’s study.
I leaped off the couch.
“Bless you, Finn Gleason.” I retraced my steps to the wall of bookcases. “You are officially my new favorite cousin.”
I eased open the heavy door. My gaze traveled down the long narrow staircase. Smooth concrete walls spanned the sides down to the last step. The wooden stairs appeared rugged, sturdy, with traction treads. A row of safety lights like the kind used in the stables in Ireland cast a soft glow. The cool earthy scent of an old New England basement filled my nostrils. I’d been in creepier places. The Brennans had underground tunnels that would make Indiana Jones reconsider his life choices.
I descended the stairs, the air growing colder the deeper I went. The chill seeped through my thick sweater. When I reached the bottom, I paused to peek at the partially lit hallway directly ahead and the one to the left. They both disappeared into an eerie darkness that seemed to go on forever.
“Do I have company this evening? Or is it morning—I wouldn’t know.”
Raphael’s hoarse drawl sent goose bumps across my flesh. For the most part, he sounded like himself. It was almost hard to believe, considering he was wounded and living in what felt like a cave not fit for bats.
