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“Nope.” Shaking my head, I tugged her to my chest again, taking her lips with mine and showing her I meant business. “Don’t apologize. I needed to get some things off my chest. And, as always, you pushed me to be my best.”
“But—”
I held a finger up to her lips and growled. “I love you. That’s it.”
She bit her lip and rolled her eyes, but she wasn’t fooling me. She liked it when I got a little bossy.
“Let’s walk a bit. Check out how muddy the trail is.”
When we exited the cabin, the sun was creeping up over the horizon, dappling through the trees, and the air was far cooler than yesterday. We admired the old stone fire circle, the rotting stumps that had been used as chairs, and the stack of old firewood that was probably home to hundreds of mice and snakes.
“What is that?” Hazel asked, removing her glasses and squinting.
One area of the clearing was devoid of the pine needles, tree branches, and the moss that carpeted the forest floor all around it.
“Shit,” I cursed, brushing at the dirt with one boot and uncovering what looked like a large piece of metal. “Back up.”
“Is that a lock?”
Sure enough, a huge silver padlock had been covered by a pile of leaves. We used our feet to work at clearing the space further, revealing what looked to be a metal door in the ground. It was probably eight or nine feet long and six feet wide, with a large handle that was secured with the lock.
The door had been painted green, but the paint was flaking, and spots of rust had broken through.
“The keys,” Hazel said, running back toward the cabin while I was still trying to wrap my mind around what something like this could be.
She returned quickly, jangling the key ring. “It’s gotta be one of these.”
“Wait. We shouldn’t open it.”
“Are you nuts? We found a hidden door in the ground in the middle of the woods! We’re opening it.”
“But what if it’s dangerous?”
“It’s not a viper pit, Indiana Jones. This is Maine. Probably old moonshine from back in the bootlegging days.”
Even when confronted with a random bunker in the middle of the woods, Hazel remained logical. Just another reason I was crazy about her.
“Okay, okay. I’ll open it. Back up.”
It took several tries, but once I found the key that released the padlock, I removed it and set it in the dirt beside the door. Then I yanked on the thick metal handle. It creaked loudly before opening like a hatch, dirt and leaves sliding down as I propped it open.
“What the fuck?” Hazel said, peering in.
I pulled a flashlight out of my back pocket and shined it around the space. A step stool was propped against one metal wall, and against the others were dozens of guns, some big, and some small. Boxes of ammunition were stacked up neatly on wire shelving units.
I stepped onto the stool, lowering myself halfway inside, baffled by the discovery and what it could mean.
“Move over,” Hazel said, stepping down next to me.
“Stop.” My pulse was racing. Who the hell was stashing an arsenal of weapons out here? “Don’t go in.”
She pushed up her glasses and grabbed the flashlight. “Just let me peek.” And before I could react, she jumped down and scanned the cramped space, illuminating rows of weapons.
With her free hand, she dug her phone out of her pocket and powered it on. She took photo after photo, stepping farther into the dank room. When I lost sight of her, my heart rate skyrocketed and my hands trembled, so I ducked low, needing to keep her in my line of vision.
“Motherfucker,” she shouted.
I jumped down the steps and rushed toward her. I had to crouch. This storage container, whatever it was, was tight.
