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“Edge of the Underground Railroad around here,” Spencer said. “During the Civil War, and before, slaves would run away, and abolitionists would help them escape to the North. Lot of folks needed hiding places—or quick, discreet ways in and out of houses.”
Kyle straightened. “Think this goes anywhere?”
Gage glanced over at the roof of the house, just visible behind a thicket of pine. “Only one way to find out.” He leaned down and pulled his hunting knife out of its sheath.
“You’re going to pick a lock with that?” Scotty said.
Gage offered a grin. “Hell, no.” He slipped the blade—Damascus steel—under the latch and popped the rusted screws out. “Lock’s new, but that latch wasn’t.” Spencer pulled out a flashlight and flicked it on. A ladder that looked more rusted than the lid led into darkness. Cobwebs clung to brick walls.
“Probably snakes, too,” Scotty muttered.
Sitting down, Gage threw his legs into the opening, tested a rung, and started down. One rung broke under his weight, but he gripped the sides of the rusted railing and managed to keep from falling. He made it to the bottom and glanced up to see daylight and his teammates’ heads leaning down. He gave a thumbs-up before flicking on his own flashlight.
When everyone was down, Gage gestured down a tight corridor. “Looks like it only goes one way from here. Try not to bump into anything—not sure the timbers will hold. Lot of rot.” He flashed his light overhead. Ancient beams held up the roof of what seemed to be an unmaintained earthen tunnel. The walls were crumbling, and roots had grown into the space.
Moving carefully, Gage headed forward. Kyle followed him with Scotty next, and Spencer fell in at their six. Spencer dropped his voice low. “Hard to imagine anyone using this to escape anything.”
Scotty shone his light on a pile of empty beer cans. “You can bet the local kids were using this place—until someone fitted that new lock.”
Kyle glanced at them. “Put a lid on it. Keep an eye out for traps.”
The tunnel ended in another ladder. There was nowhere to go but up, and no way to know what was waiting on the other side. Kyle motioned for Gage to go first, which was fine with Gage.
He started climbing the ladder, hoping like hell whatever was covering it on the top wasn’t locked. It wasn’t—but something was holding it down. Pocketing his flashlight and tucking his weapon into his belt, Gage braced himself and started to push. Sweat trickled down his back and dust drifted into his eyes. He kept thinking about Anna—he had to get to her. At last, the weight shifted. Gage pushed hard, and the trapdoor opened.
Climbing up, Gage glanced around—nothing but darkness. He flicked on his flashlight.
The room appeared to be a cellar. The atmosphere was damp and cold, and it smelled of mold and stale air. Gage shone his flashlight down into the tunnel, flicked it off and on twice: all clear.
He turned and headed for the stairs and the doorway—and whatever lay beyond. Hopefully, Anna was still here, and still alive.
14
She needed a plan.
Anna sat with her back against the wall and tried to think. She was tired, dirty, sore, confused, and angry. She just wanted to go home. But that wouldn’t happen if she wasn’t smart.
So…what should she do? Deny knowing anything about the file? The man who had been in here hadn’t seemed the type who would buy lies easily.
“You aren’t helping yourself,” she said aloud. She scrubbed at the dried tears on her face. She needed a plan. She needed to make this work for her.
All too soon, the door opened and the man with the scarred face walked in. He left the door open behind him and brought a lantern with him this time—a camping lantern, but the solar/electric kind. The bright light hurt her eyes. She put up a hand to shield her face. The man came over and stood in front of her. “Now, about that file.”
She tipped her head to the side and lowered her arm so her blanket sagged at her side. “You’re Becks, right? I heard Coran say your name. Don’t worry, I don’t care what you’ve done with Coran.” That wasn’t true, but she’d decided if she lied a lot, maybe this guy wouldn’t know what was true. “How much is that file worth to you? I mean, it’s got to be worth a lot, right?”
His face remained immobile, but she thought she saw his eyes sharpen. “It might be worth your life.”
Shaking her head, she said, “No, I mean money. Look, the pay at my job is crap. Coran’s a cheapskate. And this…this file sounds like it’s worth something. So I figure, why don’t we cut a deal? I’ve always thought the Bahamas sounded like a great place to live.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Live is the operative word here. If you don’t tell me—”
“Lavender Lille,” Anna whispered.
The man lifted his head. “What’s that?”
“Lavender Lille…it’s a manuscript. I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought about the writing. It’s a story that doesn’t make sense. A file that showed up on my tablet even though I know I didn’t download it. But Coran does that sometimes—loads files that he wants me to read.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” He stared at her. “Tell me what you read.”
