Guns and the Girl Next Door

“Then get us out of here.”

“We’ll have less than ten minutes.”

Her green eyes turned glassy with fear. “Ten?”

“That means you do everything I say, when I say.” He waited until she nodded. “Good.”

He took her hands and pulled her tight against his body. He figured it was a testament to her fear that she didn’t struggle or slap him. When he reached behind him and hit the small lever under his desk, the floor next to her feet rolled back to reveal a steel-reinforced opening and crudely constructed steps made of dirt wound down into the earth.

Good thing he believed in planning ahead for catastrophe.

“You are just full of surprises,” she muttered as she stared into the hole that was just big enough to fit Holden.

“Here’s another one.” He handed her the light stick. “You’re going first.”

Chapter Five

By the third tread of the twenty-step decline, Mia regretted wearing heels of any type. The narrow passage barely fit a foot and the only railing was the dirt wall next to her shoulder. She had a death grip on that.

Mud caked under her nails and her shoulders ached from holding them stiff. The banging in her head hit orchestra levels.

But she didn’t care. No way was she going to die on an underground staircase.

When she got halfway down, she glanced back up. Holden’s light stick cast a warm glow at the top area, but she didn’t see him.

“Holden?” If there was such a thing as a frantic whisper, she’d just mastered it.

The resulting silence sent the blood churning in her veins. There was no way she could do this alone. Heck, she didn’t even know where she was or where this tunnel led. Those men outside with the big guns sure weren’t going to help her.

With tiny shuffling steps, she turned around, ignoring the way her brain rattled and shifted. Careful not to topple backward, she grabbed on to the step above her and looked up. In the dim light she could see the tips of Holden’s sneakers.

“What are you doing up there?”

“I’m coming.” His voice sounded weak and a little breathy.

She didn’t know how, but between climbing down and closing the door above him, he must have been injured. There was no other explanation and she had no choice but to ease her way back up the steps. “I’ll be right up.”

“No. Stay there.”

She was pretty much done with the whole obeying thing. She’d let him know that if she didn’t slip to her death.

Balancing her hands against the damp walls, she lifted one foot then the other, balancing her shoes sideways on each step, and made her way back up to him. She met him on the third one from the top. “What are you doing?”

His arms were outstretched with his fingers clamping onto the wall on either side of his body. His broad shoulders spanned the sides of the tunnel. One wrong twist and he could wedge his upper half against the dirt walls. If that happened, she’d have to dig him out with her bare hands.

“Keep going down.” His husky tone vibrated.

“What is wrong with your voice?” She lifted her light and shined it on his face.

Sweat gathered on his forehead and his cheeks had bleached snow-white. “Nothing.”

“What is it?” She recognized the look. She had enough training to diagnose trauma when it walked right in front of her.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not.”

“We don’t have time to argue.” He hesitated between each word.

“Are you claustrophobic?” She asked the question even though she knew the answer.

“Of course not.”

Typical male. “Right. So, why is your escape route a tiny tube of mud if you can’t stand enclosed spaces?”

“I’ve been working on it.”

Now that she was paying attention, she saw the signs. The deep breaths and frenzied mumbling disguised as calm. This was something more than claustrophobia. Something worse.

She’d figure that out later. Right now she needed to get them down. “We’ll have to practice coping techniques another time. Because we have about two minutes before your house explodes, we need to fast-forward your progress.”

He blinked a few times. “How?”

“Let’s go.” She held out her hand.

He glared at her fingers.

“One step. Take a deep breath while you do it.” She inhaled as an example. “Focus on a different place in your mind. A place that gives you pleasure.”

He shook his head. “You need to turn around and go down.”

“We need to move. Both of us.” She wiggled her fingers at him. “Visualize that image.”

After two failed tries, he pulled one hand away from the wall. Shaky and slow, he reached out to her. His palm was ice-cold.

“There you go.” She wanted to give him a few minutes to get comfortable, but they didn’t have time. With a gentle tug, she eased him down one step. As she walked sideways with one hand planted against the wall and the light stick between her teeth, she brought him with her.

She battled gravity and panic and the pull of his weight against her body each time she tried to lower him a step. In her head she counted down the seconds to the fireball.

“Keep breathing,” she said over a mouthful of plastic.

“I am.” Still unsteady but gaining speed, he moved down.

She switched the light to the hand against the mud, trapping it against the wall each time she pressed for balance. “Are you thinking about that image?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”