He holstered his weapon, bent down and felt with his fingers along the floorboards. Then he pulled out his pocketknife and slid the blade between the head of one of the loosest nails and the well-worn wood. Within moments he’d worked it free. He moved on to the next. All he had to do was remove two boards and that should be enough for them to slip through. Voices shouted in the kitchen beyond them. Sounded like the gunman had been joined by a second. He worked the board loose and pried it back. Then he grabbed the one beside it and yanked it off, as well. A hole lay at their feet. It was a crude means of escape and once someone checked the pantry it would be clear where they’d gone, but hopefully it would buy them enough time to get a head start.
“I’m going to jump down now,” he said. “It’s only about eight feet. When I call you I need you to jump in after me and I’ll catch you. Okay? Trust me. I’ll keep you safe.”
He reached for her again. He felt her fingers slide between his and squeeze. Then he pulled away.
“Ready?” he asked. She nodded. He dropped through the hole and tumbled into darkness.
Celeste crouched by the hole and waited for Jonathan to give her the all clear. There was a scuffling sound beneath her like something falling. Then there was silence. The kitchen door slammed back on its hinges. Loud footsteps sounded as a second person stormed into the room.
“She ran in here!” It was a male voice, raspy and hoarse.
“And you opened fire?” A second male voice let out a string of swear words. This voice was cold and sharp, like the sound of a knife slicing through wood. “What are you doing? I need her alive!”
Alive. Something about that one simple word and the menace with which it was delivered made her limbs shake. She bent down lower, bracing her quaking hand against the wood, waiting for the sound of Jonathan’s words telling her it was safe to jump.
Lord, You’ve been my light and my guide no matter how rocky things got. Please guide me now.
“Where did she go?” The commanding voice was back.
“I don’t know!”
Then came the sharp beam of light swinging back and forth in the dim kitchen, sending sudden bursts of glaring white light shining through the gap between the door and the door frame, blinding her eyes for a moment before swinging around the kitchen again. She peered out through the tiny gap. The man who’d been shooting at them had rolled up his ski mask. Not much, but enough for her to see he was grizzled, probably in his early sixties, with the kind of broken nose that had been punched more than once and a scar down one side of his jaw, breaking up the gray-and-white stubble.
“Well, find her! I’m not paying for nothing!”
Paying? Who was this second man? Why did he need her alive? What did he think he was paying for?
“I’m ready for you! Time to jump.” Jonathan’s voice floated up through the hole.
She hesitated. She needed to see that man’s face. Just for a moment. She needed to know who was giving the instructions and who Dexter Thomes had sent after her.
“Come on!” Jonathan’s voice grew firmer. “We’ve got to go.”
She stretched her legs slowly, her hand inching up the door frame as she slowly got to her feet. She could see the man’s legs now, clad in jeans and a dark jacket. Shaggy brown hair fell around his shoulders. He wasn’t wearing any kind of mask, almost like he wanted his face to be seen.
Just one glance. That was all she needed. Just a little bit more data to complete the picture.
“Celeste!” Jonathan hissed. Urgency strained the marshal’s voice. “Hurry up!”
The figure turned. She recoiled, wondering for a moment if he’d somehow managed to hear Jonathan’s whisper above the ruckus of gunfire and shouting outside. The man’s eyes seemed to lock on her hiding place and suddenly she saw his face, with its shaggy beard, blue-tinted glasses and squinting eyes.
She stumbled backward. No... No, it couldn’t be.
He raised a finger, then started toward the cupboard. She took another step back. Her foot slipped and she fell. She bit her lip and barely kept from screaming as air rushed past her.
Then she felt the strength of Jonathan’s arms around her breaking her fall. She gasped a prayer of thanksgiving. Darkness filled her gaze. The smell of damp earth and old brick rushed in with each breath. For a moment silence fell, punctuated only by the sound of Jonathan’s ragged breath. “Are you all right? What happened?”
No, she wasn’t all right and she couldn’t begin to make sense of what she’d seen.
“Do you know if they saw where you went or where you were hiding?” he asked. But somehow her mouth couldn’t form words. It was like her brain was stuck on just one thought. Dexter Thomes. She’d seen Dexter... Jonathan’s hand brushed her elbow and steered her down the tunnel. “We’ve got to move. Come on.”
He marched her down the hallway. Her footsteps faltered beneath her.
It couldn’t be Dexter. He’d been arrested—he was behind bars awaiting trial, and if he’d escaped or been released someone would’ve told her. If he was on the run, would he actually be brazen enough to walk into a witness protection safe house without even covering his face? There was something chilling about the arrogance of a man who’d go by a moniker Poindexter that was so close to his own first name. But all of her research had shown he was an only child. He didn’t have a twin...
She opened her mouth, but no words came out, and, instead, a long shiver spread through her body.
“Don’t worry, I have a bag of warm clothes and supplies hidden up ahead,” Jonathan said.
Her limbs were shaking all right, but it wasn’t from the cold. She had to tell him what she’d seen. “Listen, after you jumped through the hole in floor, I heard the gunfire stop and two men talking. I listened to what they were saying and tried to get a look at them—”
“That’s not your job,” he said. “Your job is staying alive, and when I give you an instruction, I expect you to follow it. Now come on.”
“Wait, it’s important...”
“Tell me later. When we’re out of this tunnel and somewhere safe.”
Yes, but if it really was Dexter in the kitchen and he came after them, shouldn’t Jonathan arrest him? Shouldn’t someone do something?
“Wait, I think it was Dexter!” If he heard her, he gave no indication, and he was propelling her at such a brisk walk that she was almost jogging to keep up with his long stride. “He said he wanted me alive.”
“It doesn’t matter if Dexter sent him or not.” His pace didn’t even falter. “All that matters is that I’m going to keep you safe.”
She nearly growled. Was he always this pigheadedly focused? She stopped so short he seemed to barely catch himself from tripping over her. “No, listen, I mean, I think it was literally Dexter Thomes. I just saw Dexter Thomes—Poindexter himself—or a very good lookalike standing in the kitchen, barking orders and talking about taking me alive.”
Jonathan felt his mouth open and shut like a trout. He wasn’t used to being caught off guard and didn’t much like it. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “That’s impossible. Dexter Thomes is in jail. I don’t know how you could even tell in the ski mask.”
“He wasn’t wearing one and the other man pulled his up while they were talking.” Even in the dim light he could tell her arms had crossed. “And