Final Hours (15 page)

Elizabeth stumbled when
the portal let her go.
She fell to her knees and landed on rock strewn dirt. Her knee managed to find
one of those rocks.

“Ouch—” She bit back a curse, crawled over to the nearest
wall, and leaned against it. Contrary to what she’d been told, this did not get
easier. She still wanted to curl in a ball, throw up, and wish she was
unconscious. Instead she leaned her head against the cold stone, moved her arm
up until she could see the transport. She didn’t trust the result if she
lowered her head.

A clock was at the top of the small screen, counting
backward. She had fifty minutes.

With a groan, she levered herself up, held on to the rough
stone and mortar wall until her head stopped spinning. Once she could see
clearly enough to recognize objects, she checked her surroundings.

She stood in between two stone buildings. The one she held
on to looked like a small house, the square of ground in front of it probably
once a front yard. She faced the other building—and realized where she had
landed. Right behind the 19
^th
century gunpowder magazine, the long
brick building set into a hill. She was just on the other side of the access
road that led to the tunnel entrance.

Once she moved over a little, she was able to see the front,
and confirm her location. The long, narrow building stretched all the way to a
grass covered hill, and the steps that led up to the road. Another hill ran
alongside it, screening her from anyone above, unless they walked right to the
edge of the hill and looked down.

Since she heard nothing but wind blowing through unseen
trees, she figured she was safe for the moment.

She used the building to support her as she made her way
down the narrow, muddy path between building and hill, toward the stairs that
would lead her up to the road.

When she reached the corner of the magazine, she was able to
see the top of the hill. Everything looked quiet. She stepped back, glanced
down at the map on her transport. Mac had sent an overview of the grounds of
Dover Castle, with the underground tunnels marked in red. Elizabeth remembered
the layout from her visits here. The tunnels had especially fascinated her, and
she took the tour as many times as the staff would let her.

She was thankful now for her obsession. If she knew then it
would have meant life or death, she might have—

Stop.

“I will not panic,” she whispered. She shook out her hands,
took in a not so steady breath, and moved to the staircase.

Concrete steps climbed up the hill, steep, narrow, and without
the sturdy railing from her time. Elizabeth decided to move slowly, both to
keep her stomach from rebelling, and to spot anyone before they spotted her.
She started up, and the wind hit her halfway to the top. Literally.

She had forgotten how strong it could be, with the tunnels
located at the edge of the cliff, right next to the harbour. One hand clutched
the lapels of her jacket, the other out and ready to grab ground if she lost
her balance. The pistol swung against her right hip, a constant reminder of
what she might have to do to stop Guy.

Whatever it takes—I can’t let him succeed.

The “whatever it took” part kept trying to lodge her heart
in her throat. Along with the fact she only had one chance to stop him. She
knew there would be no do over option.

God, I wish Kane was here.

She shoved that thought right out—it was instantly distracting,
when she needed to focus.

Three steps from the top she halted, scanned the immediate
surroundings. The entrance to the tunnels was in the same place, set into a
small hill, and a soldier walked nearby. She crouched down, lifted herself just
enough to watch him. After less than a minute she knew. She closed her eyes
briefly, and eased back down the steps until she felt safe.

He guarded the only way in.

Elizabeth knew, from her research after visiting the castle,
that she needed a special pass to be anywhere on the castle grounds. A bright
red pass she wouldn’t be able to duplicate. There had to be another way…

A crazy idea flashed into her mind. Crazy enough that it
might work.

She climbed down the stairs, headed back along the building,
and scrabbled up the hill facing it. For the plan to even have a chance of
working, she had to look like she came from the main gate. Being disheveled and
sweaty would actually work to her advantage.

Once she got to the top, she hugged the side of the
building, and let the giant tree at the front of it shadow her from anyone who
may walk down the access road. She made her way around the thick trunk, tried
to blend into the side of the building, and took a few seconds to compose
herself, get the names straight, and right on the tip of her tongue. She had
one shot at this.

A quick glance at the transport accelerated her already
pounding heart. Forty minutes. She slipped the pistol out of her jacket and
tucked it in her waistband, in the small of her back. The cold metal against
her skin made her twitch, but if she left it in her pocket she risked the very
real possibility of a search.

She shoved the transport up her forearm, out of sight, took
in a deep breath, and stepped out on to the road, running by the time she came
in sight of the soldier.

“Whoa,” he said. He caught her when she practically slammed
into him. “I’ve got you now. How did you get here?”

“The gate.” She gasped the words out and clutched his arm.
The accent she picked up from her colleagues at the art gallery wrapped around
her words. “My brother— Please, I need to see James—James Stopford—”

“Hold on. The Lieutenant is your brother?” Uh, oh. He didn’t
sound convinced. Maybe he knew Stopford outside his duties, knew his family and
that he didn’t have a sister— “He failed to mention his sister was a beauty.
Ewan Gryffyth.” He sandwiched her hand. “It is my sincere pleasure.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was breathless, mainly from abject
fear. She pushed at the hair the wind tossed around her face. “Please. There’s
been an accident. I need to—”

“Come with me.”

She didn’t know what triggered his immediate acceptance of
her, but she took it. He unlocked the door, pulled her inside the tunnel, down
the long, steep entry ramp—and pinned her to the wall at the bottom.

“Now, beautiful. Why don’t you tell me who you really are?”

~ ~ ~

A knock on
the door had Kane on his feet
before he remembered the low ceiling.

“Damn it.” He rubbed the top of his head as he moved to the
door and unlocked it, pulling it open. Bridget stood on the other side. Guilt
flared through him at the probable reason for her appearance. “Did we displace
anyone? I know I’ve overstayed my welcome—”

“Shush, my dear boy. I simply came up to check on you
and—where is Elizabeth?”

He already had a lie for this question. “She went to check
on some friends.”

“Of course. Sit down, Jackson.” He flinched at the use of
his first name, not all that surprised she knew it, and obeyed. Bridget joined
him, set the basket she held on the floor, folded her hands in her lap, and
gazed at him. “Now, my dear boy, why don’t you tell me where Elizabeth really
is?”

“I don’t—”

She raised one eyebrow. “I am not a fool, and your darling
girl trusted me enough to tell me everything.”

He swallowed. “Everything. Including—”

“That you are not from around here? Yes.” She patted his
hand. “I am old enough, and have seen enough, that very little surprises me.
Aside from the fact that you both looked shell shocked, I knew you had not been
in London—my London—long enough to adjust to the raids. Which meant you were
from out of town. Until Elizabeth told me, I did not realize just how far.”

Kane rubbed his forehead. “She is—gone.” He closed his eyes,
startled when Bridget gripped his hand.

“She’s walked into danger, then?”

“To protect someone important, and to prevent a former
friend from changing events.”

“Oh, my dear Jackson. You would have made a fantastic
politician. Such eloquent evasion. I will wait with you.”

“Bridget—there’s no need—”

“Nonsense. Anything unexpected that happens in this attic
will stay in this attic.” She leaned over and picked up the basket. “I sent up
scant supplies earlier, so I know you must be hungry.” His growling stomach
answered for him. “Good. It’s rather basic, I’m afraid. My displaced neighbors
and I pooled our resources, and with recent losses,” she cleared her throat,
her gaze on the basket. “There is more of a surplus than normal.”

Kane laid his hand over hers. “I am sorry.”

“I know you are, dear boy, and that you are sincere with it.
Share a meal with me, and we will wait for your Elizabeth together.”

Well aware that no argument would sway her, Kane nodded, and
helped her lay out bread, cheese, a tiny bottle of jam, two jars of water.

“It looks delicious, Bridget.”

“No meat, I’m afraid. It has gone to the men who are fighting
fires in the city.”

“You have been more than generous, with a stranger who
doesn’t deserve it.”

“I will be the judge of that, Jackson.” She laid a thick
slab of cheese on a thicker slice of bread and handed it to him. “Now eat.”

“Yes, madam.” He took a bite, his stomach growling again.
“It says thank you as well.”

Her laughter filled the attic, eased the grief in her dark
eyes. “I understand why she loves you.”

“What—she—what?” He nearly dropped the bread.

“She may have come to the knowledge only recently… and she
said as much to you, before she left.”

“That obvious?”

“You miss her, worry for her. It’s in your eyes, dear boy, what
you hold in your heart.”

“She had to go alone.” He swallowed, staring at his hands.
“And tis my fault.”

“Hush, now.” Bridget rubbed his arm, her touch warm,
soothing. He had never known the touch of a mother; his guardian had taken him
on when he was fourteen, and had been a gruff, kindly man who avoided any
displays of affection. Kane saw why Elizabeth confided in Bridget. She inspired
trust, and an immediate emotional connection. “Tell me of her, Jackson. Of how
you met, and when you lost your heart to her.”

With a sigh, he met her eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I
might think you were a mind reader.”

“Simply observant, dear boy. Eat, then we will talk.”

He did, savoring the rich, tangy flavor of the cheese, the
cool, clean taste of the water. Talk would help make the wait bearable.

But it wouldn’t ease the weight on his heart, and the fear
that he had sent Elizabeth to die. In his place.

~ ~ ~

Elizabeth stared up
at Gryffyth.

“I—”

“No lies this time. I don’t know how you managed to get
yourself this far, but I will have answers. Now.”

His fingers closed around her throat. He didn’t apply
pressure, but it wasn’t necessary; the implied threat was terrifying enough.
Elizabeth clutched the wall to keep from clawing at him.

“I’m here to warn the Admiral—”

His grip tightened. “Warn him, or harm him?”

“Please—there isn’t much time. A man is on his way here to
kill Admiral Ramsay. He’ll succeed if you don’t—”

With a startled squeak her voice cut off as his fingers tightened.
“I can end the threat now.”

Elizabeth forced herself to meet his eyes. Dark, chocolate
brown eyes. Eyes that looked like they had already seen too much. Every
instinct told her to fight. She ignored them, and kept looking at him.

“You are a cool one, beautiful.” He let her go. She sucked
in a harsh breath, coughing when it hit her throat. His left hand captured her
arm, and his fingers dug in as he yanked her forward. “Now, tell me why I
should believe you, when you are carrying a weapon?”

He reached around, slid his hand under her shirt, and pulled
the pistol out of her waistband.

“Please.” She dropped the accent, unable to sustain it over
a long conversation. “I’ll go unarmed.” Gryffyth jerked at her new voice. She
kept talking before he did anything to stop her. “You can even handcuff me.
Just please give me the chance to warn him.” She would happily beg, if it got
her through the tunnels and into Ramsay’s presence.

“You’re a Yank.” His brown eyes studied her. “There is no
reason for you to be here.”

“I’m not the original messenger. He couldn’t make it.”

“If you are here to warn,” Gryffyth held up the pistol,
“then why are you armed?”

She swallowed. “It’s to stop the man bent on killing
Ramsay.” She could feel the minutes slip away from her while he decided, precious
minutes. Guy was here, close by. He may already be inside, headed straight to
Ramsay while she stood here— “Please. You took my weapon. All I want to do is
talk to the Admiral.”

“I believe he’s smart enough to detect a threat before it—”

“And if the threat is dressed as a soldier? With a
legitimate pass and a compelling reason to see him?” Gryffyth paled. “What?”

“An RAF flight lieutenant showed up at Constable’s Gateway,
claiming he had an urgent message for the Admiral. He had a pass, a legitimate
pass.”

Oh, God—
“When?”

“I just sent him down, before you arrived.”

Elizabeth shoved past him. Gryffyth caught her before she
got three steps. “No—we have to stop—”

“I’m going with you.” He handed her the pistol, grabbed her
free hand. She held on to him as he took off, running to keep up with his long
stride. She prayed for him to go faster.

They headed down the long tunnel, and finally reached the
wide hall leading to Ramsay’s office. Only now it was broken up, offices lining
the hall on her right. A wall halfway down the hall completely blocked her view.