Secrets of Harmony Grove (53 page)

“What about the panel Floyd pushed loose?” I cried, pressing my hands against the back of the higher steps until I found the one that didn’t have a back. “Here. It’s here,” I said, pushing my hand through to swing open the hinged, hidden front. Though the slight rush of fresher air from the wine cellar made me feel a little less trapped, the opening didn’t let in any light. Obviously, Floyd had turned off the light and closed the door at the top of the stairs once he had finished doing whatever it was he had done out there.

“Any chance you could crawl through that opening?” Heath asked.

I thought I could give it a try, but it was so narrow even my head wouldn’t fit through.

It was no use. We couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t see. The door’s release had to be somewhere else in the room. For a little while, as I could hear Floyd clunking around above us, I tried to feel along the other walls, ignoring the sticky webs my fingers swiped through, the sensation of creatures crawling across my skin. But it was hopeless. The third time I clanged my shin sharply against something in the darkness, I finally gave in to my sobs.

“Whoa, whoa,” Heath said from across the room, for the first time understanding the depth of my desperation. “Calm down, Sienna. We’re
okay. Do you honestly think Floyd would have wired this place for explosives?”

“I don’t know,” I whimpered.

“Even if he did, honey, we’ll be okay. All we have to do is bide our time until Mike shows up.”

“If he was really going to come,” I said dismally, “he would have been here by now.”

“Okay, but we know someone will show up eventually. Two people can’t just disappear like this, especially given all that’s been going on. Floyd was right, we’ve got food and water. We’ll survive until help comes.”

I couldn’t stand the calmness in his voice, couldn’t bear his rational, even-toned words.

“The supplies,” I said, trying not to hyperventilate. “Can you remember the list? There were lamps in there, and knives. I know there was something about knives.”

“Sienna! Get a grip, honey!”

“Don’t you understand, Heath, I can’t! I can’t do this! I can’t be trapped!”

I was screaming, trembling from head to toe, tears streaming down my cheeks. This was too much for me—didn’t he understand that? If I didn’t get out soon, I was going to die. I was literally going to die.

At last he finally seemed to understand.

Moving closer to me in the dark, Heath spoke in the same calm tones, only now I could tell he was completely focused on me.

“You’re having a panic attack, Sienna, but you’re going to be okay.”

“No, I won’t be okay!”

“How can I help you calm down?”

“You can’t! You can’t erase the past! This is who I am! This is what happens to me when someone holds me down!”

“No one’s holding you down right now, honey. Nobody’s touching you at all. There are no drunks here, no water, no pier. Nobody that would hurt you. Reach out your arms. Wave them in the air. See? You’re not trapped, not really, not in that sense. We have a whole big room here, and I can give you plenty of space. You’re free to move about all you want.”

I knew what he was saying. Rationally, it made perfect sense. But the way I was feeling at that moment, mere logic wasn’t going to make a difference. Even the smell—that horrid, musty smell—was reminiscent of the stench of the rotting wood of the dock.

“Get me out of here, Heath,” I begged in a whisper. “Just get me out of here.”

He was silent for a long moment, and in the void I realized that the sounds from above had ceased.

Floyd was gone.

“I think I can find a way to do this,” Heath told me finally. “But if Floyd was telling the truth, if he really did set some sort of trip wire, you understand what’s going to happen.”

In theory, I understood: We would be blown to smithereens. In reality, I didn’t care, and I told him so.

Standing there in place, still trembling violently, I listened as Heath went to work. Ripping through the boxes, searching their contents by feel, telling me what he was doing every step of the way, he couldn’t find the lanterns or flashlights, but he did run into an axe. He was going to hack our way out.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked one more time.

“I’m sure,” I pleaded. “Get me out of here. Please.”

At that, I heard him take a deep breath and then swing the first blow. With every strike, I waited for an explosion, knowing this was absurd. I was risking my very life just because of the panic that was driving me.

It wasn’t until I heard the splintering of wood and knew he was making progress that I realized Heath was risking his life as well—for my sake.

From the sound of things, it didn’t take Heath very long to break through, and no explosion happened—nothing beyond the crash of wood as he pounded it mercilessly with the axe.

Once the hole he had made was big enough to crawl through, I insisted on going first, though Heath kept telling me to watch for trip wires and wood shards. The wine cellar was dark, so as soon as I made it out I ran up the stairs and flipped on the light.

I knew Floyd had been lying about the explosives. He was only trying to buy himself some time. But that didn’t mean we were home free.

“Sienna, wait!” Heath commanded, and I looked down to see him pulling himself through the opening.

But I couldn’t wait. Instead, I flung open the door at the top of the stairs and fell out into Troy’s room, taking in the deep, gasping breaths of freedom. We were out! We had made it!

But we weren’t safe yet.

I ran to the phone on the nightstand and picked up the receiver, but it was dead. I was pushing the buttons, desperately trying to get a dial tone, when Heath emerged at the top of the stairs. Pausing there, face pale, he turned to study the doorframe, and it wasn’t until that moment I realized why he had told me to wait: Afraid that the explosives had been wired to this door instead of to the stairs, he had wanted to go first, just in case. Again, he had been willing to risk his life for mine.

“The phone’s dead,” I said, clicking the button to no avail.

“Floyd must’ve cut the wire,” Heath said.

Our eyes met for a long moment, and the emotion that passed between us was intense, far more intense than anything we had ever shared. That’s when I knew the truth: Though Heath might not be willing to kill for me, he was certainly willing to die for me, and in that moment I realized that was far more than enough.

Together, we ran through the dark house, trying the other phones, but they were all dead. Our cell phones were nowhere in sight, nor were our car keys. Worst of all, Floyd had taken my revolver from the bedside table drawer where I had been keeping it. We would have to make a run for it without any protection at all.

The closest houses were directly across the street, at the end of my very long driveway. We decided to go out through the front door and run across the lawn, tree to tree, until we had made our way to the road and then across to whichever house had its lights on and people who seemed to be home. There were only a few trees on the front lawn for cover, but at least it was dark, and that might help to hide us a little bit if we encountered anyone we shouldn’t. Heath would go first, and I would follow, staying one tree behind so that we both had cover.

Before we opened the door, I turned and placed my hands on each side of Heath’s face, looking deeply into his eyes. I wanted to say something, but suddenly words failed me.

“You okay now?” he asked. “Feeling more in control?”

“Yes,” I whispered, “but I’m sorry, Heath. I should never have asked that of you.”

He studied my eyes, and then he surprised me by gripping my face as well and planting a long, fierce kiss on my mouth.

“Don’t you get it, Si?” he whispered, his lips still at mine. “I may not be all dangerous and exciting and intense like your detective, but I’m a good man and I’m a safe man and I love you so much sometimes it takes my breath away.”

He punctuated his words with another hard, passionate kiss, and at that moment he took my breath away as well.

Thus united, we opened the front door as quietly as possible and looked out at the dark, grassy lawn. Where was Mike? Why hadn’t he come? Was he out there waiting somewhere, intending to do us harm? If not, then had some harm come to him instead?

There were no signs of activity near the house, at least not that we could see. Across the street, the two homes on the end seemed to have a lot of their lights on, so I pointed to them and Heath nodded.

He gave my hand a final squeeze, and then I watched, heart pounding, as he tiptoed down the steps of the front porch and darted as silently as possible across the grass to the first tree. Stopping there, he looked back at me, gestured for me to do the same, and darted on to the next.

As quietly as possible, I too moved down the steps and across the grass to the first tree. Once there I stopped, looking forward in the darkness to see if Heath had made it to the second. He had, but he was holding up one hand. I realized he wanted me to wait, probably because it sounded as if a car was about to pass on the road out front.

Careful to shield myself from sight behind the trunk, I waited, my senses taking in the night that surrounded me. Crickets chirped. A few fireflies still lit the air. Up ahead, the sound of the passing car reminded me that for some people life was going on as usual.

Finally, judging by the fading sound of the engine and the sweep of the headlights, the car was gone. Peering around the tree toward Heath, I saw him give me the all-clear signal and take off. But as I was about to make a run for it myself, a sudden burst of fire flashed brilliantly in the night air from somewhere off to the right.

I froze, swallowing the yell that threatened to emerge from my throat. Blinking furiously, I willed my eyes to adjust after that shock of light. When they did, I looked ahead toward Heath, only to see him stagger for a moment, grabbing at the back of his leg, and then collapse into a heap on the ground.

Before I could run to him or even call out his name, a hand clamped around my mouth from behind, and I was jerked backward against a solid wall of muscle, my arms pinned to my sides. Whoever had grabbed me held on tight, my struggles no match for his power, my feeble attempts at
breaking free like a moth beating wings against glass. Finally, I felt hot breath against my ear. Even before he spoke, though, I knew who it was. I recognized the smell of aftershave, earth, and sweat.

Mike.

My mind reeling, I tried to break free, but he only gripped me more tightly, bracing us against the tree trunk, one hand still clamped across my mouth, the other firmly pinning my arms to my sides. I had no room to make a move at all, not even the most basic self-defense techniques, a kick to his instep or a pinch to the tender skin of his inner thigh. I was trapped.

“Sienna, don’t fight it,” Mike whispered into my ear. “Trust me. I’m trying to protect you.”

Trust me
.

Could I trust him?

Before I had the chance to decide, another burst of fire came out of nowhere, even closer this time. Hot breath shot against my neck with a loud grunt. Then slowly the arms that had been holding on so firmly relaxed, and Mike, too, simply fell onto the ground, unconscious.