Page 125 of The Bachelor Spy
Grace shifted a step back and moved, slower than her interest suggested, to the tapestry. “Zahra said it was behind this.”
Pennington stepped around her and shoved the tapestry back.
Just as Zahra had described, a section of wall looked different from the rest. The stone was painted to match its surroundings, but up close, the edges were visible—a door disguised as wall.
And set into it, a large iron keyhole.
A thrill rushed through Grace despite the circumstances. She’d always had a girlish fascination with hidden doors and secret passageways. In all honesty, who didn’t?
Pennington dug into his pocket and drew out the key, inserting it into the hole. The key turned with a grinding sound before it creaked open, swinging inward to reveal darkness beyond.
Cold air drifted up from below, carrying with it the scent of earth and something else. Something older. Something that made the hair on the back of Grace’s neck stand up.
Grace’s throat closed a little. Not just from the idea of the narrow space, but … once they entered the tunnel, what then? Would Pennington release her once he had the jewels?
Or leave her trapped below while he escaped?
What if they didn’t find the jewels at all? What if the tunnels collapsed, trapping them both in a slow agonizing death of starvation or suffocation?
Her hand moved instinctively to her stomach. The baby. Frederick. Zahra.
No, Grace. You must not allow your imagination to run wild.
She closed her eyes, praying for God to calm her pulse. Quiet her thoughts.
In the deepest part of her soul, she was not alone. Never alone.
And one of the best defenses God had given her was her mind.
What did Detective Jack always say? Few mysteries are solved when a mind is split. Making clearheaded decisions results in clear-cut answers.
Besides, the Bible says to be anxious about nothing.
Not even dark tunnels with a desperate thieving soldier.
For I am with you …
The promise swelled up through her, steadying her breath, her racing heart.
And Frederick is on the way.
Pennington raised the lantern he’d taken from Grace and held it over the black gaping hole of the doorway. Hand-hewn steps led down into the darkness.
“After you, my lady.” Pennington’s voice held an edge she didn’t like.
“Do you know where we’re going?” She swallowed, gathering her skirts. She sighed. Yet another adventure that would be much more practical in trousers. Taking careful steps and keeping her balance by placing her palm against the earthen wall, she began descending the steps. Pennington followed close behind, the lantern light throwing their shadows in distorted, shaky patterns against the tunnel walls.
“My grandfather left a hand-drawn map.” He tapped the chest of his jacket, as if identifying the spot.
How reassuring.
The passage was too narrow to walk abreast, so Grace set the pace. Slowly. Taking her time. Giving Frederick more opportunity to catch up.
Old timber supports crisscrossed overhead, some sagging from age. The quiet, steady drip of water pinged somewhere in the darkness, each drop rhythmic like the ticking of a clock.
Counting down.
To what?
