Page 128 of The Bachelor Spy
She stretched farther, the stone scraping against her shoulder. Her fingers closed around the edge of what felt like an old leather bag. “I’ve got something.”
Pennington moved closer, teetering a little as he did and grabbing a nearby timber for balance. It groaned.
Dust sifted down from the ceiling in a heavier stream.
Grace froze. “What was that?”
“The supports.” Pennington’s voice tensed. “Hurry.”
Grace adjusted her position, reaching deeper. The bag was wedged tight, but if she could just work it free … Her fingers found what felt like a tie or strap. She tugged. The bag shifted slightly.
A few small items rolled from the bag. Hard. Cold. Falling into her palm.
She closed her fist around them—whatever they were. Faceted edges.
Could they be jewels?
She reached again, the bag refusing to give.
Another rumble, louder this time.
Grace pulled her hand free. “We need to leave, Mr. Pennington.”
“No! We are too close.” He slammed his palm against the wall, hitting the beam.
And something cracked.
“Grace!” Frederick’s voice carried down the tunnel.
He was here?
“Frederick?” she called, just as another crack broke through the air, shaking the chamber with the certainty of a collapse.
Chapter 18
Frederick moved through the forest with Brandon at his side and Zahra between them, keeping her near as moonlight patterned the path in pale light and shadow. There was no knowing who waited in the night, whether from Blake’s mission or Pennington’s thefts, though Frederick doubted Pennington’s designs were sinister. From all accounts, the man seemed ill-prepared for his own passion and zeal.
And the consequences of them.
Because if Frederick got hold of him, the man might not be able to see or talk for a few days without feeling considerable pain.
Frederick kept his face forward. On the path that would spill out into an opening where the ruins and the chapel waited.
And Grace.
The single thought drove him forward at a steady clip, despite the way his impaired vision made every root and branch a potential obstacle. He’d removed the spectacles once they’d stepped from the house into natural darkness. The moon gave enough light—perfect lighting, actually. Not too much to inspire an ache in his head, but plenty to highlight shapes and movement.
Zahra kept pace at his side, her breathing steady even as his stride lengthened. Brandon remained on her other side, likely guarding her as fiercely as Frederick was.
They’d almost reached the chapel when a stumbling silhouette emerged from the direction of the ruins. Brandon came to a stop, raising his wrench as a weapon, but Frederick identified the uneven gait and profile at once.
“Blake.” He rushed forward, catching the man beneath the shoulders, instantly feeling some wet, sticky substance. Blood? “Good lord, man. You’re bleeding?”
“Yes, but you should see the other two,” Blake said, shooting him a faint grin. “Messy business, that.” Then he sobered, his weight sagging against Frederick, a clear indication of Blake’s condition. “I must get back to the house. Evie’s in danger, and the authorities need to be alerted to collect the man I left bound inside the ruins.”
Man bound inside …
Frederick’s attention shot to the door of the ruins and then back to Blake.
