HelenKay Dimon - Guns and the Girl Next Door

On the way, he grabbed his satellite phone and telescopic sight and ignored everything else. “This way.”

“We can call the police,” she said in a breathless hush as he hustled her into his stark bedroom.

“No time.” He pressed his back against the wall and peeked out the window. The magnification provided by the goggles let him see the advance of the unwanted visitors.

“Of course there’s—” She stared at him. “Binoculars?”

“An updated version, yes.”

“Are the people close?”

Holden thought about lying to her. If she started crying or went into shaky shut-down mode, he might have to knock her out to rescue her. He didn’t look forward to that possibility at all.

“Stand against the wall and no noise.”

She obeyed. Waited all of three seconds before talking again. “Do you have another gun?”

“Depends. Can you shoot?”

“How hard can it be?”

“So, that’s a no.”

He got a good look at the attackers now. And that’s what they were. Dressed in black and loaded down with ammunition, they moved in unison through a mix of hand signals and nods. Mercenaries. No question these guys were guns for hire.

“We have to get out of here,” he said.

“You have a plan?”

He nodded at the wall. “We’re going through there.”

She followed his gaze and frowned. “It’s solid wood.”

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to sneak out the front? There’s no door, but at least there’s a hole and an obvious exit.”

“The guys we’re trying to avoid are at the front.” He ducked down and crossed under the window. No need to give the attackers a clear target.

“What are—”

From the edge of the bed, he motioned to her. “Get on the ground and come toward me.”

She didn’t question this time and he was grateful.

With his blood pounding through his veins and her breathing echoing in his ear, he dropped to his knees and headed for the far wall. After crawling the short distance, he hit the floor a second before she did and collapsed with his back against the wood.

Panting now, her green eyes filled with fear, she looked over at him. “I don’t understand why all this is happening.”

To calm her, he brushed her wild hair back off her shoulder. “We’ll get to that later.”

“Are we going to have a later?”

“Count on it.” He punched a series of numbers into the square black watch on his wrist until he heard a click and the wall behind them shifted. “Lean forward.”

The partition lifted from the floor. He waited until it drew up about four feet and then rolled into the small room on the other side.

Her jaw dropped. “What are you doing?”

Before she even finished the sentence, he pulled her through the opening and slammed the wall shut behind them. He was on his feet and grabbing for his computer hard drive in the next breath.

Hands moving and mind shifting into gear, he inventoried the L-shaped desk and four shelves and grabbed a small backpack. He couldn’t carry much but some items should come along if possible.

She brushed her fingers across the paneled wall. “What is this place?”

“It’s called a SCIF.”

Her hand dropped to her side but the confusion didn’t clear from her face. “Come again?”

“The technical term is Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility,” he said as he rifled through the desk drawer for a set of keys.

The area was an enclosed, windowless space in his house. In here he could review classified information. It functioned as a secure office within his sanctuary. The bedroom, closet and bathroom surrounded it. No one would check for it unless they knew it was there and started measuring square footage and found some missing.

“If you didn’t look so serious I would think you were kidding,” she said.

“’Fraid not.” He pressed a remote and the monitor on the wall across from the hidden door switched from a blank screen to a shot of the area outside the house. Only one attacker was visible. That meant the other two were circling or already inside.

She watched him unzip an internal pocket of his backpack. “You’re not police.”

“I already said no to that.”

“You’re a spy.”

“Not that either.” He slipped his hard drive inside the space. It was the size of a paperback book but far more important. It held all of the information he’d been gathering on his secret side project, on the congressman Mia insisted she killed.

“Now what?”

“Time to go.”

“Where?” She looked around the six-foot space. Then her eyes locked on the figure on the screen. “He’s not police either.”

“No.” Holden spared the attacker a glance before punching in the password on his watch.

“What are you doing now?”

“Setting the timer to blow the place up and sending a signal for help to a friend.”

“Right.” She shot him a nervous smile but it faded a second later. “Wait, you’re still serious?”

“Yeah.”

Up until that point she’d held it together. She had paced a bit and rubbed her hands together a lot, but otherwise no craziness. With his admission about the planned explosion, her movements became frantic. Her hands flew around in the air and her voice squeaked.

“Holden, this is ridiculous. You know that, right? Please tell me you’re not some lunatic serial-bomber type.”

“Okay.” He held both of her upper arms with a touch he hoped wouldn’t terrorize her further.

“That is not a convincing response.”

“I need you to stay calm.”

“Then get us out of here.”

“We’ll have less than ten minutes.”

Her green eyes turned glassy with fear. “Ten?”

“That means you do everything I say, when I say.” He waited until she nodded. “Good.”

He took her hands and pulled her tight against his body. He figured it was a testament to her fear that she didn’t struggle or slap him. When he reached behind him and hit the small lever under his desk, the floor next to her feet rolled back to reveal a steel-reinforced opening and crudely constructed steps made of dirt wound down into the earth.

Good thing he believed in planning ahead for catastrophe.

“You are just full of surprises,” she muttered as she stared into the hole that was just big enough to fit Holden.

“Here’s another one.” He handed her the light stick. “You’re going first.”

By the third tread of the twenty-step decline, Mia regretted wearing heels of any type. The narrow passage barely fit a foot and the only railing was the dirt wall next to her shoulder. She had a death grip on that.

Mud caked under her nails and her shoulders ached from holding them stiff. The banging in her head hit orchestra levels.

But she didn’t care. No way was she going to die on an underground staircase.

When she got halfway down, she glanced back up. Holden’s light stick cast a warm glow at the top area, but she didn’t see him.

“Holden?” If there was such a thing as a frantic whisper, she’d just mastered it.

The resulting silence sent the blood churning in her veins. There was no way she could do this alone. Heck, she didn’t even know where she was or where this tunnel led. Those men outside with the big guns sure weren’t going to help her.

With tiny shuffling steps, she turned around, ignoring the way her brain rattled and shifted. Careful not to topple backward, she grabbed on to the step above her and looked up. In the dim light she could see the tips of Holden’s sneakers.

“What are you doing up there?”

“I’m coming.” His voice sounded weak and a little breathy.