He ran his hands through his hair like he intended to say something else, but then held his lips together. She stepped into the hall and he turned on his heels.
She turned in the other direction, but her neck and face followed him. Where did he go?
He walked fast.
Perhaps what she intended was an invasion of privacy, but she hoped whatever she saw he did freed him. She turned and followed in his footsteps. Where did he go? What business was so important? He turned sullen and silent too often. She tiptoed down the hall. Meg wasn't there. Then she clutched the door handle. He'd gone this way.
She swallowed her doubts and pushed the door open.
The empty room had a huge table for a conference, or perhaps an old-fashioned dinner. She chewed her lip. Was this the direction he went? She thought so. The huge double doors were twice the size of a normal door, and swung open. The walls were sparse, but the stone walls were blacker in here and the carpet more threadbare. Huge metal suits of armor were mounted like they were still guards inside them that watched everything. This might have been a throne room at one point, though she hadn’t seen any pictures with people in a crown. The tapestry on the wall was long, but dirty. This wasn't part of the remodeled castle. Was this another secret room? She lifted the edge of the tapestry.
Her blood pumped faster as she saw the concealed door. There were secrets. She squared her shoulders, grabbed a candelabrum from the table, pocketed the matches from the drawer, and opened the door to the next room.
She refused to light the candles in case Raphael was still there. The pitch-blackness of the secret hall echoed every footstep, so she treaded carefully.
Using her fingers, she guided herself down the hall by touching the stone wall. Raphael wasn't hiding in total darkness, but whatever was next, she should be quiet.
The castle stones grew moist, as if she were heading outside. The front door was in the other wing. Was she heading to the inner courtyard from another tower? She put one foot in front of the other until she reached the end of the hall.
Natural sunlight filtered inside. The stairs went both up and down here. She hadn't known there was a lower level. A sound carried in the air like a fan, but much heavier, that came from upstairs. The wind would blow out her candle. She placed the candelabrum on a nearby table. As she continued, she held her stomach and climbed up. The roar became louder. She ignored the relentless scream of a machine, and checked the door. It wasn’t locked.
Kimberly's hand shook, but she pushed at the door. It resisted. Was the wind bad right now? The noise of the huge fan deafened her. It was almost like a plane or a helicopter. What happened? She pressed both of her hands on the door and fought the pressure to open it.
Sunlight beamed in her face during the struggle. She set one foot outside, and then the other. The noise sounded more like an engine the closer she came.
Was that it? Was she saved? She turned her face outside and her jaw fell.
Raphael stood next to a helicopter and hugged a curly-haired brunette woman. Who was she? What happened?
Kimberly fell backward.
Their embrace was meaningful. Whoever she was had her face tucked into his shoulder and neck.
Kimberly covered her mouth and closed the door. She disappeared back into the blackness then let out a slight scream. No one would hear her from the roar of rotors.
How had she misjudged Raphael so much? How had she missed another woman in his life? No wonder he felt so guilty. She rubbed her arms and raced down the stairs.
Her eyes might tear up any moment, and until she had control, there was no way she wanted Raphael to see her like this.
She made it downstairs. She’d not leave evidence she had seen him. She'd misjudged him. He told her not to trust him. She should have listened to him. Right now she couldn’t face anyone. She couldn't go back to the main hall of the castle. Meg might see her. She continued down the stairs and prayed she could hide. She knew she shouldn’t have trusted him with her heart.
In her flight, she didn’t care that the lower level had a metal door. A key hung on the wall. She held her stomach, then turned the key to unlock the door.
She almost ran inside, but then stopped. She left the candelabrum on the floor. Raphael would know he was followed if he saw it there. He'd keep the girlfriend safe from her. Kimberly shook her head.
Now that she knew the truth, she'd be on guard. He had no right to be upset he was followed. None at all. She’d confront him as soon as she had her mind and body in tune as one. She needed to be alone right now. She returned to get the candelabrum.
The roar of the rotors lessened. Were they on the move? Kimberly quickened her steps and rubbed her arms until she reached the next level. She grabbed the silver and proceeded downstairs again.
The other woman laughed. "I couldn't stay away, Raphael."
He laughed back. Kimberly's eyes misted as she stopped halfway down the circular staircase. No. He'd not see her. She continued down the steps as quietly as she could.
The footsteps behind her grew louder. She crouched on the stairs and peered up. Raphael's hand was on the woman's back as he gave her shoulder a massage. Kimberly's heart almost fell out of her chest. Then he told the woman, "You were always impossible to stop."
Her body trembled. What had she done? Had she trusted this man so completely and painted him her hero, when all this time, he’d used her?
She fought back sobs that came from deep in her. There was absolutely no way she'd cry in front of either of them.
She covered her mouth and slipped back downstairs. She held on to the silver candelabrum like it was a weapon.
On the bottom step, she wiped her face. First, she'd get angry. She knew her mind. Once she had the fire that burned inside her, she'd bury it and wait. Raphael would never fool her again. He didn't deserve anyone or anything. She'd swallow this pain.
All men were the same. None were heroes.
CHAPTER 19
Kimberly unlocked the metal door leading to the basement of the castle. The frown on her face might be permanent. She pinched the bridge of her nose, then stepped inside, blinking rapidly as she made out what was hanging on the wall. Chains? What? She gulped. Was she in a medieval dungeon?
She dropped the keys. The jingle reverberated in the air. Castles had dungeons. She took a second, shook her head, accepting she was now in one. She reached down to get the keys. Then someone called out, "Hello?"
That wasn’t Raphael. She must be hearing things again, or this was another setup from the Halloween leftovers. She gulped. "Who was that?"
She pocketed the keys and clutched the candelabrum in her hand like it was a weapon. Her knuckles turned white. It was one thing that Raphael had a girlfriend, but quite another that someone was down here in the dungeon of his castle.
A male voice whispered, "Over here."
Her heartbeat thrashed in her ears. The room had almost no light. She sniffed the dust in the air, and refused to sneeze. She held the candelabrum higher, though her hand shook. If someone was able to, they'd have already tackled her. She sucked in her lip and took a step forward. "Who’s here?"
A cough echoed.
She clenched her jaw, turned the corner, and stared at the older man from the plane. She lowered the candelabrum. Harry was handcuffed to the wall like an animal. He was in the open area, but there were other smaller cells on the other wall. He had been her hero on that plane. Raphael must have done this. Why?
He tipped his head, and she averted her gaze. How had she been so wrong? "Harry Descartes, Miss Kimberly. Are you a prisoner too?"
Prisoner? Raphael clearly had a secret life. Her head spun. The keys jiggled in her pocket. She brushed her cheek with her hand, like somehow the rub would stop the heaviness in her heart. "No. Not like you. I thought you were dead. I'm so sorry. How long have you been here?"
Unlike the liar Raphael, Harry had thrown her from the plane and saved her life. Her chin trembled, but she refused to cry
. She owed Harry everything. She walked closer to him, studying his shackles.
Harry's brown eyes misted, and his old, wrinkled face held such despair. "Miss Kimberly, I'm glad you're okay. Once we get out of this mess, you can go see your mom again."
Her face was hot. Was she blushing? Harry remembered her story and why she was on the plane to begin with. She should have remembered him sooner. She should have known who Raphael truly was and not just…
She swallowed, dropped the candelabrum on the ground, retrieved the key, and turned it in one of his hand chains. A second later, something metallic clicked and the sound resonated in the air. "I'm so sorry."
He lifted his hand toward his face and smiled at her. She had been so wrong on so many things. Harry pointed to his other hand. "Where have you been? Did the big man hunt you down and throw you in here with us?"
The big man must be Raphael. He was a monster for locking up this old man. She stepped over Harry's feet and ignored his questions. How could she answer? Lust for a man with an amazing body wasn't an excuse. Once again she'd made a bad choice, only this time more people were hurt. She brushed the hair out of her face. She had seduced Raphael, but she kept that to herself. She put the key into the lock then froze halfway done. "Us?"
Harry nodded. She turned her head toward where Harry pointed. Then she held her breath. "Roger Hellsworth, the pilot."
Her hands trembled. Raphael might have been right that he fought soldiers. Her shallow breaths echoed her racing heart as she said, "He shot Ali and Eileen."
Harry shrugged like murder wasn't that big of a deal as he winked at her. She tugged the key out of the lock, but she was too late. Her heartbeat thrashed again. She pressed her lips together as Harry said, "Roger explained everything to me. We're friends now. He is in the next room."
The chains clicked open but she couldn’t move. What had she just done? Harry stood up, rubbed his wrists where the chains had been, and then stretched.
She wanted to sink into a ball and disappear. There was no place to hide, so she backed up, palming the key. Harry talked about Roger like he was a nice guy. She took another step backward and picked up the candelabrum. Harry lunged at her, grabbing her and the key from her hand. "We need that, miss."
"No," she screamed, and tried to hit him with the silver candelabrum. His body pressed against her like it was an anchor and she couldn't breathe. She used the candelabrum as a weapon again on his back, but he caught her hand from the next blow. He held both of her wrists. She flinched and the candelabrum fell to the ground. "You are not helping Roger,” she said. “He is supposed to be dead."
"He should be dead, but Raphael won't let him die." Harry answered like he was correcting her grammar. Her mind spun. This wasn't happening.
She tugged at her arms, but Harry held her hand with the key hard. Her eyes misted. "Please don't. I wanted to help you."
"You have." Harry's grip was so tight, her hand became numb. Then her fingers shook, and the key fell to the ground. "I want my freedom, the same as you."
She shook her head and brushed her hands against her eyes as he let her go. No. Harry couldn't let Roger out. "Roger killed Ali and Eileen. You were there. He'll kill us too."
She jumped to run, but her back hit a wall. The exit was twelve feet to her right, though at the moment it felt like a football field away.
"You don't understand anything, do you?"
She wrapped her arms around her belly, but took a step toward the door. "What am I supposed to understand? This is crazy. Raphael said Roger was dead."
Harry stood in her way. The older gentleman was strong. "And what about me?"
She crouched, ready to slip past him. "Roger said you were dead."
Harry's creepy expression was worse than any ghost she could imagine in the castle. "Did he? How funny."
She straightened. "Why funny?"
Harry tilted his head and smiled. "Roger's my brother."
They were brothers? What? Why did Raphael keep any of this from her? "I don't understand. I should go."
Without another thought, she bolted past him. Her legs were weak, but she hammered them into the ground in her wild spree.
Harry's footsteps boomed directly behind her. Her heart raced. She had strength and speed, somehow. She turned her head to see how close he was and saw Harry was inches away. His shadow loomed and she clutched the medallion.
She pressed her legs into a run. Her hands fell to her sides and she hoped to use body motion to go faster.
Harry’s fingertips brushed against her shoulder. Every cell in her body screamed run. She swallowed and squirmed as Harry's hands reached her back. No. Her arms and legs continued to pump, but his hand reached up to her hair and yanked.
Her hair felt like it would be ripped out of her scalp. He'd kill her and leave her to rot in the dungeon. She knew it as he said, "There, there."
She tried to rip his hand off her head, but she couldn't get a grip.
"Quiet down, Miss Kimberly," Harry told her, dragging her back in the other direction. "We're going to release Roger now."
He elongated his stride and she had no choice. His tight grip never faltered, and he took her back into the dungeon. She flailed around and her foot caught on an edge of a wall. Her muscles tensed and her legs went rigid.
Every piece of her hair in her scalp burned as he held firm. The pain grew too intense. Could he rip her skin off her head? He continued to yank her into the dungeon.
Physically she couldn't win. She whispered, "Don't. Harry. You don't have to get Roger. He hasn't said a word. There is a helicopter upstairs right now. Hotwire it and go." Harry had a crooked grin. She shivered. This wasn't good. "Please just let me go. I freed you."
How did his grip stay so intense? A few days in there should have weakened him. His fingerprints might be embedded on her scalp. "We'll take you off this rock, miss."
She saw black spots. "No, I'm good. Just let me go."
"Was that big man using you sexually, miss? Is that why you weren't locked down here with us?"
Kimberly froze, and her heartbeat echoed in her ears. She had initiated intimacy with Raphael. It hadn't been rape, even if Raphael never mentioned the girlfriend with a helicopter might show up. She swallowed, and her eyes welled with tears.
Now was not the time for this. She clenched her jaw, unsure how else to answer.
Harry held her head with one hand and opened the door with another. His grip loosened, and blood rushed to her roots. "The big guy" was said twice now in conversation. Harry hadn't said Raphael's name. Did they not know who he was? She licked her lips. Was there a way to warn Raphael and his girlfriend that the killers were loose?
She scanned the room for anything that might be a trigger. The pain on her scalp no longer mattered. Raphael had high-tech everything else here, except for the internet. Was there an alarm?
Her gaze stopped on something that reminded her of a bicycle reflector. She had to save herself. This was her chance. The plastic reflector must be a sensor. It was too modern to be part of a Scottish dungeon.
She gasped as Harry dragged her into Roger’s room. She had to go in the opposite direction, so he dug her heels into the ground. "No."
She broke free. Her nostrils flared as she ran to the other wall near the sensor. This had to be it. Harry chased her. She covered her chest with her hands and held back a scream. "Please, Roger intends to kill me."
"Nonsense, miss." Harry shook his head, but then went to unlock his brother. She heard one click of metal. Any second, he'd free Roger.
Harry's attention was distracted. Now or never. Her muscles were rigid as she steeled her entire body and reached up with both hands to what she hoped was the sensor to trip the alarm. She pressed on the center and adrenaline rushed through her. A split second later, the entire dungeon beeped and flashed red.
She’d done it. Raphael would be here soon.
Something clinked onto the stone floor in the dungeon. She bolted away and hoped
to make it to the exit. Harry and Roger both ran out of the cell. A moment later, Harry grabbed her neck, and she clawed at his arm. "Just let me go."
Without a word, Harry marched her in front of him toward the exit. She had to get away. Roger led them somewhere. She clawed at his hand on her neck before he snapped it. Now was not her time to die.
On the first step, her foot dragged and her body fought against his direction.
Roger pointed behind her to Harry, and implied they should go up. The helicopter was their escape plan. Sweat grew on her brow. Why had she told them? She squirmed, but Harry's fingers pinched into her neck. "What are you going to do with me?"
Roger turned back for a second. "Hurry."
Roger raced up in front of them and opened the door to the roof. This was her fault. Harry kept her in his grip. Did everyone she ever meet lie? Pains racked her chest. Outside the wind pummeled her skin. It was bitterly cold. She turned her head as Harry loosened his grip.
Roger ran toward the helicopter. She jumped at the sudden roar of the blades. He was a pilot, so he’d know how to fly. She couldn’t let him shoot her. He probably wouldn’t miss again. She swallowed and glanced around the roof. She'd have to break free.
Harry dragged her toward the helicopter, ready to run. Roger started the engine and stuck his thumb up in the air. The metal helicopter would be the best thing to hang on to and save her life. She couldn’t get on board.
Over the noise of the motor, she heard Raphael: "Let her go."
Adrenaline pumped in her veins. It was now or never. Harry turned around, his fingers squeezing her neck, and backed her toward the helicopter. She nodded at Raphael, letting him know that she had a plan.
The rumble of the helicopter smothered all other sounds.
She met Raphael's fiery gaze as he pointed a rifle toward them. Her heart raced in her chest. He had a different plan. Raphael wouldn’t let her die. She couldn't blink. She'd focus on her plan.
Her feet scraped against metal as Harry stepped up on a platform. Now. She gripped the edge of the helicopter and fought to be free. Harry growled and lifted her by the neck toward the spinning blades. She kicked, screamed. He lifted her higher until she felt the whir of the metal.
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