by Gail Barrett
But then a deep, male voice reached her ears—coming from the stable above.
She froze, whipped her gaze up to Coop. He jabbed down his thumb, motioning for her to continue into the tunnel, and she rushed down the remaining rungs.
He flew down the ladder behind her, balancing the trapdoor with one arm. She waited, her heart pounding fast and hard, praying their pursuers wouldn’t catch up. Coop shut the door without a sound.
Shivering, she aimed the flashlight into the darkness—over the crudely chiseled walls, the low ceiling shored up by timber planks, the duffel bag propped by the wall.
“Coop, look,” she whispered.
He strode over, opened the bag, and pulled out a carbine rifle. And her world spun even more. Since when did her grandfather own guns?
Coop lowered himself to one knee, then removed the contents of the bag—batteries, another flashlight, several magazines for the gun. Then he reached in and pulled out a plastic pine cone.
The cache.
Her pulse quickening, she propped the flashlight on the ground and took the cache from his hand. She unscrewed the top—and there it was. The missing flash drive.
So small, so innocent, so deadly.
She took it out and slid it into her pocket, just as a voice sounded directly above. Her lungs closed up. Ice invaded her veins.
And a deep sense of dread settled inside her. This tunnel had better lead out of the mountain.
Because if it didn’t, they were trapped.
Chapter 8
Coop had to hand it to Zoe. She didn’t crumple under pressure, didn’t give up, even with trained killers dogging their heels.
He led the way down another dank tunnel inside the gold mine, his fingers stiff with cold, his stooped back screaming from the hours he’d spent hunched over, the duffel bag he was lugging banging against the stones.
By rights she should be done in. She’d been shot at, hiked all night without sleeping, had no more water or food. They’d spent hours wandering underground, scaling steep, precarious ladders, crawling through rubble-choked tunnels, coughing in the decades-old dust—and still hadn’t found a way out.
And yet, Zoe hadn’t panicked, hadn’t once asked to rest, had even tried to conceal her exhaustion from him.
He paused and turned sideways in the cramped space, angling the flashlight to aid her steps. She limped toward him, her face as black as a miner’s, her eyes reflecting her misery, her tattered clothes covered with dirt.
“I’m fine,” she wheezed, anticipating his question.
“Right.” He shook his head and continued hiking through the musty tunnel, the stale air cold on his arms. She amazed him, all right—and that was the problem. He didn’t want to care about her. He didn’t even want to like her, but he couldn’t help it. She affected something deep inside him, evoking all sorts of unwanted emotions—admiration, tenderness, regret.
The truth was, somewhere along the line, he’d come to believe her. Maybe it was the risks she’d taken to find that flash drive. Or maybe it was the deep well of hurt he’d seen in her eyes when she’d learned her grandfather had betrayed her trust.
But he knew she wasn’t faking that loyalty, that staunch dedication to her family. She didn’t have it in her to lie.
And eight years ago, she hadn’t tried to destroy him.
He exhaled, unable to deny the truth. Shaw had manipulated her back then—just as Coop was misleading her now. He had to tell her about his surveillance case. He couldn’t keep putting it off. The longer he waited, the worse his deception would sting.
But not now. Not while they were trapped in this gold mine. He’d confess his guilt when he was sure that she’d be safe.
He rounded a bend, and the tunnel ended at the bottom of another shaft. He aimed the dwindling flashlight beam up the ladder bolted into the bedrock, and stifled a groan. Another climb to nowhere—just what they didn’t need.
Zoe straggled to a stop beside him. “Again?” Her voice echoed his dismay.
“At least we’re still going up.” He just hoped they weren’t traveling in circles. The GPS didn’t work underground, so he couldn’t tell. “I’ll go first.”
He stuck the flashlight into his back pocket, adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder, and started to climb. Half the rungs on the ladder were missing, the rest wobbly, and he feared that they would collapse. But he made it safely to the top, hoisted himself from the shaft, and shined the flashlight around the room.
Dynamite boxes littered the ground. More tunnels branched out from the cavern like spokes. Would this damned mine never end?
He wiped the dirt from his eyes onto his sleeve, then crouched at the top of the shaft. “Come on up,” he called to Zoe.
He waited, angling the flashlight to aid her climb as she inched her way to the top. Her breath sawed in the echoing silence. Her hands trembled as she reached for the wooden rungs. When her head came into view, he grabbed her arm and hauled her the remaining way out. She stumbled to her feet beside him and swayed.
“We’ll rest here for a minute,” he decided.
“I can keep going.”
“Humor me.” He pulled her to a boulder near the wall, then dropped the duffel bag and stretched. He lowered himself to the rock, and Zoe settled beside him, her slender shoulder touching his. She shivered in the frigid air.
“You want my shirt?” he asked.
“No, I’m okay.” She turned toward him, and in the dim beam from the flashlight he could see the anxiety haunting her eyes. “It’s just…do you think we’re lost?”
“No.” He made his voice firm. “We’ve reached the main level. We’ll be out soon.” He hoped.
“That’s good.” She wiped her brow on the hem of her blouse. “Once we’re out I need to find a computer so I can see what’s on that flash drive.”
“We’ll head to a town, find a motel. We can rest, eat, shower, make plans.”
She let out a wistful sigh. “A shower sounds wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever been this filthy.”
She’d definitely seen better days. Dirt coated her skin. Her once-prim blouse barely hung by a thread. Her shorts were torn clear up her thigh.
His gaze slid from her legs to her lips. Even dirty, she made his pulse race. And he could think of far more interesting things to do in a motel room than sleep.
Forcing his mind off that dangerous track, he swept the flashlight around the room—over an old wooden spool, a forgotten barrel of carbide, a pile of discarded boards. He considered turning off the light to preserve the batteries, but decided against it. The silence in the mine was unnerving enough.
“You never said why you have my cell phone,” Zoe said.
Coop nodded, knowing he should tell her about his job right now. She’d provided the perfect opening to set things straight. “I found it in the plane. I should have given it to you then, but I…”
His gaze met hers, and the vulnerability in her eyes halted his words. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t shatter her illusions. Not here. Not yet.
“…I forgot,” he lied. “But I’m glad we had it. At least we’ve got a photo of one of the men now.”
She nodded, her eyebrows gathering, but she appeared to accept his excuse. “Do you think they know we’re in the mine?”
That was the million-dollar question. “I doubt it. They’re probably still searching the ghost town.”
“How many men were there?”
“Three that I could see. The one I’d dragged into the stable, two more blocking the road down the hill.” But they’d been heavily armed, even had military-grade night NODs—night observation devices—leading him to wonder who was funding this gig. “They were speaking Arabic,” he added.
“Arabic?” Her eyes flew to his. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “I learned a few words in the Persian Gulf. Enough to recognize the language.”
“You mean…they could be terrorists? Like al-Qaeda?” Her voice squeaked.
&n
bsp; “Or someone like them.”
“But…” She pressed her fingers to her lips. “Why would terrorists target my grandfather? How did they know about his work?”
“He’s pretty famous. Maybe they caught wind of his research, offered to buy the information from him, and he agreed.”
“He would never do that.”
“You don’t know that. He might have needed the money. Or maybe he sympathized with their beliefs.”
She shook her head, causing dirt to fall from her hair. “He doesn’t care about money. I told you that. And he doesn’t pay any attention to politics, unless it affects funding for his work. Plus, he was kidnapped. That proves he wasn’t involved.”
“He took that flash drive from the lab.”
“Because he wanted to protect his work, not sell it. I know you don’t believe it, but my grandfather’s not a traitor, Coop.”
She was right. He didn’t believe it. But he’d never convince her without proof. “Fine. Let’s assume it wasn’t him. Who else had access to his work?”
“It’s hard to say. I told you his work is classified, SCI.”
Sensitive Compartmented Information. He knew the system. “So different people have access to different pieces of the work.”
She dipped her head. “Not many can see the entire project. Even after it’s done, it stays secret. The government might downgrade it at some point, declassify it, but that could be years down the road.”
Coop mulled that over, the doubts that had been lurking in the periphery of his mind coming back full force. “So you think someone else is the traitor and he was framed?”
“Yes.”
“But it’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it, your family being targeted twice?”
“Just the opposite. We’re the perfect people to frame. Everyone still believes my parents were spies, so shouldn’t we be, too?”
Unless there really was a link. “So tell me about your parents.”
Her startled gaze swung to his. “You think the cases could be connected?”
“I don’t think we can rule it out.”
Her brows gathered into a frown. “Well, they worked with my grandfather. My father was a physicist, my mother a chemist, like I am. She was brilliant.”
The bitter edge to her tone surprised him. “You’re smart.”
“Maybe. But she set a high standard. And I guess…My grandfather always gave me the impression I didn’t quite measure up.”
Coop had grown up with the opposite problem. Everyone in his town had thought he was destined for ruin. Even he’d believed it, until Pedro had given him something to live for, a reason to change. “Is that why you became a chemist?”
“Partly. I liked science… And after my parents died, I felt I owed it to them, that I had to prove that we weren’t crooks.
“I was fourteen when it happened,” she continued. “I don’t know the details of the case. It was classified information, highly sensitive. But everyone thought we were traitors. We became pariahs overnight. People stared at us wherever we went, shouted things. We got hate mail, nasty phone calls—even death threats. Someone shot up our house.”
His sympathy surged. Even he hadn’t suffered that much. “They died in an accident, right?”
“Hit-and-run. They were coming home from a meeting with their lawyer. Nothing was ever proven about the espionage, but everyone assumed they’d done it. And they weren’t around to defend themselves.”
He hesitated, not wanting to hurt her feelings, but he had to ask. “Is there any chance it was true?”
“No. I’ve thought about it a lot, especially lately, but they were framed. They had to be. But…”
“But what?”
She didn’t answer right away. She brushed some dirt from her shorts, her expression troubled. “It was probably nothing. I might have misunderstood. But they’d been arguing a lot before they died. They’d stop when I came into the room, but I could tell. You know how you can feel that tension? And later I wondered…”
She shook her head. “But they couldn’t have been spies. What did they have to gain? They never traveled to foreign countries, didn’t live a lavish lifestyle. No secret bank account came to light. I’m sure they were framed, Coop.
“And now it’s happening again. This time to my grandfather and me.”
He picked up her hand, cradled it in his own, his protective instincts winging back. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.”
“I know.” Her mouth wobbled. “But you believe me, don’t you? That we aren’t spies?”
The stricken note in her voice made his heart roll. “I know you’re not a spy,” he said carefully, making no claim about Shaw. He squeezed her hand, caressed her cool skin with his thumb. And that deep sense of certainty settled inside him. He did know Zoe. She was honorable, trustworthy. The most loyal person he knew.
So why had he doubted her that summer? He’d known she wouldn’t have lied. And she never would have had her grandfather do her dirty work. She would have told him directly if she didn’t want him around.
She was more honest than he was. He still hadn’t told her why he was here.
More guilt pounded through him like storm waves eroding a cliff. He couldn’t keep putting it off. The longer he waited, the harder she’d take the news.
“Thank you for believing me and helping me,” she whispered. She squeezed his hand, and his stomach wrenched even more. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you, and I…I’m glad you’re here.”
He gazed into her trusting eyes, feeling like a total heel, his conscience screaming at him to come clean.
He ran his hand down his face and looked away, knowing he had to tell her now. He should just blurt it out, admit everything—and not worry about how she felt.
But he couldn’t do it. And it wasn’t only because he hated to hurt her, although that was a major part. There was something different about Zoe. Ever since he’d met her, she’d made him think about his life, made him want to succeed—to be a better man than he was.
And damned if he could stand to let her down.
He rose, angry at her for trusting him, even more furious at himself. “Come on. Let’s get out of this mine before our light runs out.”
But as he tramped through the nearest tunnel, he knew he couldn’t outrun his conscience. He had to tell her the truth.
And he had to do it soon.
Zoe crawled through the tunnel behind Coop an hour later, heedless of the stones gouging her knees and palms, her gaze locked on a sliver of light. After hours trapped in the oppressive darkness, wandering through silent, tomblike tunnels and nearly getting crushed by debris, they’d finally found their way out.
Coop pushed through a clump of branches blocking the exit, then reached back and gripped her hand. She staggered to her feet, sharp twigs jabbing her face and legs, so ecstatic she wanted to weep.
What an ordeal! Hunger gnawed a hole in her gut. Her head reeled like a washing machine set to spin. She closed her eyes and filled her lungs with warm, sweet air, wanting to kiss the sun-drenched earth.
She’d been so scared, so afraid they’d be buried in the blackness, condemned to die in that echoing gloom…
But they weren’t out of danger yet.
She blinked rapidly in the blinding sunlight, knowing she couldn’t afford to relax. Their pursuers were still out there, searching the mountain nearby.
“Any idea where we are?” she asked, glancing around.
“The north side of the mountain, I think. Do you still have the GPS?”
She reached into the backpack and pulled it out, keeping her gaze on Coop as he turned it on. Dirt speckled his shoulders and hair. Heavy stubble darkened the contours of his face. A rifle peeked from the duffel bag he carried, adding to his dangerous look.
She grimaced at the injustice. He grew sexier as time wore on, while she looked as if she’d rolled in mud.
He glanced up and motioned toward a parched hill. “T
here should be a campground over that hill, about two miles away, a staging area for backcountry hikers.”
“You think we can bum a ride?”
“We’d better not. We can’t risk being seen. We don’t know if we’re in the news. And the fewer innocent people we involve in this, the better.”
She agreed, especially with those possible terrorists at large. But the thought of crossing the desert on foot made her want to cry. “Then why go to the campground?”
“I’m going to borrow a car.”
“Borrow? You mean steal one?”
His dark brow rose. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”
She gaped at him for a moment, then let out a strangled laugh, not sure which shocked her more—how completely she trusted Coop, or how little it bothered her to break the law. She—the same woman who’d once driven ten miles to return a dollar a grocery store clerk had over-reimbursed—was now fleeing the police, had nuclear secrets hidden in her pocket, was about to commit a felony with nary a qualm.
Funny how morality changed with her life at stake.
She shrugged and tossed her scruples to the desert wind. “All right, Clyde. Let’s go steal ourselves a car.”
They found a truck, a dilapidated old pickup that Coop quickly hot-wired, testimony to his misspent youth. Zoe climbed inside, buckled her seat belt, and promptly fell asleep, waking only when the truck came to a stop hours later in a tiny town.
She rubbed her gritty eyes, her mind still fuzzy with sleep, and glanced around. They’d pulled up to a peeling, one-story motel on the two-lane highway through town. There was a gas station on one side of the motel, a combination casino/cafe on the other. She saw a stop light down the road, a boarded-up garage next to an agricultural supply store, a few deserted side streets baking in the midday heat.
“Where are we?” The hot breeze blew through the open windows, spawning a dust devil near the truck.
“Lizard Point.” Coop set the parking brake but left the engine running. “Stay here. I’m going to see about a room.”
“I’ll come with you.”
He hesitated. His gaze traveled from her face to her feet and back up. “You’d better not.”
