A car horn blasted as it crawled by. “Get a room,” someone yelled.
They stepped away from each other and both of them blinked like they’d been standing in front of solar lights. He should say something, but his nerves were jumping all over the place.
“Hey, wait up,” Thane hollered from across the street. Justin and Paul from their class and their girls stood beside them. When the street cleared, they loped across. “Good timing,” Thane said reaching them. Darcy gripped his arm, not letting much air pass between them.
Marg nodded, and he cleared his throat. They shot a quick look at each other and grinned. “Yeah, great timing. Let’s go.” Pat wound his arm around Marg’s waist.
As a group, they walked toward the haunted house, easy to find with the long lineup waiting to get in. Spooky growls and yips came from a concealed speaker near the front balcony. Webs crisscrossed the eaves and a mummy sat in the rocker. Eerie green lights burst from the windows and then went dark just before a few healthy screams followed.
Marg had met most of the guys the other night, but Pat made introductions all around. He gave Thane a look, wondering why he’d brought Darcy. He knew Thane wanted to shake her off, but she kept coming back for more. Although Thane liked to have different girls keep him company, he wasn’t fussy about emotional women. When he broke it off, they all got emotional, which twisted the tough guy into a guilty knot because he really wasn’t as aloof as he made himself look to the outside world.
They were joined by another member of their team within a couple minutes. “Marg, this is Stingray,” he said, introducing one of their team mates she hadn’t met.
“Stingray? That’s a team name, but I’d love to hear how you got that,” she said, nodding at him.
“These idiots gave it to me. Think we need to know each other a little better before I share the story. I’m Peter Bach.”
Thane barked out a laugh. “I don’t mind sharing.”
“Shut the fuck up, Austen.”
Which just made Thane laugh harder. Marg’s gaze remained a little too long for his liking on Stingray. The sonofabitch had a great personality. He could talk to anyone. Everyone liked him and the girls didn’t mind his dark brown, soul-eating eyes either. His parents came from Italy, and his swarthy skin and baritone voice made pasta a distant favorite whenever he put his attention on a woman.
Stingray quirked his brows, then finally unglued his gaze from Marg. Slowly. The little brunette named Nellie he was with didn’t miss the delayed reaction either.
Marg chatted with Karen and Carlie, while Pat and the guys talked shop as they edged their way closer to the entrance.
Darcy looked up at the house, her eyes a little bigger than normal. “Ya think this is really scary?”
Karen said, “Nah, geez, if they turned the lights on, you’d laugh. It’s a cheap thrill.”
Paul squeezed his fiancé to his side. “So, you’re saying you’re not gonna scream?”
She gave him a raised chin. “Doubt it.”
He grinned and showed a mouthful of white teeth as he panned a look at his team mates. Paul liked her sassy spunk. Seemed to be the same for the other guys. The few married SEALs Pat had met had wives with spicy personalities. They weren’t wallflowers. Maybe it was just Pat’s imagination, but if the girls had to deal with them, then maybe a woman with backbone is what they needed.
He slid a glance toward Marg, who gazed up at the house. Her features sharp and soft at the same time. Her exposed neck tempted him to sweep in and kiss a trail to her pulse. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. They stood on the steps, the noise a helluva lot louder in front of the entryway. Instead of admission it was by donation, and the guys handed over a few bucks.
The front door creaked open and the Grim Reaper curled a bony finger at them to enter. The guys laughed and the girls got closer, except Marg. She straightened her shoulders and wore an excited grin as he gripped her soft hand in his and pulled her behind him.
Groans and ghostly sounds surrounded them from the dimly lit room. A girl with bloody clothes screeched as she ran away from a hooded figure, chasing her with an axe.
Pat couldn’t help thinking that soon all the sounds of shouting and screaming would be for real on a mission. People loved to be scared, but only with the knowledge that they knew they’d walk out alive. Not so with his profession.
Thane led the way with Darcy clamped to him like a monkey. Paul shouted just for fun to scare the crap out of Karen, and they all laughed. They entered a narrow hallway. Spider webs brushed against their heads, dangling in long strings from the ceiling. They couldn’t see much and had to go by feel, which he didn’t mind a bit since Marg had both hands on his hips and followed close behind. Just as they reached the end of the hallway, a guy jumped out with a hockey mask on his face and a chainsaw he slashed through the air. Thane threw up his hand as if he were in recon mode, for everyone to stop. Pat chuckled.
“Shut the fuck up, Cobbs.” Thane growled.
“Should we extract now or wait for Carrie to show up?” Pat laughed harder and Marg shot a hand across her mouth, but she laughed just as hard.
He’d spoken too soon as a redhead looking just like the movie character Carrie in a white gown covered in red stains stepped into the hall. A ball of fire erupted from her mouth. She screeched at the top of her lungs then slipped behind the drapes.
The sinister figure swung the chainsaw toward them and then darted to the right, down another hallway. They walked slowly as hands reached between curtains to brush against their shoulders and made the girls scream. Marg didn’t, but she did squeeze his hand a little too hard. Fake spiders dropped from the rafters and then sprang out of sight. Sounds of a thousand bugs clicking brittle wings together echoed in the tight hallway as if they were about to be attacked from all sides.
Huddled together, they followed the neon arrows posted to keep them going in the right direction. After climbing up a set of stairs, they entered a large room, maybe the living room. Alone, they stood in the center and waited.
And waited.
A voice, not booming but loud enough, oozed from the PA system.
“You shouldn’t have come.” The voice gravelly and ominous.
Marg sucked in her breath and Pat’s brow furrowed. What the hell? He expected it to be a melodramatic warning, but the overtone of the threat seemed more real than theatrical. He stole a look at Thane whose brow also scrunched together with indecision. The door they entered slammed shut and they all whipped around.
“What’s going on?” Marg whispered harshly. “This doesn’t feel right.”
Pat tucked her to his side instinctively. “I don’t know.” The trained Special Forces warrior inside him surveyed the room, looking for another exit and imminent threats. Was this part of the haunted house?
A blast of flame flared in the fireplace, but there was no wood or imitation logs to keep it burning. The guys formed a circle, pushing the women inside, shoulder to shoulder they stood. Waiting. Part of Pat believed this was just more of the haunted house fun, and they’d laugh about it later.
“What the fuck?” Stingray shouted, and they all turned at once. The heavy curtains draped around two large windows blazed to life. Pat and the rest of the guys vaulted across the room. The flames ate up the heavy cloth as a good source of fuel. Thane snagged one and tore it to the ground. The other guys did the same, but the flames were too intense to stamp out.
“Roll them up,” Marg shouted. “Snuff it out.”
The guys grabbed the ends and dropped them over the middle, then rolled it up tight to smother the flames.
“What’s going on in there? Open up,” someone shouted from the other side of the door, banging on it at the same time.
Marg ran to the door and tried to open it. “It’s locked. Open the door! We’ve had a fire in here. Open up.”
Pat had just finished suffocating the fire in the drape he’d pulled to the floor. Thane ran for the window an
d shoved it open, tossing the drape out, and then another and another as they were thrown his way.
The shouting from the other side of the door stopped, and Pat heard running footsteps. “What the fuck is going on?”
The room stank of smoke, but another strong smell permeated the living room. Goosebumps rose up his arms as the temperature in the room dropped. He couldn’t see much, but he swore when he breathed out, he could see mist.
Marg found the light switch. It clicked. The bulb above them blinked on, then died.
“Does that sound like crackling?” Darcy squeaked. She turned around, looking like she was about to lose it. Above their heads they heard pounding footsteps and screams.
Paul’s fiancé Karen looked stunned. “I don’t understand, this can’t be part of the Haunted House, they wouldn’t burn up the drapes.”
Time to go. Patrick reached for the doorknob and jerked his hand back, the knob hot. Only a real fire would cause that, and he stopped himself from ramming the door with his full weight. The thick, old wood probably wouldn’t give an inch. He scanned the room, his eyes adjusting to the little light from the fireplace. A shadow of a man stood in the corner, and it wasn’t one of them. Pat blinked and the image was gone.
The goosebumps on his arms rose to the size of hives when a voice beside his ear said, “Hurry, Patrick, get her out!” It came as a command, making the hair stand straight up on his neck. He whirled around, but nobody was there. His gaze shot to the fireplace thinking his eyes, and now his mind, was playing tricks on him.
Every head turned when a pop and a creak drew their attention. The bookcase yawned open revealing a way out, or a trap.
Chapter Thirteen
“Trap?” Thane questioned.
“Only way out, it’s too far to jump this time,” Paul yelled over his shoulder from the open window.
Above them, the attic had gone quiet of footsteps. Smoke continued to fill their room, seeping in from the ceiling and cracks in the old walls.
Patrick reached for Marg’s hand as she reached for his, and he drew her toward the hidden door. “I’ll take point.”
Marg followed him, a steel grip on his fingers. He wished he had a flashlight, but who the hell thinks to load out before a date. Little light spilled from the room into the passageway. He followed the wall by touch and reached a set of stairs spiraling down into the darkness. How long had it been since they’d been used? The house was over a hundred and fifty years old.
“Are they safe?” Marg’s hot breath brushed his cheek.
“We’re going to find out. Stay close, but not too close. If the stairs give way…”
He knew she’d nodded in response because her hair swept against his cheek. He tested the first step, giving it only half his weight at first. Solid. He took his time, but not too much time. He cleared the webs, real ones, from his path.
Enclosed in darkness, they descended the staircase. Totally blind, he kept his left hand on the wall. With each step, he expected to find a trap or a fault. The voice had told him to get her out. He had to trust this was the right way. Who belonged to the voice, he didn’t know, but it had been an order, as if he were at the base listening to his BUD/S CPO. Step after careful step, his foot finally landed on hard ground. “We’re at the bottom,” he called out.
Smoke had woven its way into the secret stairwell, causing everyone to cough. Pat’s throat stung. With fingers splayed, he felt for a handle or a latch. He found a crack and followed it. This was definitely an access way, but how the hell did he open it?
“What’s wrong, Pat?” Thane had taken the rear position.
“Looking for the latch. Has to be one.”
A small flame appeared just under his nose, and he flicked his gaze to see Marg holding a disposable lighter. “You don’t smoke, do you?”
“No,” she said, but there was too much hesitation in her voice.
He’d worry about it later. He took the lighter and followed the crack. On the floor, next to the wall he found a small foot switch. He stepped on it and the hatch sprang open. Cool air whooshed in. They poured out of the staircase into the back yard, everyone inhaling gulps of fresh air. As a group, they backed away from the house. Looking up, Pat saw smoke curling from the attic window.
“Let’s find out what’s going on.” Thane broke into a jog with the rest following.
Pat offered the lighter back to Marg. She took it from him, tucking it in her purse. “You don’t, do you?” Man, if she smoked…he didn’t care about people’s bad habits, except that one. She cleared her throat, but didn’t deny it. “Marg?” he raised his brow at her.
Her lips twitched. “Of course not.”
He narrowed a look on her. “Are you lying?”
“Not anymore!” she added.
Sticking his tongue in his gums, he latched onto her gaze. “When did you quit?”
“Shouldn’t we catch up to everyone?”
She took long strides headed for the corner of the house, making him put it into gear. “You are the epitome of health. Young girls will look up to you, want to be like you when you become famous,” he said, pretty damn sure if she had quit, it was about a second ago when he asked.
“I suppose you have no bad habits, huh?” she grumped at him.
“No, I don’t.” She stopped, and he squared off with her. “How could you smoke?”
“I don’t do it a lot.”
He shook his head. The perfect woman, at least the image of a perfect woman, and she smoked? He couldn’t believe it. “No such thing. Either you do or you don’t.”
“Okay, Mr. Perfect, I do.”
“Not anymore you don’t.”
The ruckus at the front of the building broke their conversation. They found their group in the mass of people watching, and once again they were surrounded by fire engines and police cars.
“Do you think this is the arsonist?” Darcy asked.
“Sure looks that way, honey,” Thane answered. “He’d be attracted to this. Public place. Lots of people. Too much attention for him to ignore.” Thane surveyed the crowd.
Pat turned to the guys. “Who found the secret door behind the bookcase?”
The group looked at each other and no one fessed up.
“Maybe you found it by accident. Stepped on a switch?” Pat reasoned, searching the guys faces.
“We were all in the center of the room,” Marg said.
“There might have been someone else in there with us,” Pat offered warily. He didn’t want to spill the details about the shadow he’d seen, but whoever it was, it hadn’t been one of them.
Her delicate brow wrinkled. “Who?”
“I thought I saw someone in the corner by the fireplace. Maybe it was the arsonist. They love fire, but don’t necessarily want to murder anyone. Maybe he came in through the secret door and we just didn’t see him because it was dark.”
“Pat, you should tell the cops what you saw,” Thane suggested. “What did he look like?”
“Couldn’t make out much, but the light, or lack of it, may have been playing tricks with me. Looked like he was wearing camo.”
The group watched him and deliberated. He didn’t want to tell them he heard the guy loud and clear next to his ear, telling him to get Marg out of there. He turned his attention up to the old house.
“Maybe it is haunted,” Darcy said.
Thane pursed his lips and stopped himself from grinning. He cocked his head. “Maybe a ghost helped us find a way out.”
The girls laughed, but they also looked a little freaked.
“You guys go ahead, I’m going to talk to the cops,” Pat said. “You gonna get something to eat?”
“You girls hungry?” Thane asked.
“Actually, I am. That new Mexican place at the end of the road is pretty good,” Darcy suggested. “It just opened. I hear they make fishbowl-sized Margaritas, and I could use one.”
When the gang split off, Marg remained by his side. She studied him for a s
econd. “Hurry, Patrick, get her out,” she murmured.
He took a surprised step backwards. “You heard him?”
She nodded. “But I didn’t see him. Who do you think it was?”
“Don’t know,” he said. “Come on let’s find a cop.”
“How would he know your name?”
He shook his head. He didn’t have a good answer which meant he’d reserve any guesswork on the unexplainable.
Patrick saw the tainted look in the cop’s eye when he told him what part of town he lived in. It put a guilty sign around his neck, which is what he was afraid of, but once he told him what he did for a living, the cop backed off a little. After an hour of being drilled by local PD, they were allowed to leave.
“You want to join the gang or head somewhere else?” he asked Marg, who had stood beside him and corroborated everything he’d said. Most likely the reason the cop decided he wasn’t an arsonist.
She shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m easy.”
He grinned.
“Not what you’re thinking.”
A bigger grin curled on his lips. “Too bad.”
She gave him a playful cuff. “Bull. I like Thai food.”
“Not sure we’ll find it on this street. How about Italian?”
“Close enough.” She gave him a movie star smile, and he almost forgot his name. “I’ll be right back.”
He ran into the Mexican place and told Austen they were going elsewhere and then hurried back to meet her on the street. Marg was easy to pick out of the crowd who watched the excitement as the firemen doused the haunted house. This time, they’d saved the structure. There’d be costly repairs, but they hadn’t lost an important part of San Diego history in the heart of Old Town.
As he crossed the grassy field to reach her, his gaze caught someone standing under a light post. Pat’s gait slowed. In his late thirties or early forties, dressed in fatigues, the guy watched him. Pat’s neck tingled with unease. Maybe the guy was a vet and half off his nut, but he appeared intent on watching Pat. Slowly, the man nodded his head once.
Code Name: Forever & Ever (A Warrior's Challenge series Book 5) Page 14
