Danger and Desire: A Romantic Suspense Anthology

by Kimberly Kincaid

  Something had triggered a look in his eyes, but she couldn’t remember exactly what. Being together? Knowing one other? Close, but it was something specific.

  The water cleared, and she splashed it on her face as the specific words returned to her, at least he knew what he was getting into. “Apparently, I didn’t.”

  Roxana dried her skin with her shirt, dropped onto the closed toilet cover, and noticed an embroidery, framed and hung on the poorly lit bathroom wall. No one in her family was an embroidery person. They were more of the snarky t-shirts and funny throw pillows crowd, and in a house where the boys had outnumbered the girls, there hadn’t been flowery bathroom decorations in pinks and greens. But in large, pink, cross-stitched lettering, Sweetie’s Bathroom Rules screamed for her to take a closer look at green-stitched list.

  Brush and Floss

  Wash Your Hands

  Follow the Tunnel

  Behind the Panel

  Don’t Forget to Flush

  Put the Seat Down

  Turn Lights Off

  Jason had hidden instructions in plain sight. She didn’t have to ask what panel and tunnel. Dylan and Hagan had found the old bootlegger’s tunnel that connected to their house and disappeared long enough to send Mom into a tizzy. They’d walked in the front door seconds before she would have reported her missing children to the police. Dad had tanned their hides and sealed up the tunnel entrance. Roxana hadn’t thought about that in years and wasn’t aware that Jason knew it existed.

  She touched the sides of a metal panel the size of a crawl space. Her heart galloped, and carefully, Roxana lifted the cover from the wall.

  In no possible way would she crawl into this tunnel. Forget that she couldn’t see beyond a few inches—a duct-taped piece of paper just inside the tunnel caught her eye. Roxana leaned the panel between the toilet and sink then grabbed the paper.

  Jason’s handwriting scrawled a date almost two years ago across the top of a note. Roxana wanted to scream but kept reading.

  Babe, Sorry. If you’re reading this, something has gone wrong. You want to kill me. More than likely you’re justified but time won’t be on your side.

  Follow the tunnel until it ends. Climb up the metal rungs in the wall and grab the bag. You’ll have to remove a manhole cover to get out. If it doesn’t come off easily, use your shoulder and back.

  “What the hell?” Her mouth hung open until floorboards creaked overhead as someone walked toward the kitchen. Roxana returned to the note.

  You have to trust me.

  “Ha.” Never gonna happen again.

  I don’t know the situation’s specific details but run. Don’t stop. I’ll find you.

  I love you.

  But the last part packed a punch. Roxana swallowed hard and reread the last line another time before peeking into the tunnel.

  No human had been in there in at least two years. The darkness hid the cobwebs and little bugs that lived in the crevices below her house. She couldn’t see them but bet they could see her. “I hate him.”

  Roxana crumpled the note and shoved it in her pocket. What the hell kind of James Bond bullshit was this? She climbed into the musty black hole, certain that she would kill her fiancé the very second he finished explaining himself.

  Chapter 5

  Cobwebs draped over Roxana as the narrowing crawl space forced her onto her hands and knees. Old wood planks and rocks lined the never-ending passageway. “What people would go through to grab a drink.”

  She hadn’t thought about how far she’d have to travel underground, but if she’d had to guess, Roxana would’ve pegged the tunnel as no longer than the length of her block.

  Stupid assumption. Bootleggers didn’t care about her neighborhood. They wanted to come and go with booze. She had crawled at least halfway to downtown Louisville, scraping her knees and inhaling a metric ton of dirt, cursing the man she loved.

  Dirt stuck to her face and neck, sweat burned her eyes, and her racing heart needed a break. For the first time since she’d crawled into the wall, Roxana stopped. She tried to tuck her legs under her but didn’t have enough room to sit upright. Claustrophobia poisoned her perspective. “Pull yourself together.”

  She did. More or less, and exhausted, she sprawled on her stomach and listened. Spiker wouldn’t fit through the tunnel, though Jason had. Vanka would fit better than all of them but there wasn’t any way her high-priced outfit and killer heels would crawl what had to have been miles underground. “Where’s this stupid ladder?”

  Roxana barreled into the black hole, promising herself she’d almost reached the end. Go faster. Just a little further. Go, go—pain erupted on her head and ripped the air from her lungs. She pitched face-first and smacked against an old plank. If she hadn’t been in the dark, her vision would’ve dimmed. “Gah,” she finally managed and cupped her hands over the top of her skull.

  The lack of blood surprised her. The knot already rising on top of her head would be one for the record books. After another minute, she let her hands search the tunnel until she found the culprit. Part of an overhead slab broke. Its edge jutted low enough for her to clock her skull. “Maybe Jason could’ve added that to his note.”

  Then again, maybe it hadn’t been like that the last time Jason had crawled through. The possibility that the tunnel might collapse brought Roxana to her knees again. Woozy but determined to avoid death, she kept her head low and powered through.

  There had been several hard turns, giving her hope that she’d reached the dead end, and she had even been certain she’d passed other openings much like the one from her bathroom, but she couldn’t see anything except for the blood-red certainty that she’d didn’t know her man.

  Hot darkness wrapped its claustrophobic, possibly heartbroken claws around her chest and whispered that this was too much. That she’d run from one problem into the next, and now she’d die far too early, so much like her dad and brother.

  Even if Jason had used her in part of a masquerade, why would he send her into a tunnel to die? No matter how hard she clung to her anger, she couldn’t believe he would. Whoever he was, whatever he’d thought of her, she refused to fathom that she was the collateral damage Vanka had so casually mentioned.

  Roxana pushed onto her hands and knees and moved as quickly as she could manage. She deserved answers, and Jason deserved a big kick in the ass. He believed she could handle this, and of course she could, if for no other reason than to deliver that ass kick.

  Pinpricks of light from high above served as the only warning the tunnel was ending. Without sense of time or direction, Roxana finally had enough room to sit up and wasted only a few deep breaths before groping the wall.

  Her hand clipped against a metal bracket. She found another one several inches above the first. Calling the over-sized, uneven pieces of scrap metal a ladder was a stretch, but she shimmied up them like the ground might give way, trying not to think how high she’d climbed.

  Exactly as Jason detailed, a bag waited on a nail the size of a railroad spike. She lugged it onto her shoulder and pushed the manhole cover. The damn thing didn’t budge, and her heart seized. Jason’s warning came to mind. It might not move. Okay, so it hadn’t, and his suggestion to use her back and shoulder sounded simple. But, it wasn’t.

  Roxana teetered at the top of the miniature, underground silo and cursed physics. She tried to move it again. Nothing happened.

  “Time for Plan B.” Roxana slung the bag onto the spike and braced her left foot directly underneath it. So long as the wall remained intact, she wouldn’t plummet to her death. Carefully, she shifted her center of gravity over the black hole she’d climbed from and hesitantly let go of the ladder. Her so-so leg strength managed to keep her in place, and with her shoulder and hands, she pushed into the manhole cover.

  A crescent of light broke as dirt showered the tunnel and adrenaline surged in her veins. She didn’t pull back until blinding sunlight burst through. The hot summer day felt like a blast of co
ol air. Only giving herself a second to catch her breath, Roxana pushed the manhole cover over enough that she could throw her bag out and then crawl through.

  She found herself on hands and knees in the grass. Roxana glanced at a section of picnic tables and a bewildered couple. They didn’t say a word, and she didn’t have the energy to do anything more than sprawl forward, arms and legs out as if she were trying to make a snow angel in the grass, face-first on a summer day.

  “Are you okay?” a woman called.

  That was probably her cue to keep moving. Roxana rolled over and lifted a weak thumb up toward the benches.

  The woman tried again. “Are you sure?”

  “Probably,” she tried, her voice hoarse. Roxana swiped her hand over her sweat-slicked face and scraped away a layer of dirt. “Who knows.”

  The women approached as if she might be a crash-landed alien. The last thing Roxana needed was to cause a scene, but if she didn’t say something, they might call the police to report… hell, she didn’t know what they’d say, but Roxana had to go.

  In the distance, she recognized a stone bridge, meaning somehow she’d found herself in the middle of Tyler Park. If that were correct, she’d gone at least a mile. Maybe two. She pushed onto her knees, and her legs shook.

  One of the women approached with her phone in hand. “Honey, are you hurt?”

  “I’m okay. Thanks.” Roxana glanced at her dirt-streaked arms and legs. “Just took a wrong turn somewhere.” She stood up. “Is this Tyler Park?”

  The woman nodded and lifted her phone. “Can we call someone for you?”

  Who would Roxana call? Hagan and Jason were the people she trusted. Not so much anymore. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “If you change your mind…”

  “Thanks.” Roxana hooked the backpack’s straps over her shoulders and took off without a clear plan in mind. The only objective she had was to add distance between herself and her house, as well as the manhole cover.

  She found her bearings and tried to hustle but could barely walk. Jason’s backpack weighed her down, and after crawling underground for what felt like hours, her body felt like a beached whale carrying a heavy bag while wearing roller skates.

  How would Jason find her? Better question, after today, why would she want him to find her? Answers, she reminded herself.

  Without money or her car, she was on foot and in need of a place to hide out. Cherokee Park came to mind. She stayed on the side streets then cut down the alleys behind Bardstown Road until she reached the park.

  Roxana scanned the wide-open entryway and decided, not that she knew much about strategic advantages, that she’d chosen the best location she could, given her circumstances. If Spiker and Vanka tracked her to Cherokee Park, they’d likely be in a car. Roxana would stay away from the drivable loop. If they—or maybe just Spiker, considering Vanka’s footwear—were on foot, Roxana could position herself on top of one of the long, rolling hills. Even if Spiker and Vanka split up, approaching from opposite directions, Roxana could see them before they spotted her.

  Actually, that was a pretty good plan. She gave herself a mental pat on the back then hoofed around the park until she located the best spot.

  Behind the protective, yellow flowering of an overgrown lady’s slipper bush, Roxana collapsed and smiled. Perhaps she had some of the same superhero genetics in her DNA as her brother.

  The park was quieter than she’d expected. The heat and humidity levels had to be record-shattering. The late afternoon sun baked an empty swing set. No one roamed with their dogs or played ultimate frisbee on the hill. After another inspection of her surroundings, she felt secure enough to unzip the bag and snoop.

  The contents mirrored the emergency preparedness box that Jason keep stocked and ready in her house and car. Roxana assumed they’d prepared for a tornado, but apparently his forward thinking readied for armed hostage takers. So much for the naive belief that her man was a stable, sane creature who was nothing like her brothers.

  What else had Jason hidden in plain sight around her house? Had he painted Morse code in the trim in her bedroom? Imprinted secret messages on a beer bottle?

  No matter what else he’d done in her house, he’d thought to pack her a bottle of water and Gatorade chews in the event she had to run for her life. She cracked the bottle open and took a long drink before digging into the candy-like electrolytes. Orange wasn’t her favorite flavor. Something he should’ve known, but she didn’t care, no matter how much she tried.

  In fact, everything about the bag should’ve made her even angrier. Its very existence was proof they shouldn’t have even dated, much less fallen in love—if Jason really ever had.

  Her throat knotted as she combed through the bag for answers, haphazardly examining a packaged emergency blanket. Why had he signed off with “I love you” if their relationship was fake? Roxana tossed the blanket aside and refused to read good intentions into his deceptive plan.

  A granola bar caught her eye, but after inspecting the unappetizing wrapper, she moved on for medical supplies to help the knot on her skull. If Jason could produce an escape tunnel on demand, he could’ve packed an instant ice pack. But no. Roxana gave in to her swimming headache and leaned back. The clouds floated through the sky as the sun inched westward on the windless afternoon.

  Roxana startled then realized she’d dozed off. The bright sky was now darkening. She didn’t remember shutting her eyes, just that it hadn’t been twilight yet. Summer days were long, and she didn’t wear a watch, usually relying on her phone to tell the time, and she didn’t know how long she’d been out.

  Insects chirped and sang, and a bat flapped from side to side in the darkening sky. She itched a mosquito bite and glared at the empty bottle of water and Gatorade chew wrappers. She hadn’t been hungry earlier as much as she’d felt dehydrated, but now her brain, accustomed to her cushy life and plentiful snacks, worried about starvation.

  The insects’ song wavered. A shiver crawled down her spine. Roxana’s senses jumped to high alert. She didn’t hear a soul, but in the dimming purple light, she couldn’t see far. Still, she knew something had stirred.

  “Roxana.”

  Jason’s voice ran over her as if he’d wrapped her in his arms, safe sanctity from the nightmare day. She jumped to her feet. Every sore muscle protested with a warning that he couldn’t be her saving grace. Jason had caused her hell.

  He stepped from the shadows with his palms up as if warding off the impending fight. He came closer, and she backed until the lady’s slipper bushes pressed into her legs. Roxana needed his comfort, to feel him wrap her against his chest and hide her from the world. But that was impossible. She didn’t know this man.

  “How did you find me?” The ragged edge in her tone surprised both of them. Jason’s retreating step empowered her fury. “Who the hell are you?”

  “There’s a tracker in the bag…”

  “Of course.” She rolled her eyes. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “More importantly,” he continued, “I’m the same person you’ve always known.”

  “Liar.”

  He stepped closer. “I’ll explain everything.”

  “No shit, but that doesn’t change who you are.”

  He glanced at her hands as if to make sure she still wore her engagement ring. “We’ll go someplace safe. You can clean up, eat—”

  Reflexively, her right hand covered her left, confused that removing her ring hadn’t occurred. “You can’t just swoop onto my hill and act like a shower and burger can fix this.”

  He eyeballed their surroundings. “You want to stay here? Fine.”

  “I want to—” Roxana threaded her hands into her dirty, tangled hair. “I want to scream at the top of my lungs!”

  “Then scream, babe. If that’s what you need—”

  Roxana lunged and pounded her fists against his chest as if a temper tantrum could erase the pain. Jason didn’t move until her exhausted arms hung by
her side. Hot tears slid over her cheeks. The last thing she wanted to do was cry, but hell if she could stop her falling emotions.

  The protective weight of his arm wrapped her to his heart as if he worried he’d never hold her again. Jason rested his lips against her dirty hair and inhaled so deep his chest expanded. “I’m sorry.”

  Roxana pinched her eyes shut and didn’t know if his words meant anything. “Who are you?”

  Jason pulled back and cupped her face. “The guy you’ve always known.”

  “No.” She didn’t want to hear that. Roxana needed the harsh, life-altering truth. “I fell in love with a normal person. An accountant.”

  The corners of his lips quirked.

  She smacked his chest. “Do not laugh or smile. This isn’t funny.”

  “Babe—”

  “An accountant,” she repeated as if he’d missed it the first time. “No one on earth dreams of falling in love with a damn accountant except for me. That was supposed to be you—” She poked him in the chest. “And you’re a… a whatever you are.”

  “An operative.”

  Roxana pushed out of his hold. “No!”

  His eyebrow crooked.

  “You don’t get to waltz up my hill and drop some boring, nondescript word like operative, when your job caused someone to point a gun at me.”

  Tension ticked in his jaw. His dark blue eyes were shadowed by the falling night, but Roxana could see their explosiveness. Mentioning the gun cranked Jason to a blistering level. “I use a boring, nondescript word to describe an ugly but required position.”

  Roxana threw her aching arms into the air and shook her hands toward the heavens. “I mean, for God’s sake, are you a fucking hit man?”

  “No.”

  Her hands dropped at the composed way he handled her insane question. “Have you ever killed someone?”

  “Yes.” The lack of emotion in his voice made her knees buckle, and he caught her before she landed in a bush. “But that’s not what I do.”