lump in front of Trey.
After a deep breath, Sage grabbed the handle and yanked.
“It’s locked,” she groaned. “Antonia must have gone to the other side. We’ll have to double back.”
Trey took her hand before she could leave. He pulled her closer and she felt the warmth of his body, the scent of soap on his skin. Her pulse quickened.
“Hang on, there. I think I can help with this.” He fished something out of his pocket and bent over the lock, his back blocking her view. In a moment, he pushed the door open and turned to her with a cocky grin.
She gaped. “How did you do that?”
“I have skills.”
She raised an eyebrow.
He shrugged and held up the key ring. “Fred gave me a spare set so I could get in and check on the dog. He forgot to take them back.”
She grinned, her face unaccustomed to the expression. “So I guess you really do have skills.” For a moment, things were easy between them and she wondered what it would be like if he really was just a carpenter and she just a photographer meeting for the first time. Silly thought. Too much hurt. Too much anger. Her heart was a twisted, blighted thing that would not be salved by daydreams.
His grin turned serious, swallowed up as they stepped through the double doors into the tomblike darkness.
THREE
Trey felt a surge of cold air against his face as he eased open the door. Sage pressed against him and his breath caught. She felt just like he had imagined many times when she wasn’t aggravating him, soft and warm, like a delicious breeze trickling through an Arkansas summer day. He cleared his throat and pushed through the opening. Blackness enveloped them. He groped his way to the wall while Sage held the flashlight. The small glow did little to fend off the cavernous blackness.
“Gotta be a switch around here somewhere.”
“You haven’t been in this part of the theater?” she whispered.
“No. Fred knows it like the back of his hand, so he showed me the places I needed to see.” He found himself replying in an equally hushed voice. “Seems I was hired to repair the front lobby and that’s it. Got my orders not to explore except to check on Wally.”
Sage made a thoughtful sound. “That didn’t seem odd to you?”
“Not really. You can see the condition of this place. Not safe for a rat. Personally, I think it’s only suited to the wrecking ball.”
“Barbara doesn’t seem to think so. She’s paying you, so the Imperial must be good for something.”
He couldn’t read her expression, but he caught the tone. “As I said, I get paid through Rosalind, she’s the business manager, but if Barbara thinks there’s value here then I stand corrected. She’s smart. Figure it runs in your kin along with the stubborn streak and mouthiness.”
She huffed. “And I’m sure the women in your family are all delicate flowers.”
“Maybe I’ll tell you about my mom sometime,” he said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice that always kicked up when he considered his mother. Sage could learn a thing or two about quiet strength from her.
“I’m beginning to agree that this place may be beyond repair,” Sage said, her words swallowed up by the cavernous space.
“It’s a little late for that realization,” Trey said. Finally, his fingers found what he sought. He pushed up the lever and the overhead lights flicked on, at least the three that still had working bulbs.
The stage was empty in spots and crammed full in others with boxes piled into crazy stacks. Rising above the boxes was the massive wooden cutout of a clipper ship and several smaller bundles swaddled in sheets. “How did all this stuff get here?”
“The Imperial was purchased about twenty years ago by a man who sank a small fortune into mostly cosmetic repairs. They went bankrupt after only a few shows. Other people bought it, but most of the time it just sat here rotting until Barbara became involved.”
Trey whistled and the sound echoed strangely. “Wonder why the Longs would want to take on such an expensive wreck? Why not demolish and rebuild?”
“Barbara’s always been in love with architecture and the opera. This must have seemed like a dream opportunity for her when she married Derick and he bought it for her as a wedding gift.”
Trey heard the sad lilt in her voice. “An opera house is a pretty big gift. Why would he turn around a year later and make her disappear?”
Sage locked her eyes on his. “Things can change in a year.”
But some things don’t, he thought. Some things last, like faith and memories...and love, at least he used to think so. A restless feeling coursed through him. The darkness pressed in on them both until he could stand the inactivity no longer. He stepped forward, but Sage grabbed his wrist. He turned, struck by the way her hair shone, a strange luminosity granted by the eerie light. “Problem?”
“I did a little studying up on the theater.” She pointed to the floor. “There’s a series of trapdoors built into the stage, triggered by a lever system underneath.”
He squinted at the floor. “Don’t see any open ones.”
“Me neither, but this building has stood without any major repairs since 1919. That’s a lot of time gone by for things to rust and fail.”
He grinned.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“Risk assessment. You sound like a platoon leader.”
She shook her head. “Anyway, I don’t hear Antonia.”
He nodded. “Dust on the floor looks undisturbed here. Let’s check back by the rear entrance in case she made her way in that direction.”
Sage stepped in close behind him, her hand on his back as they crept around the perimeter toward the thick folds of curtains.
Something skittered by Sage’s feet and she jumped.
“Just a rat,” he said, repressing a shudder of his own. He’d die content never having to clap eyes on a rat again.
Her fingers clutched at his shirt, balling it up. A sensation on the back of his neck made him stop and pull farther into the velvet drapery.
“What is it?” Sage whispered, her breath tickling the side of his face.
What was it? Nothing concrete, just a feeling, a sensation of eyes following his progress. He looked up at the catwalk far above them. No sign of movement, but plenty of places to conceal a watcher. What for? If it was Antonia she had no cause to climb up the catwalk and even less to stay there and spy on them. So who would be watching? And why?
He shook his head. “Nothing, I guess.” The sad by-product of combat was the paranoia, the inability to fit properly into
