her file and wondered how anyone—let alone a well-meaning citizen—could possibly have the patience and determination to sit at a computer for eighteen hours chasing down a criminal hacker. Now he was beginning to see. “The feds have people chasing the money. All you need to focus on is staying alive long enough to testify.”
Gunfire erupted somewhere to their right. He could hear the voices of US marshals shouting. Sounded like hostiles were about to breach the house. Then he heard a familiar voice coming down the hall. He stepped through the door, keeping Celeste safely behind him.
“Karl!” he called, relief filling his chest as his eyes fell on the familiar form. “I have Celeste! I’m taking her out through the underground passage. I’ve called for backup and I’ll get in touch once we’re safe.”
“Thank You, God,” Karl prayed. He said, “You’re a sight for sore eyes. We have four hostiles on the perimeter. Stacy is holding down the front door. Communication’s down.” Gunfire grew louder. Stacy’s voice echoed through the darkness, calling for Karl. “Stay safe.”
“You, too.”
Karl turned and ran toward the front of the house. Jonathan reached for Celeste’s hand, enveloped it in his and ran down the hallway. They pushed through a door into a large country kitchen. He closed the door behind them, then glanced down at the woman whose small hand had slid so naturally into his. He dropped her hand, an odd heat rising to his face. Now why had he done that? They started across the kitchen floor toward the cellar. Suddenly the door behind them flew back. A thin man in a dark ski mask burst through with a gun in his grasp. Celeste screamed. The man set her in his sights and fired. But Jonathan had thrown himself between Celeste and the gunman before the bullet could meet its mark. They tumbled to the ground as he heard the bullet strike the wall behind them.
Jonathan rolled up to one knee and returned fire. The gunman fell back behind the door. “Celeste! Get behind the counter and stay low!”
Jonathan gritted his teeth and braced his hand against the wooden floorboards. There was no way to reach the cellar now, not without running straight into the line of fire. Even if they managed to make it, they’d tip the criminal off about where they were going and there’d be nothing to stop him from following. He’d spent the first eighteen years of his life in a huge country kitchen like this one and now he was going to die in one, trying to protect a woman he’d barely met and yet who had already managed to tug at strings he hadn’t even known he had. Another bullet flew through the kitchen door, shredding the corner of the countertop and sending wood chips flying. Suddenly he knew their way out.
“Celeste! There’s a pantry behind you. Crawl inside and wait for me there.”
“Got it!” She started crawling, and he followed, keeping low to the ground. They reached the pantry and slipped inside. He closed the door behind them and pushed a shelf against it.
“Now, stand back,” he said. She pressed her back against the wall, whispered words tumbling from her lips. The tension in his heart tightened to realize she was praying, and when he spoke again his voice felt oddly husky in his throat. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay. There’s more than one way into the cellar.”
He holstered his weapon, bent down and felt with his fingers along the floorboards. Then he pulled out his pocketknife and slid the blade between the head of one of the loosest nails and the well-worn wood. Within moments he’d worked it free. He moved on to the next. All he had to do was remove two boards and that should be enough for them to slip through. Voices shouted in the kitchen beyond them. Sounded like the gunman had been joined by a second. He worked the board loose and pried it back. Then he grabbed the one beside it and yanked it off, as well. A hole lay at their feet. It was a crude means of escape and once someone checked the pantry it would be clear where they’d gone, but hopefully it would buy them enough time to get a head start.
“I’m going to jump down now,” he said. “It’s only about eight feet. When I call you I need you to jump in after me and I’ll catch you. Okay? Trust me. I’ll keep you safe.”
He reached for her again. He felt her fingers slide between his and squeeze. Then he pulled away.
“Ready?” he asked. She nodded. He dropped through the hole and tumbled into darkness.
Celeste crouched by the hole and waited for Jonathan to give her the all clear. There was a scuffling sound beneath her like something falling. Then there was silence. The kitchen door slammed back on its hinges. Loud footsteps sounded as a second person stormed into the room.
“She ran in here!” It was a male voice, raspy and hoarse.
“And you opened fire?” A second male voice let out a string of swear words. This voice was cold and sharp, like the sound of a knife slicing through wood. “What are you doing? I need her alive!”
Alive. Something about that one simple word and the menace with which it was delivered made her limbs shake. She bent down lower, bracing her quaking hand against the wood, waiting for the sound of Jonathan’s words telling her it was safe to jump.
Lord, You’ve been my light and my guide no matter how rocky things got. Please guide me now.
“Where did she go?” The commanding voice was back.
“I don’t know!”
Then came the sharp beam of light swinging back and forth in the dim kitchen, sending sudden bursts of glaring white light shining through the gap between the door and the door frame, blinding her eyes for a moment before swinging around the kitchen again. She peered out through the tiny gap. The man who’d been shooting at them had rolled up his ski mask. Not much, but enough for her to see he was grizzled, probably in his early sixties, with the kind of broken nose that had been punched more than once and a scar down one side of his jaw, breaking up the gray-and-white stubble.
“Well, find her! I’m not paying for nothing!”
Paying? Who was this second man? Why did he need her alive? What did he think he was paying for?
“I’m ready for you! Time to jump.” Jonathan’s voice floated up through the hole.
She hesitated. She needed to see that man’s face. Just for a moment. She needed to know who was giving the instructions and who Dexter Thomes had sent after her.
“Come on!” Jonathan’s voice grew firmer. “We’ve got to go.”
She stretched her legs slowly, her hand inching up the door frame as she slowly got to her feet. She could see the man’s legs now, clad in jeans and a dark jacket. Shaggy brown hair fell around his shoulders. He wasn’t wearing any kind of mask, almost like he wanted his face to be seen.
Just one glance. That was all she needed. Just a little bit more data to complete the picture.
“Celeste!” Jonathan hissed. Urgency strained the marshal’s voice. “Hurry up!”
The figure turned. She recoiled, wondering for a moment if he’d somehow managed to hear Jonathan’s whisper above the ruckus of gunfire and shouting outside. The man’s eyes seemed to lock on her hiding place and suddenly she saw his face, with its shaggy beard, blue-tinted glasses and squinting
