She tugged on his hand, whispering, “We can’t talk in here.”
He understood her apprehension but wasn’t going to let that stop him. “We aren’t—we are just passing through.”
“Passing through to where?”
“A quiet place to talk.” Still holding her hand, he led her through the long room, then pulled the shelf away from the wall. As he opened the door in the wall and stepped through it, he said, “It’s safe. I promise. Just dark, but I have a light.”
She shook her head.
“You’re used to sneaking around.”
Her lips pursed but she didn’t budge, until a thud sounded behind her.
Knowing someone was entering the storage room, he quickly pulled her forward, through the door and onto the top step of the short set of stairs leading to the tunnel. He pulled the shelf back in place and the door shut just as the door to the storeroom flung open.
The area was instantly dark. He released her hand and pulled out his flashlight and clicked it on, shone the beam upward, lighting up his and her faces as he held a finger to his lips.
Trepidation was in her eyes, on her face. He took ahold of her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, hoping that eased her fears. Hurting her physically was not in his plan, but he understood she didn’t know that.
A moment later, he heard the thud of the storage room door closing, and knew whoever had entered it had left it. He released the breath he’d been holding and handed her the flashlight.
“Hold this, please.”
She took the light and held it as he removed his jacket, stepped down the stairs, and tossed his jacket over the top two steps.
“There,” he said. “You can sit on that so you don’t get your dress dirty.”
“Sit on it why?” she asked.
He sat down. “So we can talk.”
“Where do these steps go?” she asked, holding the flashlight so the light shone down the long tunnel with wood-planked walls and a ceiling.
“It’s a tunnel.” There was no risk in telling her the truth. In fact, he was going to tell her plenty, and expected her to be just as truthful. “It goes for several blocks, through basements and under streets until it comes out at a house near the Santa Monica Mountains.”
“What house?”
“Just a house.”
She was still standing and shining the flashlight down the tunnel.
“No one knows about it but me.”
“Why?” She shone the light on him. “Why are you the only one to know about it?”
“Because I work for the government—the government owns the house.” Just like he’d been a ward of the government. The day he’d been adopted, he’d thought that would end for him. It had in some ways, but not in others. He’d been fifteen when John and Esther Randall had adopted him from the orphanage. A shocking event because no one wanted older children. The headmistress had tried to convince them otherwise, stating a younger child would be much more suitable, but the Randalls had insisted he was who they wanted.
He had soon discovered why. John Randall had needed an experiment, and due to his academic grades during his time at the orphanage, he’d been exactly what John Randall had been looking for. Instrumental in starting a newly formed junior college in Virginia, John had wanted proof that this new opportunity at higher education was exactly what the majority of the youth in America needed. What better proof than a son?
So Henry had gone from living behind the walls of an orphanage to living behind the walls of a college. In truth, there wasn’t much difference.
Then he’d gotten a job for the government. In the Department of Justice, as an intelligence agent. For him, the circle of life, all included the government.
“The government?” She shone the light back down the tunnel. “I know that house.”
“You do?” He hadn’t expected that, but should have. Being an agent, the mole could know about the tunnel and the house and could have told her.
“Yes. It’s abandoned. The windows are boarded up.”
He patted the jacket he’d laid over the steps. “Sit down so we can talk.”
She was still uneasy, but sat and scooted close to the wall.
“The original owner of the house, a mob boss, had it built so he had an escape route if his business was raided.” He shifted slightly, leaned a shoulder against the wall behind him as he continued, “He owned this joint at the time. It wasn’t the Rooster’s Nest then, and this tunnel is exactly how he was busted. Prohibition agents discovered it and raided his house and business at the same time.”
“How did they discover it?”
He kept his eyes on her, watching for her reaction, as he said, “An insider.”
Her face scrunched up as she frowned. “What’s that?”
A tiny tingle raced over his shoulders. She either truly didn’t know or was a very good actress. “An insider?”
“Yes.”
“Someone who is privy to information and, at times, provides it to someone else who shouldn’t have it,” he explained, watching for her reaction.
“Oh.” She bowed her head and huffed out a breath. “Is that how you learned about me and my sisters? An insider?”
Sisters? He leaned the back of his head against the wall and let that sink in. Sisters... The woman she’d met on the road to the beach? “Were your sisters in Seattle with you?”
She still hadn’t looked up. “No, it was just Mother and I.” Shaking her head, she let out a very sad-sounding sigh. “When I came home, I promised my sisters I’d never leave them again.”
Mother? How many other people were involved in this? Or was that why she was involved, to protect her family from the mole? “Why?”
There were tears welling in the bottoms of her eyes as she looked at him. “Because of our father and his strict rules. He keeps all three of us locked up like Rapunzels. That’s why we
