Page 26 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

“Where is this tunnel?” Georgia asked. It seemed too fantastic to her that there would even be such a thing, but Peter said there was one and Uncle Theo had ordered her to do what he said so—

“I don’t exactly know where it is,” he answered evasively, looking around.

“You don’t?”

“I have a good idea, though.”

“How good an idea?”

“I know it’s in a wine cellar somewhere.”

He didn’t even know where this stupid tunnel was. Wonderful. Great.Fantastic.

Georgia glared at him.Really? She’d been talked into this half-baked escape on the strength of arumor.

“No one ever mentioned this escape tunnel,” Georgia said, letting her frustration leak into her voice. She was talking in a whisper, but it was an angry one. “Not the security people, not even my uncle. And I’ve never heard anyone else mention it as a rumor, either. I don’t think anyone knows about it.” She paused to catch her breath...and retain a hold on some semblance of logic. “If that’s the case, it’s well hidden, and we don’t exactly have a lot of time to find it.”

“Take it easy.” Peter’s voice was calm and firm. “We’ll find it. No one’s probably noticed it before because they weren’t looking for it. We are.”

“Fine. Ok. I suppose that makes sense.” Georgia paused to rub her eyes. “I can’t believe I just said that.” She dropped her hands and glowered at him. “Here we are, stuck in a basement, hiding from terrorists that are only hours away from killing us. Their fingers are on the trigger for a bomb that could turn this entire city into a crater, and you want to play find the hidden treasure?”

There were so many other things she’d rather be doing. Laundry, cleaning her bathroom, kissing him. She really, really wanted to kiss him again. But she couldn’t tell him that. He’d made it clear that the likelihood of that happening was about one million to one.

“You are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met,” she said instead.

“Hmm. That’s odd. Normally I inspire the opposite reaction in women.” He shrugged and patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. When this is all over, I give you permission to deck me.”

“I beg your pardon?” He was starting to sound like a man who’d had three too many fanciful notions and was now believing his own press. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Doesn’t it?”

She narrowed her eyes. He was smiling. The ass was smiling at her. “Actually, yes it does. I think I’ll enjoy punching you in the nose.”

“Good. Keep that in mind. If that’s what it takes to make you happy then I shall sacrifice my perfect nose for the cause.” The hand on her shoulder moved to pat her cheek, like she was some good little girl following the rules.

“Perfect, ha.” Georgia muttered under her breath. “I think someone beat me to the punch.” If he heard her, he didn’t show it. She sighed. “Lead the way.”

A minute later, they came to a large heavy wood door.

Peter grabbed the door handle and pulled. It was pitch black inside. He flipped a switch. Light glinted off hundreds of shiny surfaces. Bottles. In every size and color.

He let her slide inside then closed the thick door. “Come on, you take that side of the room,” he pointed to the left. “And I’ll take this side.”

***

Peter turned away tosurvey his side of the room. They didn’t have a lot of time to find this escape tunnel. He sure as hell didn’t trust In-Charge to stick to his six-hour deadline. In fact, Peter was certain he’d do something before then and they had to be long gone by that time. He didn’t want to think of what would happen to Georgia if they got caught trying to escape. Hell, he knew damn well what they’d do. Rape then kill her. He’d have to watch. Then they’d shoot him in the head or in the chest or some other place. It didn’t matter where. The end result would be the same—he’d be dead, and she’d be dead.

He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t. He’d get Georgia out, then he could come back with some special ops team of Rangers, Special Forces, or Navy Seals, disarm the nuke, and retake the embassy. The tunnel would make that otherwise difficult operation possible.

But first they had to find the damn tunnel.

It was a big room. Airy and cool. Racks filled with bottles not only lined the walls but stood at regular intervals throughout the room in a maze-like starburst pattern. How did anyone find anything in here?

The floor was made of concrete and painted pale beige. No marks marred its surface anywhere that he could see. Peter tested one of the bottle racks, giving it a hard shove. It didn’t budge. It must be made of solid oak, heavy stuff. He moved over to the wall, looking at all the racks closely, jiggling them to make sure they were just as immovable as the first one.

“I’m not having any luck,” he said over his shoulder to Georgia as he reefed on another rack. “How about you?”

“Nothing.”

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