Page 73 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

“If they catch her—”

But Peter was already moving. “See you back in wonderland, Alice,” he said to Stokes as he disappeared into the dark. “Don’t be late.”

***

For once, it wasn’tthe darkness or confining walls that had Georgia frightened half to death. It was an unhappy, armed terrorist wandering around, only a few feet away, looking for something. Probably her.

He’d gone down the hall leading to the fuse box, his footsteps echoing softly back to her. A door closed with a dull thud. Then, about twenty seconds later, another one. He was systematically searching rooms. Fear closed a tight fist around her heart.

What were the chances that he’d overlook the cubbyhole under the stairs? Minus twelve thousand and thirty-six?

She had to get out of there and back to the wine cellar before he got any closer.

She heard him open a door and walk into another room. This one was close enough that she could see the reflection of light from his flashlight off the walls.

It was now or never.

Georgia crawled out, ignoring the chador bunching under her knees, took a deep breath, and made the first step in what she hoped would a quiet but mad dash down the opposite hallway.

The staircase above her head creaked and she froze. A soft whisper of fabric and a second creak told her that someone was sneaking down to the basement. She forcibly calmed her breathing and kept very, very still. The thud of a door closing made whoever was tiptoeing down the steps stop. The echo of the terrorist’s footsteps from the hall got louder and louder, and the bright beam of his flashlight heralded his imminent return.

There could only be three possible kinds of people on the stairs. A terrorist, who wouldn’t have bothered to be quiet. An escaped hostage, who wouldn’t know to be quiet. Or, one of the SEALs, or Peter, who didn’t do anything but be quiet. Georgia bet on the last one.

The approaching terrorist would take one look then shoot and yell, or yell and shoot. Either way, he was going to raise an alarm to his fellow bad guys and possibly injure or kill the person standing frozen a foot above her head.

Georgia eased back under the stairs just as the terrorist walked into the open area near the foot of the staircase. In one hand she held her rock a bit tighter, adjusting her grip on it slightly so that it was comfortable in her palm. The terrorist shone his flashlight at the stairs and walked forward, calling to whomever was standing there.

The terrorist paused. Georgia watched his eyes widen as he realized it wasn’t one of his comrades. He inhaled a deep breath and lifted his weapon.

That’s what Georgia was waiting for, for his focus to be on the newcomer. She rushed out from behind the staircase with her arm raised high, closed her eyes, and bashed the terrorist hard on the head with the rock.

He didn’t make a sound, but fell to his knees, his rifle and flashlight clattering on the floor. Georgia raised the rock again and prepared herself to strike him a second time if he tried to get up.

A shadow slid in front of her, blocking the terrorist from view. She couldn’t see clearly who it was, but he grappled with the downed man for a scant couple of seconds before the terrorist lay still on the floor. The shadow reached over, grabbed the rifle and flashlight, and shone the latter at her.

She shaded her eyes from the glare.

“Georgia, I should paddle your behind,” Peter said in a gruff voice.

“Peter,” Georgia whispered. Relief flooded her system and before she knew it, she was hugging him. His arms came around her with startling speed and held her so close it hurt to breathe. Then he pulled away slightly, tilted her chin up with one hand and pressed his lips to hers in a brief, but powerful kiss.

He set her away, pointed the flashlight at the sprawled terrorist and looked critically at the man’s head. “What did you do to him?”

“I hit him with this,” Georgia held out her rock with a touch of pride.

Peter glanced at it, his mouth tightening into a thin line, and shook his head. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before someone else comes along for you to attack.” He shouldered the rifle, grabbed her arm and pulled her along with him as he strode toward the wine cellar.

“Wha— Hey!” Georgia sputtered. “He would have shot you. I thought you’d be grateful.”

“I am, I was also scared to death one of the terrorists would find you before I did.”

The raw fear in his voice made her pause and remember how she felt when she was waiting alone in the tunnel.Terrified for him.

“I had to do it,” she whispered. “I had to help.”

He stayed silent as he followed her into the wine cellar then into the tunnel, closing the door behind him.

She walked down the dark narrow passageway until she turned the first corner.

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