Page 104 of One Last Stand

Fraser had moved down the hallway, into the shadows, and York had taken a position on the balcony, also firing.

Shep yanked London down behind the other sofa.

“I saw this being not quite so epic,” he said.

And then York came careening through the window. “Grenade!” He rolled into the hallway just as the entire balcony exploded. Shep threw himself over London as rock and metal and glass pelleted the room.

The chandelier shook in the ceiling and fell, crashing, as he covered their heads. A thousand tiny shards shattered through the room.

“We need to move,” London said, and lifted her head.

He got up, but she scrambled to her feet faster and grabbed his hand, pulling up her silly dress with the other—“C’mon!”

She fled down the hallway where Fraser had gone, where York had already rolled to his feet. Below them, in the stairwell, gunfire pinged. And she headedtowardit.

“What are you doing?” He reached to stop her, but she lit out across the landing. It turned into a walkway that faced an open cavern, and on the other side—the cave entrance. A black yawn in the rock.

The tunnels York loved so much.

Moose could pick them up on the other side.

“I’m headed into the caves,” Shep said into his headphones.

London had already grabbed Shep’s hand. She was breathing hard, didn’t look so great.

“You okay?”

“You came for me.”

Uh,yeah.“I did.”

“Help is coming. I didn’t believe her.”

“Let’s go!”

Behind him, another explosion destroyed the stairs, dust and wood and clutter clogging their escape.

Gunshots on the lower levels.Please, God, keep Fraser and York alive.

But he didn’t look back as he and London ran into the darkness.

* * *

“Wait—wait!”Shoot,she didn’t want to slow them down but—“I think I have a sliver.”

He turned, frowned at her. “A what?”

London couldn’t have let go of Shep’s hand if she’d wanted to he gripped it so tight. And maybe she gripped it back just as tightly. She kept replaying the moment when he’d burst into the room.

She’d been so sure that Ziggy might die, right there next to her on the floor.

All of it had happened so fast—and now . . . now they were tromping through a cave, Shep’s headlamp—the man was a Boy Scout, no matter what he said—leading the way. He didn’t even seem rattled.

As usual.

He hadn’t even, after the quick study of her exterior, tried to kiss her. Then again, the castle had been exploding around them.

Eight hundred fifty years of history, gone.

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