Page 69 of Protecting Her Secrets

“Jesus, help me,” I mutter, too low for him to hear, even though we’re seated side-by-side in some kind of ATV. Between the engine, the sound of the weird triangle tracks moving over the snow and ground, and the 70s acid rock music he’s blasting, I could probably shout and it still wouldn’t compute.

At least this thing is enclosed with a hard top and plexiglass windows; all the ones I’ve seen on TV or on the side of the road at a dealership are open to the elements. I’m also grateful it has heat. Not so grateful about the radio or his choice of music, though.

“It’s just right over here.” He points at a clearing in the trees.

I nod, white-knuckling the sides of my seat and wishing Walker would’ve let me stay home today instead of hanging out with the thrill-seeking, slightly insane Rowan. I understand why, given the Broken Rebel sighting, but I’m not certain I’m on the same level as the man next to me, head-banging and belting the lyrics to a Whitesnake song.

Once we’ve broken through the trees, he skids to a stop and flips off the engine, gifting us with blessed silence. After grabbing the rifle he had wedged between us, he grips my forearm. “Stay put. I’ll come around.”

“O-okay,” I stutter, my nerves still fried.

Rowan jumps out of the vehicle, and with a seriousness I didn’t know he possessed, he walks the tree line, scouring for anything that might be amiss. From what Walker has told me, his crazy friend is well-educated, with a master’s in managementand analytics from NYU, but I haven’t gotten the story about how he ended up here and why he is the way he is.

“All right, it’s safe.” Rowan helps me out of the vehicle and then places my hand on his forearm so I have something to hold onto. It’s a sweet gesture I wasn’t expecting.

“What is this place?”

“It’s my underground bunker. Wait right here while I dig the snow away from the door.”

I rub my hands together in an effort to warm them while I watch him shovel snow from a cement rectangle surrounding a fortified steel door, all while I’m wondering if this is how I die. Surely Walker wouldn’t leave me with someone he doesn’t trust, but this is creepy as hell. I should’ve refused to come.

So far, Rowan has given me a tour of his cabin, which was actually pretty cool. He put two shipping containers together in an “L” shape, and one of the containers has a third stacked on top of it, making that section two stories. The roof of the other section must be accessible from up there because it has a plexiglass fence around it and looks like a deck with a fire pit and Adirondack chairs.

Of course, the interior is narrow, but he did a good job making use of the space he has. There’s a galley kitchen with solid surface countertops and newer appliances. A sink and cupboards are on one side, and the oven, refrigerator, and open shelving are on the other. In the living room, there’s a long sofa he tells me folds out into a bed, and across from that are custom built-ins framing a large flat screen.

There’s also a simple bathroom on the lower level with a glass-enclosed shower, toilet, stacked washer and dryer, and even more storage. Upstairs was my favorite, though. In the center of the back wall is a bed with the fluffiest looking black and white checkered bedding framed by custom built-ins as his closet. The wall with the stairs has a basic desk, and two ofthe other walls are decorated with what I assume is Ridge’s art. On the fourth wall, across from the bed, are two large windows flanking a glass door leading out to the deck I saw from below.

His home is so cozy; I was perfectly content sitting around and watching TV all day, but he had other plans. So far, he has shown me a deck he built on a cliff overlooking the valley where Culver Springs lies. Apparently, he likes to keep an eye on the town from up here, which isn’t creepy at all. And now, he’s showing me his bunker.

“That should do it.” He types in a string of numbers on an electronic pad, and the heavy door opens with a loud screech. Then, he dashes across the snow, and with one hand around my middle and the other holding my hand, he helps me along as if I’m an old woman. It’s endearing.

“Why do you have an underground bunker?” I ask, a shiver running up my spine as I stop at the top of a dark cement staircase.

“There are a lot of things the average person doesn’t know, and if you did, you’d want a safe place too,” he says cryptically.

“How did you find out about these secret things?”

He slides past me and takes my hand, leading me down the steps of doom. “I worked as a government analyst for eight years, specifically in counterintelligence, insider threats, and cyber threat intelligence. Let’s just say you are a hairpin trigger away from being blown to smithereens more than once a year. Globally, things are way more volatile than you’ll ever know.”

“Oh, right,” I say dumbly. “I was told you’re something of a conspiracy theorist.”

We stop at the bottom of the stairs, where there’s a control panel. Positioning himself in front of it so I can’t see, he types in a series of numbers and letters. An electric hum sounds as all the lights flip on, and I gasp, my eyes widening to saucers at what I see.

“There are worse things people could call me.” He motions around the room. “This is obviously the living room. Pretty badass, huh?”

Other than the steel dome ceiling, I’d never guess we’re underground. I pad across the wood floors, taking in the leather sofas, coffee table, and flat-screen TV. I’m in awe. This place is four times as big as his above-ground home.

“It looks like a regular house.”

“Yup. The entrance we came through is actually the emergency escape hatch. On the other side is a motor cave that can hold four vehicles, but that entrance is buried under snow currently.” He opens a door on the far side of the room. “Come on.”

The next room we enter is a full-size kitchen, complete with an island. “I was expecting one metal room half full of MREs and jugs of water.”

“The food and water is stored here, in the pantry.” He flips on a light to an adjoining room that has more canned food, water, and, yes, MREs than Rowan could eat in a year.

“Why so much?”

“Planning ahead. Right now, this is enough to feed four men for six months. But the next time I replace all this, I’ll make sure there’s enough for four men, one woman, and a baby.” He pulls out his phone. “Do you plan on breastfeeding, or should I buy formula?”

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