Page 121 of Scarlet Angel

Is that what she’s been saying to herself for this last stretch?

My lungs are on fire, as is my throat. Sweat drenches my shirt.

Thank god I didn’t install a gas line in the tunnel.

“What’s that?” Scarlet asks.

I slow, scanning past her. Ready to drop the bags and grab a gun.

The gaping black morphs into a shape. A door.

Thank the gods.We made it.

Scarlet reaches for the latch.

“No!”

She bends over, sucking in air through an open mouth.

The bright white light blinds me, and I hold a hand out, using the tote to block the glare.

“What’s wrong?”

The light flits away from my face, and I lower the bag.

“It’s too hot in here. The metal may burn your hand.”

I drop the bags, unzip one, and locate a pair of leather gloves. They're too small, and I tug at them.

Scarlet snatches them from me and hands me the mobile. The gloves are loose on her, but she can get them on all her fingers.

I pull out my handgun and stand by the door, holding the light so she can unlock the latch. The electricity must be completely gone, as the exit door is on manual overdrive, which is the emergency backup.

She pushes the door open, and a gust of cold, fresh air blows in.

“Wait.”

I step past her, gun raised, and scan the surroundings.

The desolate dirt road, lit only by the moon, evokes calm. A night owl screeches. The shadows of the forests blend into an eerie haze.

Down the road, a rusted vehicle sits on the side of the road. Leaves scatter over the hood, and there’s one broken limb over the roof, giving it the look of an abandoned vehicle. The dilapidated SUV is all part of the plan hatched years ago. The thought was that if someone wandered by the road, they wouldn’t give the clunker a second thought.

I kick the door open wider, and Scarlet grabs the totes, one in each hand. I close the door behind us, careful to kick some leaves back over the disturbed earth in front of the door.

Satisfied it’s not immediately noticeable that the door of the long-forgotten shack has been opened, I catch up with Scarlet, lifting one bag from her hand.

A single distant siren pierces the night air.

The explosions were massive. This time, we caught the attention of the authorities.

Scarlet helps me load the back with our bags. She gets into the front passenger seat, but I bend on my knees, checking the undercarriage. It’s dark, and the mobile light isn’t adequate.

“Get out,” I tell her.

“Is something wrong?”

“Being safe, love. Step back over by that tree. The big oak.”

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