Page 74 of Preying Heart
Clinging to the sides of the cavern, I sneak forward into the dark, pissed that I didn’t bring a flashlight. Then again, any light I shine puts me in danger. My heart thumping so loud I can hear it echoing in the tunnel, I creep forward.
“Glock, come back here,” I whisper, knowing dogs have more sensitive hearing.
The scrabbling of dog nails on gravel and the shuffle of dirt and tiny rocks trickle ahead of me. I look over my shoulder and panic at how small the pinpoint of light at the entrance has gotten. I’m in too deep. The dust chokes me, and I keep hitting up against sticky webs and musty walls. What if there are bones buried here or lying across my path? What if I step on a rib cage? I hate enclosed areas. Why did Glock have to charge into the tunnel like a hero?
I turn around and pray that he’s okay. But I can’t help him. I can’t even see who I’m shooting at. My stomach feels like lead, and I’m swallowing my breaths, hoping to stay quiet over my pounding heart.
The walls are closing in, dank and cold, with each step I take. The gun shakes in my sweaty hand, and pinpricks chill the back of my neck.
Who else is in here?
A bloodcurdling scream shrieks, and I jump, hitting my head. My heart races for me to turn around and get out while I can. Run. But I can’t.
“Stop it. Help, help,” high-pitched voices shout. “Get him off me.”
There are no growls or sounds of a takedown. Glock is well trained and efficient. Except these sound like women.
Women can be bad, too, I remind myself. Look at Gavin’s wife, Claudia—a self-centered, entitled heiress who squashes the little people like bugs, firing servants at a whim and accusing my brother of assaulting her during the short-lived chauffeuring job I got him a couple months before accusing him again when he went to unclog her sink.
“Someone, help. Call off your dog,” a female voice pleads. “We need help. We’re the two missing sisters from the Nez Perce reservation.”
Can I believe them? What would Heath do?
But then, he wouldn’t be afraid of them, would he?
“Who are you looking for?” I ask.
“The man named Tristan,” a wobbling voice answers between sobs. “He helps people like us. We got away from a hunting hotel.”
“Glock, come back here.” I don’t know if he’ll listen to me. “Are you two hurt? Did he bite you?”
“No, he scared us,” the first woman answers.
They’re breathing hard and sniffling as they shuffle over the rubble. Glock gets to me first, and I feel the lick of his tongue on my hand.
“Good dog.” I pet him.
“Were you followed?” I ask the women.
“They sent men out to track us, and dogs, too, but Grandma showed us the underwater entrance.” The first woman arrives at my side, breathing hard. “My name is Jodi and she’s Pearl.”
“He—Tristan will be back.” I keep the gun pointed down. “You’re safe here if they didn’t follow you.”
Obviously, if the men had marked the spot, we’re all toast, but it does no good to worry them. Glock leads the way back. Jodi is limping and Pearl has two black eyes. They are littered with bruises and they shiver in their wet and torn nightgowns. The flip-flops they’re wearing give scant protection to their bleeding feet, but it’s better than nothing.
I let Jodi lean against me as I help her up the rocky path to the Fortress.
Heath is back, unloading his truck. Glock bounds up to him. I expect him to bark the way dogs do in movies. Bark and then try to lead him back toward us. He can’t see us because we’re below him, screened by bushes.
“What is it, buddy?” His voice booms down toward us.
I wave and yell, “Over here. Need some help.”
Jodi is barely able to walk, and she collapses onto a log while Pearl shouts, “Are you Tristan Summer? We got away from the hunting hotel up near Branch Junction.”
“Remi?” Heath barrels down the path. “What happened?”
“They came through the mine. Glock found them.”
