go looking for a basement. He would have realized it was the only way she could have gotten in.
Well, if he was coming from below, she’d just try to get out through the stone wall. There’d been a crowbar among the flashlights. She exchanged it for the flashlight in her hand, but left the light shining on the floor. Next, she took a big two-handed swing at the wall, hoping a big chunk would break away, but it was like banging against concrete. The force got absorbed into the bones of her arms and she nearly dropped the bar. But there was no time to recover. She had to move fast.
She jammed the sharp end under the lip of a stone and pushed down. The edge of the stone broke off. The mortar hardly gave up any dust.
She tried the same spot again, struck the mortar to get under the stone a little better, but the stuff wouldn’t give. She turned around. Found another shadowy spot. Jammed the crowbar into it, but nothing held. The only thing the crowbar was good for was making noise. She would have pounded on the wall in frustration, but pain still ricocheted in her arms from that first blow.
I’m such a wuss.
But no. The crowbar couldn’t damage the wall, but it could damage something else!
She toed the flashlight so it was up against the stones. The light made a little circle that only stretched about six inches up the wall, but it was enough to keep her from freaking. Then she lifted the curved part of the bar over her right shoulder and held on with both hands, like a golf club. Whether it was a gun or a head that lifted up the plug, she was ready to swing.
CHAPTER TWO
Jules waited forever.
Maybe the guy was lost in the dark.
She considered climbing out, but she couldn’t risk dropping into the killer’s arms. And there weren’t any other places to hide. If there’d been room for her down the hall, the old broads wouldn’t have made her climb into the tomb. If she stayed, it was just a matter of time.
She closed her eyes and prayed, like she hadn’t prayed for years.
“Dear God, I’d even give up my revenge if you could just get me out of this.” And since who knew when she’d ever get the chance to pray again, she added, “And I’d give just about anything for a lovely Highlander, just like that Ross guy. Amen.” Too bad the last part would have been an easier miracle to pull off than the first.
Jules opened her eyes and realized the flashlight had died. Before she could start feeling around for another one, there was movement. Someone was in the room below her. Orange light filtered around the edges of the wooden plug. Apparently it hadn’t fit as snugly as she’d thought. There was a heavy thump. The barrel? Or a body? She would peak through a gap, but a bullet in the face would be just too painful.
The man’s voice made her jump.
“God...or Jillian...if either of ye can hear me,” called the man from below. “I’m in sore need of a miracle if either of you have one to hand.”
Except for a florist in Queens, Jules hadn’t had anyone to speak Gaelic with since her mom had died. She assumed she’d forgotten most of it, but when the man had spoken, it was as if a file had opened on the computer screen of her mind. It was all there, just as she’d left it. Every word, every note of it, was tied to a memory of her mother. And if it weren’t for Jillian, her mother would still be alive.
But this was no time to turn up the flame under that particular pot. She would have plenty of time to deal with her Jillian issues when, or if, she survived the day. She mentally hit rewind and listened to the man’s words again.
It didn’t sound like something a hitter would say. Or an FBI agent.
Jules got down on the floor to take a peek. She hesitantly moved her head over the gap, still half-expecting to find herself staring down the barrel of a gun. Sitting on the keg below the hole, however, was a large blond guy with a heavy beard. His folded hands were empty, his head was tilted back, and his eyes were closed.