tongue shaping easily to the Scot’s language. A muscle memory. “A hitman is coming! He’ll kill us both. Now hide!”
The blond jumped to his feet but didn’t go anywhere. In fact, he peed his pants—or he would have, if he’d been wearing any. From Juliet’s viewpoint she could only see the man’s kilt and the puddle beneath him expanding. Thank goodness for a dirt floor. His boots got it, though—probably because he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the hole.
“Sorry I scared you,” she called. “But you need to hide. You don’t want this guy to find you. He’s a killer. Go!”
The man didn’t budge. “Jillian?”
Jules was temporarily frozen by the fact that he’d mistaken her for that woman, but she shook it off.
“No, I’m not Jillian. It’s God. Now go!”
The man burst out laughing. “Oh, Jillian. I’ve missed ye. Come down and give us a kiss before Monty can stop it.”
“I tried to warn you, you idiot. Not my fault if you won’t hide.”
Juliet didn’t want to see this strange Scot or anyone else get killed because of her. Maybe if she removed the plug she could drop down on the hitter and knock his weapon away. Or maybe it wasn’t too late for the big lug to climb up inside with her. The hole might not be big enough for him, but they could at least try.
She tried to move the plug, but it only wobbled, even when she used the crowbar. She needed light, so she felt around for the little pile of supplies. It had to be there somewhere, but she kept missing it. She was so turned around she couldn’t remember which direction she’d been facing before the sneeze, but the flashlights were gone—even the one that had died.
Which is impossible.
Finally, she found a handle. It turned out to be a hammer. Then she found a small tin cup, a couple of candles, a leather bag with a cork in it, but nothing she remembered seeing when she’d had a flashlight. The hammer wouldn’t get the plug out of the hole any better than the crowbar, but at least it was another weapon.
The little room lightened and she turned back to the plug, to find that it had been removed. She was so surprised she nearly fell through the hole.
The light from below jumped and flared like firelight and the big blond stood directly beneath her, where the barrel had been, with his arms held out like he was planning on catching her. A large tree trunk was tipped against the wall behind him, next to the barrel. The end of it looked like it was just the right size to plug the hole. Maybe it was the source of the original plug.
The foaming puddle of urine was now only a shadow on the floor.
And still, the hitter hadn’t come.
She whispered, in case he was listening just outside the room. “When he comes in, I’ll jump on him and bash him with this hammer. Just don’t look up!”
The blond man’s face fell.
“No one is comin’, lass. Daniel’s guardin’ the steps. Ye’re safe, ye are. Now come down and give us a hug.” Again, he raised his arms.
Great. They were both going to die. Why couldn’t she have just backed up into the trees and waited Gabby’s man out? She had enough chocolate in her pockets to keep from starving, and she’d left a couple bottles of water against that stupid squirrel’s tree. She should have crawled back...but no, she’d frozen. She’d let fear cripple her and now she and at least two others would die for it—this one, and whoever Daniel was. Unless she could prove herself one last time and take the hitter down.
“I dinna ken what’s running through that head of yers, Jillian,” said the man. “But since you dinna seem to be goin’ anywhere else, ye may as well come doon.”
She’d never get the drop on the hitter with this big bear staring at her, and since it didn’t look as if he was going to listen to a word she said, she gave up.
“I’m not Jillian, by the way.” She dropped her legs through the hole and was caught against a large chest, then lowered to the ground. She stood on one foot, refusing to lower her stockinged foot to the ground until she had hopped side-ways away from the dark circle. Then she discreetly wiped one boot on the drier dirt.
“I don’t suppose ye brought along Monty darlin’?”
“No, I’m