Born on the 4th of July - Heather Graham Pozzessere Page 0,13

making sure it never happened. First, they couldn’t have known they were kidnapping an FBI agent. They couldn’t know Adam would pull in every favor ever owed to him—and Jackson would pull the entire place down, brick by brick, to save them.

She thought she heard a movement near her. A soft moan.

Then, a whisper. “Stay down; he’s here.”

She heeded the warning.

Then she heard a voice. Someone on a cell phone.

“They’re both still out and no signs of labor from the trauma. We’ve just got to hold tight. Just give them what they want. They’ll go in the mausoleum. They still won’t find the entrance.”

The speaker was male. He let out a soft, throaty laugh.

“It’s best to just cooperate—give them anything they want.”

It was the man who had accosted her at the door when she’d started out of the cemetery’s office, Angela thought.

And it was all too clear. The owners or managers of the cemetery were complicit in an illegal adoption ring. They kidnapped the mothers until the infants were born and then . . .

Rid themselves of the liability.

The speaker walked away and still she waited.

Then she heard the whisper again.

“It’s all right.”

She opened her eyes. It was pitch dark, but she could just make out the form of a woman who knelt by the slab where she lay, barely a form, she could see through. She was dressed in period clothing, and her hair had been dark, her skin a silken ebony. She looked at Angela with anxiety and concern and added quickly, “I—you’re all right. You know I’m here and you’re—you’re not going to faint?”

Angela shook her head and whispered, “Where am I?”

“The tunnels. They were once part of the Underground Railroad. They lead to an old farmhouse the devil people own now.” She grimaced. “The tunnels became catacombs as well,” she said softly. “Many escaped and ex-slaves were interred down here together as families, and we were able to mourn our loved ones.”

“Oh,” Angela murmured. She tried moving her fingers and her limbs. She could move. She had a feeling Merissa Hatfield wasn’t as good at soaking a rag with knock-out chemicals as her accomplice seemed to be.

“Annie Green?” she asked.

“The other woman they took today?” her new friend asked.

Angela nodded and said, “I’m sorry. I’m Angela. And you’re--?”

“Jennie. Jennie Wilder. And your friend is right over there. She was dosed pretty heavily, but I’ve tried to assure myself she’s all right.”

Angela excused herself and crawled carefully off the slab where she had lain. It was so dark; a bit of light seemed to seep from two entrances, one far along to her right and another far along to the left.

She kept her hands in front of her, carefully moving toward a slab across the tunnel. She felt a body and knew it had to be Annie Green.

She found the woman’s wrist and checked for a pulse.

Thankfully, it was strong and steady.

“Annie, can you hear me? Can you hear me?” she asked anxiously.

There was no reply.

“Do you know how we can get out of here?” Angela asked, turning to seek out Jennie Wilder again.

“I do, but he’ll be coming back soon. He’ll have to make sure you’re still knocked out,” Jennie said.

“Thank you and thank you so much for your help. These people—”

“Yes. I know what they do. But I’ve been . . . no one could hear me before,” Jennie said.

Angela’s heart seemed to skip a beat. “How . . . many?”

“Over the last years? Two before you, and never two in a day. The tunnels twist and turn; there’s an entrance through one of the above ground tombs, too, and one at the back of the old rectory.”

“That’s how they got me here,” Angela murmured.

“Father Tony,” Jennie said. “He was a fine man. So many people lived because he was such a good man. He used the rectory to save people, and when the Rosser family had this beautiful place built, they were his friends and . . . they were brave people. They used this place to help others, and to give them rest when their lives came to an end. And these horrible people . . .”

“Jennie, we’ll stop them. But you must help me get out of here first. I don’t think I can escape trying to carry Annie; we’re going to have to hurry. Do you know where they take people from here?”

“The old farmhouse. They have a delivery room there. It’s on acres of land, and no one ever suspects