try new things, to keep improving, and to always strive for something better.
A wave of nostalgia and lingering grief washed over her. She missed her grandfather terribly. He’d passed away before she earned her degree, but she thought he would have been proud. At least, she hoped he would have been.
Tina took a deep breath and slid the skeleton key into the ancient lock. She had to jiggle it a little, but a moment later, it settled into place, and with a turn of her wrist, the lock opened with a decisive snick.
The scents of cool, damp earth, stone, and wood filled her nostrils, bringing back a slew of memories. Reaching into her pocket, she extracted a powerful halogen flashlight and turned it on.
At first glance, the entrance looked much the way it always had—a gateway to another time and place. Massive wooden beams and stonework kept the walls and ceiling from collapsing inward. Along the right side was the stone-lined trench, where spring-fed water continued to flow in a gentle trickle. To the left, hand-smithed black metal rods protruded from between the rocks. Their original purpose had been lost to history, but Tina believed they’d once held oil lamps and sacks of foodstuff suspended above the packed dirt floor.
When she directed the beam downward, she spotted several small tire tracks, like those from a hand truck, in the dirt floor and frowned. They looked fresh, too clearly defined to have been there for long. She followed them into one of the interior chambers, where several crates had been shoved against the wall.
Those definitely hadn’t been there before.
Curiosity getting the better of her, Tina pried off one of the lids and peered inside, gasping when she saw the contents. Guns. Lots and lots of guns. And not the kind they sold at Jenkins’s Sporting Goods.
She lifted one out carefully to take a closer look. It reminded her of those she’d seen armed guards carrying during one of her trips to South America.
“Bert!”
Tina swung around at the sound of her brother’s voice, finding him in a shadowy recess at the far end of the chamber. “Rick! What the actual hell?”
He quickly closed the space between them, removed the automatic weapon from her hands, and returned it to the crate. “You shouldn’t be here. You have to leave.”
“These shouldn’t be here,” she said, waving her hand toward the crates. “Why are they?”
His mouth twisted into a grimace. “The less you know, the better. And you need to leave. Right now.”
“Oh no. You don’t get to pull that crap. You’re going to tell me what’s going on.”
“Tina”—Rick’s large hands closed around her shoulders in a strong grip and shook lightly—“you can’t be here.”
The sound of footsteps came from deeper within. Rick’s eyes were as desperate as she’d ever seen them, and in that moment, she felt his fear.
“Please.”
“You’re going to explain this.”
He hesitated. The footsteps were getting closer. His head dipped in a jerky nod.
“I mean it, Rick.”
He spun her around. “Go!” he hissed with a shove.
She did. She was nearly to the door when she heard the murmur of male voices. As much as she wanted to know who was in there and what they were doing, Rick’s desperate plea and the genuine fear she’d seen in his eyes kept her moving.
* * *
It was after midnight when Rick finally showed up at her cottage. She opened the door and waved him in. Without a word, he stepped over the threshold and sank down into one of the two chairs at her small table.
She sat down, too, holding the questions burning on her tongue. She knew from experience that if she laid into him too quickly, he’d get his back up, and things would devolve into a battle.
He sat there in silence for so long that she began to think he wouldn’t say anything at all. He continued to stare at the table, looking tired. Tired and despondent.
It unnerved her. The last time she’d seen him look that way, he’d had to explain to their father how he’d lost a full-paid football scholarship and been expelled from the university.
“What’s going on, Rick?” she coaxed softly.
“Do you still keep a bottle of bourbon around here?”
Bourbon suddenly sounded like a good idea. Tina got up, got the bottle and two glasses, and then poured them each a few fingers. Rick tossed his back and poured another right away.
“I made some bad investments,” he said finally.
“You made some bad investments?” she asked skeptically. “Or Gunther