and jumped behind them with muzzles peeking over the tops and sides. He shoved Kat into the corner and barred her with his body. At his nod, Gus cracked open the door. A few whispered words and the door shut.
“Germans ransacking upstairs.”
Curses streaked through Barrett’s brain. Second time in three months those SS dogs had come sniffing around. Last night—no. No possible way they could know he was the culprit. What if they’d finally come for Sam? He spun around to Kat. “Stay down here and wait until I come back and get you.”
“She’s gotta go.” Gus crossed the room, frustration knitting his black eyebrows like spiderwebs. “They found a glass with lipstick on the rim and want to know where the woman is.”
“I’m sorry. It’s so hot outside, and Henri was kind enough to offer me a glass of water.” Kat’s lower lip pushed out on a quiver. “I’m so sorry.”
He grinned to cover the turbulence flaring inside. Not her fault she’d picked the wrong time to breeze in, but it added to the strain. Especially with last night’s disturbance still thick in the air. “Keeps things interesting.”
“They still haven’t come down to the cellar,” Gus said, prying open the heavy door. “Take the back stairs. I hung a new lantern in there only yesterday.”
“Get everyone out the secret exit. You stay behind. If those Nazis come sniffing down here, blow the place. We can’t lead them to the other Resistance cells. Make sure you get yourself out before the fuse goes, eh?” Instructions done, Barrett motioned for Kat to follow him back into the cellar and to the far corner where three large wine barrels tall and wide enough to fit three grown men lay on their sides. He stuck his finger into a tiny hole in the last barrel’s lid and popped it off. Walking to the back, he pushed open the secret door and motioned her forward. “Keep your head down and watch your feet. The stairs haven’t been used much.”
Securing the door firmly back in place, he brushed his hands along the wall until he found the lantern. A quick flick of the lighter had a flame burning low and steady to guide them up the creaky stairs.
“If you see a rat, try not to scream.” Musty dust settled on his shoulders like an old cloak as he climbed the stairs. “We’re inside the walls, and there’s a good chance the Germans will hear us.”
A breath shuddered from her lips as she reached for his hand. They moved steadily up until another wall blocked them. He pressed his ear to the rough boards. Nothing. They hadn’t made it up this far yet. Fumbling once more, he found the latch and pushed out into his private office’s water closet.
He secured the full-length mirror back in place. “Stay here.”
“Barrett.” Barely contained fear streaked her face. She squeezed his hand and dropped it. “Please be careful.”
Hurrying through his untouched office, he took the stairs two at a time and strode into the barroom. His gaze flicked to the stage where the band sat quietly with their instruments, practice having been interrupted. Sam caught his eye and gave a minuscule shrug.
“Who’s in charge of this disturbance to my establishment?”
A shorter and wider version of Himmler himself turned from his examination of the bottles on the shelf behind the bar. His black pencil mustache wiggled with disregard. “Captain Schmidt of the Schutzstaffel here on personal orders from Major Keiffer.”
Schmidt’s tiny eyes narrowed with delight as he waited for the admission to strike fear, but even knowing the man enjoyed inflicting torture and death on his victims, Barrett wasn’t about to admit the name of the head of Gestapo did more than strike fear into him.
“Major Keiffer has sampled more than one bottle of my finest scotch.” Understatement of the year. The major’s fondness for drink went far beyond sampling, especially when he had a detachment of officers and rouged French girls with him. He could march to the Fatherland and back on the length of his unpaid tab.
Two corporals barely old enough to be out of short trousers flipped over the table closest to the bandstand. Carefully folded napkins floated to the ground like shot doves. Barrett shoved his clenched fists into his pockets. “I only hope your men haven’t smashed my latest offering for him in their haste to—By the way, you never mentioned what you’re doing here.”