Page 104

One complains about the hour. Another answers him, their voices growing louder when footsteps enter the corridor.

Boone grabs the back of my coat.

I look around and spot a narrow storage closet several feet behind us, barely visible between two heavy cabinets. I catch Boone by the arm and pull him toward it, opening the door just enough to see shelves crowded with ledgers, cleaning supplies, and old boxes.

“In.”

His eyes widen. “What?”

“Inside.”

“You said I could—”

“Every command, Boone.”

The footsteps are getting closer. He looks toward them, then back at me before reluctantly slipping into the closet.

“I’m coming back for you.”

“Rhys—”

I put one finger against my lips.

Boone goes silent.

I close the door until only the smallest gap remains and turn just as two guards round the corner. Neither has seen me yet, giving me enough time to retreat into the darkness under the staircase and wait for them to walk toward the rear door.

One of them stops.

My hand closes around the grip of my revolver.

“Thought I heard something,” he says.

“You hear things every night.”

“I heard the door.”

Silence follows.

Then footsteps begin coming back toward me. I remain perfectly still until the first man steps within reach.

My hand closes around the back of his collar, and I drag him into the shadows before he can shout, striking him hard enough to drop him. His companion barely has time to turn. I catch him before he can raise the alarm, and moments later, both men are unconscious under the staircase.

I straighten my coat. Boone was correct. That was easy. Which means something worse is almost certainly waiting for us.

I return to the closet and open it.

Boone practically falls out. “Are they—”

“Alive.”

His eyes move toward the unconscious men.

“For now.”

“Rhys.”

“Your father.”