Pennington stopped and leaned against the earthen wall. The first time he heard the tapping sound, he blew it off. But twice was a sign that something was wrong. Novak was supposed to be at the house. He had explicitly told the idiot to remain there until Pennington arrived. There was a chance of the operation being exposed. He needed everyone present to coordinate the next move.
Had Novak been stupid enough to ignore him?
Pennington unholstered his Smith and Wesson and turned back the way he had come. The tunnel snaked underneath the woods for a quarter-mile or so, running from the greenhouse to the old home. Nature had overtaken the house. It was impossible to spot it from the road or the air. You’d have to stumble into it to know it existed.
A few minutes passed. No noise. No breeze blowing past like he expected when the trap door opened. Just his imagination. It had been a long time since it had acted up like this. It had also been a long time since he was at risk of being outed as a psychopath. Not since he lived in Delaware when Novak had lost control. Relocating both of them had been a good thing.
He changed direction again and continued back to the house. How would Cassie take the news? He’d seen her in the cellar on more than one occasion. She had been so drugged that even when she looked him in the eye, she had no idea who he was. A twinge of guilt ate at him. His plan had been to free her. Be the hero. Maybe she’d thank him in more ways than one.
But now that he’d possibly been compromised, his plans had changed.