A hard jolt to her back sent Annie sprawling in the darkness. She hit pavement, scoring her hands and knees.
“Up, move!” someone behind her snarled.
From her position, she glanced forward, squinting against the lack of light. A long, dark tunnel stretched beneath the estate, leading—she had no idea where. They passed several doors, and at one in particular, a gust of air—fresh air—swept her hair across her face.
Her head still throbbed, and she had no delusion that they had drugged her, despite Trace’s attempts to protect her. Shouts and screams carried distantly as she floated out of consciousness, her mind crying out for Trace but knowing it was too late.
A strange thrum carried through the cement walls as they descended deeper into the belowground area. Like the constant hum of air-conditioning units. Large ones. Whatever enclosed this space—was it completely cement?—blocked sound. Which meant calling for help wouldn’t do any good.
She’d given up on that hope long ago. If the broken pieces of memory surrounding her capture were right, Trace probably fled the estate. Though her vision had ghosted quickly, it’d taken her mind a while longer. And in those precious seconds, she’d heard gunfire and shouts. If Stoffel and Batsakis were so thorough as to rout her true identity, they wouldn’t have left a stone unturned hunting down Trace. Now the question was—had Trace escaped or was he a prisoner, too?
“Find him!” The fragment gave her hope that Trace’s black ops skills had gotten him to safety.
Now. My turn. Annie wandered through the storage room, eyeing the pieces. She lifted a hefty candlestick and tested its weight. Her stomach turned, knowing she could crack a skull, even kill a person with the right strike.
Him or me.
She knew that’s what it came down to, though keeping her a prisoner made her wonder what intentions they had. Nothing good, that’s for sure. And sticking around for them to dig information out of her brain, break her will so she’d betray her friends—
Not happening. She’d memorized every detail as they’d pushed her into this room. Every door. Every access point. Cool and damp, the underground cellar served as the perfect place to lock Annie away. The ruse of her fake identity clearly hadn’t worked. But what, exactly, had Stoffel’s people discovered? Did they know her real identity or just that she wasn’t Natalia Policek?
She paced the cement floor, eyeing the pieces that lined the shelves. A door led into a deep cellar filled wall-to-wall with wine. Another held random accent pieces that were likely switched out during different seasons. As she took in the shelves, she couldn’t help but believe that they spirited her away because she wasn’t Policek. They don’t know who I am.
If they had known, they wouldn’t leave her with so many options to take them out. The brass candlesticks were a prime weapon. Hefty enough to knock out even the most stout of men. Then again, Trace had taught her how to use a pen as a weapon. Straight into the carotid artery of any attacker, and she’d be free.
Then again, she didn’t need them dead. Just immobilized. Ignorance would be their saving grace. Having lost friends and watched those children die, Annie placed a high value on life and preserving it. Including her own.
Voices carried down the cavernous space.
Annie rushed to the door, candlestick in hand. Spine pressed to the chilled surface, she focused on controlling her body. Adrenaline could make her choke. Or mess up. She had one shot. At least two men were coming—she could tell by the chatter.
The heavy arched wood door swung inward. Annie sidled up alongside it, candlestick to the side.
A suited man stepped in.
Another grunted something.
Annie swung up and down, carrying the most momentum with her. The brass weapon cracked against the man’s head, a sickening vibration rushing up her arm at the impact. He dropped like a lead weight.
Behind her, she heard a gasp. Annie pivoted away from the noise but also into it, giving herself safety from a strike but enough room to make her own move. The man brandished a gun.
Again, she swung in and upward, dislodging the weapon from his hand.
His eyes went wide.
Holding it like a baseball bat, Annie swung a third time. Hit the guy in the temple, and immediately regretted it as blood spurted. Struck her face with its sticky warmth. Her stomach roiled.
No time to be sick. No time!
Dropping the candlestick, she grabbed the man’s gun. She bolted out the door, taking in the corner perches. Cameras. Just as she expected. That meant time was ticking down before she’d have a big mess on her hands.
She sprinted to the door where the air had pushed her hair into her face, and tugged. Locked. She glanced around. This was her only chance to get out into the open. She tried kicking it, but without her heavy boots, it was futile. She took aim at the lock and fired once. Twice. Again, she thrust her heel against the door.
It budged.
She kicked again and it flung open.
Annie rushed through the door and went right, grateful for the cement wall at her back. One less perspective to cover. Weapon down, she stuck to the shadows of the overhanging wall and eyed her surroundings. The three-story home towered over her on the left, interior lighting creating the effect of a floodlight over the entire patio area. A massive wall to her right. Dense forest beckoned to her, but it was at least thirty yards away. Though she wore the dress, she would just hike it up and sprint.
If it weren’t for the open courtyard. The lit-up open courtyard, where stately wrought-iron furniture huddled in groups amid shrubs, trees, and ornate flowers. An illuminated fountain tossed sprays of water in arcing directions beneath what looked like it might be a Grecian god. The quiet conversation of the water might possibly be enough to cover the slap of her feet against the pebbled terrace.
Home. Terrace. Wall.
Guess that leaves me one choice.
The terrace. Cheeks puffed, she blew out a breath. Okay. Here goes noth—
Laughter spilled from french doors on the first level of the home. Guests dressed in gowns and suits filtered out onto the terrace.
Seriously?
Wouldn’t the guests have gone home already? Who’d stay here after hearing shots and explosions? Annie wasn’t sure how long they’d held her, but it had to be nearing midnight. And of course, thanks to the excitement earlier when they’d taken her, guards took up positions around the terrace.
Annie remained in the shadows with her path to freedom blocked. To get out of here without being noticed, she’d need a distraction.