Chapter Thirty
Josh heard the story the president told Candy about the Steganovich boys. Tragic, really. And now they were running from one of the brothers’ scheming.
On hands and knees again, Josh peered through the hole he’d made in the plywood at the base of the stairs. Well, not really the base since the stairs continued down. The heavy smell of dirt overwhelmed his senses. Old steel and wood floated to him. The mustiness of material that had sat in hot, humid weather too long; old cardboard and paper; and oil paint and . . . ? What the hell?
He tore up chunks of wood revealing another level.
“Wow,” the first lady said, “this wasn’t on any plans I saw of the house. Is it safe?”
Josh didn’t smell the telltale sign of alcohol, nor did he smell any human presence. That was a first. Never before had he been in a place where humans hadn’t been for years. Their scent lingered for a long time, so not smelling it—Wait. He took a deep breath. Yes, there it was again. Death, decay, but so minute.
He responded to the first lady. “I’m pretty sure there are no bombs, but I can’t promise anything else.” He’d ripped away enough flooring to continue down the spiral. “Give me a second to check it out.”
Sliding down the rail, he curved around twice then dropped to the ground. Ground meaning dirt, not tile or concrete, but dry, dusty earth. Then he couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeingl. He was below the mansion. Literally. If there was an earthquake, or big enough bomb, the entire house could fall on him.
As he looked across the expanse, steel girders and I beams stuck up from the ground like skinny tree trunks supporting a ceiling. Except these were holding up the basement floor and five levels above that, not counting any roof.
Suddenly, he realized what he was looking at: the crawl space under the house. But you could stand and the space was huge. Old air shafts and pipes traveled the length of the floor above their heads, coming out one side and back up the other, as well as old wooden beams that didn’t look very healthy.
“Josh?” His mate called down, worry in her voice.
“It’s safe to come down. You won’t believe this,” he replied. He stepped up to the stair when he saw the first lady coming through the hole. He assisted her down and waited for the next person. When no one came, he tuned his ears into the upstairs area. Arguing? What the hell?
Josh hurried up the steps to see what was going on. He stuck his head above the floor level. His mate and the president were in a heated discussion.
“No, I insist, young lady. You go before me,” the president said.
“No, Mr. President. You go next. I go last,” Candy replied.
“Sergeant,” the president said, “you should go first—”
“Mr. President—” Candy huffed.
Josh couldn’t believe this. He clarified, “Mr. President, it is my mate’s job to protect you with her life, which means you come down next.”
Candy straightened her shoulders and smiled like she’d won a hard-fought victory. Note to self: mate is highly competitive and probably doesn’t lose well. An ass-kicking or two may be in the future.
Josh stood farther down on the steps as the president made his way around the metal pole, not very happy. Candy followed directly behind him.
“You wait,” Josh pointed a finger at his mate. When the stairs were clear, he rushed up and held on to Candy. She rolled her eyes at him.
“I am quite capable of going down stairs on my own,” she retorted. “I handled the previous several floors just fine.”
He scowled at her. “Let’s make a deal for here on out.”
“About what?” she asked.
“You let me coddle and overprotect you everywhere we go,” he said.
“What?” Candy snorted. “That’s not a deal. And I can take care of myself.”
“Okay, let me rephrase,” he said. “You pretend to let me coddle and overprotect you and we’ll all be happy.” His mate let out a soft laugh. Her eyes twinkled beautifully in the dim light from the upper floor.
“All right, I’ll pretend you’re saving me, a damsel in distress, everywhere we go.”
He leaned in and kissed her fully on the lips. She tasted fantastic. He wanted more of her and took it until a clearing throat interrupted.
“We should be going,” he said. “Even though I think we’re safe, we’re not out of the hole yet.”
“Nope,” she agreed, “we are definitely in a hole.” He tagged her ass for the smart reply and helped her down the rest of the steps.
The bottom of the stairwell was completely dark to human eyes, but the flashlights took care of that. Ahead, the president and his wife were kneeling, looking at something. There were a lot of things clustered together. This was where the musty material, old paper, and oil paint smell came from.
Candy waved her light around. “What is all this . . . stuff?” Old flowery upholstered furniture lined the wall. On their cushions was an eclectic mix of boxes, painted portraits, curtains, silverware.
“Oh my goodness, dear.” The first lady held up the silverware she’d spied. “These are the missing pieces to Truman’s silver set.” Her hand lay on a massive heap of curtains. “I think these are the curtains Roosevelt had in the Oval Office that had been lost. This is incredible.”
Not as impressed as the first lady, Josh meandered farther along the wall. Candy came up behind him and slipped an arm around the back of his waist. Her touch surprised him and when he lifted his arm to go around her, his elbow bumped her nose.
“Oh, babe. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were there until too late.”
She waved him off, tears from the nose pain gathered in her eye. “It’s okay. I must’ve missed something.”
“About what?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I watched the first lady do it and it looked easy. Guess not.” She wiped away water from her eyes. Then she reached down and pulled on the tip of a piece of paper sticking out between the pages of an old book. The light beige paper was folded into quarters and the edges looked burned. When she unfolded it, a section along the creases crumbled in her hands. “Oh, shit.” She quickly set it on the book, the only flat place nearby.
Slowly, Candy lifted the top half and lay it flush against the tome’s leather cover. It was an old letter in fancy script. The first thing Josh read was the date at the top: 1813.