Caitriona woke to the sound of giggling, the scurry of soft feet, and a door closing. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she looked around, the weightiness in her head making it difficult to concentrate. She ran her hand through her hair pulling the tangles off her face, wincing when her fingers found the egg-sized bump on the back of her head. The movement sent sharp pains through her shoulder. She pushed the dressing gown from her shoulder and touched the bandage that was neatly placed there. Someone had dressed her wounds. But whom? She closed her eyes and sank back against the pillows, trying to understand how or why she would have ended up wounded and in this place. Nothing made sense.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she pushed the covers from her small frame, shivering as the cold draft raised goosebumps on her exposed arms and legs. She looked around and was dismayed to see the tiny room had no windows. Her heartbeat accelerated but she didn’t know why. She stood, willing the strength to return to her legs.

She stared at her surroundings as she rubbed her temples. The exposed wood floor was covered with several area rugs that did little to remove the chill from the room. The walls were bereft of any wall coverings, which only served to make the tiny room seem more perfunctory than welcoming. The bed she had vacated was the only furnishing in the room save for a small nightstand and one wooden chair. She looked around for any signs of her clothing, not expecting them to be near. She pulled the dressing gown tighter around her throat and moved to the door, her thickly bandaged feet padding softly on the floor.

Turning the doorknob, she was surprised when the door opened easily. Peeking into the corridor, she was thankful to find it empty. Cautiously, she left the safety of the room, determined to find out where she was. Once again, she touched the bump on her head and winced. She knew who she was, but beyond basic facts about herself, she had no idea where she was and more importantly, why she would have turned up in such a strange place.

The hallway was eerily quiet and she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched. Shaking off the chill that passed over her, she walked quickly through the hall, the sconces set high on the wall casting eerie shadows along her path. Something doesn’t feel right, she thought. She continued to the end of the hall, which disappeared into a larger room that was bereft of any furnishings. The walls were also absent any adornments save for more sconces set high up and about six feet apart. No one was in the room although it could have easily held a couple hundred people.

She walked over to the only door and turned the knob. It was locked. She gave it a few tugs but the door refused to open.

“The others didn’t trust you, so they’ve restricted your access.”

Caitriona spun around, not surprised when the deep baritone voice matched the hulk of a man standing before her. She took a tentative step backward, unsure of this latest development. She felt the door, hard and unyielding behind her. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, a defensive posture but one she hoped would lend her some authority.

“Who are you?” she asked, wishing the nervous tremors in her voice weren’t so obvious.

“I could ask you the same,” he said, the hardness in his voice edged with sarcasm. He shook back a stray lock of hair that hung in his alluring blue eyes.

“Did you bring me here?” she questioned, with as much authority as she could muster.

“My men and I did,” he replied, his eyes roaming appreciatively over her body.

Caitriona hugged her body. “Am I being held prisoner?”

He laughed, but the smile he flashed didn’t reach his eyes. “You are free to leave,” he stressed the word free. “But you may want to think about your exit plan. You were in pretty rough shape when my men found you and I’m guessing that knife wound on your shoulder wasn’t because you got carried away slicing bread.” He arched an eyebrow at her, his look challenging and sure.

Caitriona knew he was mocking her and it rankled her last nerve. Deciding anywhere was better than standing here in front of this man, she started to march past him. In truth, she had no idea where she was going to go.

“The name’s Sean Harrison,” he barked.

She was close enough to see the deep scar that sat just below his left eye. He extended his hand to her. After several seconds, she tentatively reached out hers. He brought her hand to his mouth, his lips grazing the back of her knuckles. The feeling wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

She looked up into his eyes and saw her reflection staring back. His hair was dark and reached well past his shoulders. He was wearing a fitted pair of trues with a linen shirt that revealed dark hair on his well-defined chest. He was only a few inches taller than her, but there was no mistaking his masculinity or strength. Realizing he was still holding her hand, she withdrew it as if she had just grasped a hot poker.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss…”

“Catie,” she told him. She didn’t know why she didn’t share her full name, but her gut was telling her something wasn’t right and until she figured this out, she was convinced that less information would probably be safest.

“Well, Catie, do you want to tell me what you were doing in the snow, barefoot and looking for all intents and purposes like something the cat dragged in? Or why the Order is looking for a woman that matches your description?”

“Am I a prisoner here?” she asked for the second time since meeting him. She wanted to ask who the Order was, but something deep inside her set off warning alarms. Now was not the time to ask questions, she thought.

He laughed, pushing an errant tendril of hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear. “Hardly,” he laughed again. “You are free to leave at any time. I mean that.”

She started to push past him, fully intending to hold him to his word.

“But the Order’s men are crawling all over this place—and they’re heavily armed. So, a pretty lady like you should at least have a plan.”

Her skin prickled. An image flashed across her mind of a small man with glasses and somewhere her memory recalled the name Hawkins. Was he connected to the Order? She needed answers.

“Are you a…Dweller?” she asked, unsure where this conversation was headed, or why that word came out of her mouth. She watched his expression carefully, hoping he would give away a tell in his animations.

“Not exactly,” he replied glibly. “Come.” He held out his hand to her.

She eyed him suspiciously.

“Look, I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but then again, I’d say you don’t have too many options, either.” A lopsided grin made him look boyishly charming…and rather disarming.

“I just need my clothes and I’ll be leaving.”

“Ahh...playing hard to get, huh?”

A blush crept across her face. She pulled her hand away from him and started walking back toward the room she had vacated earlier. He hustled over to her and walked beside her. She cast a sideways glance at him, trying to decide if he posed a threat. His pants and shirt hugged his body nicely, highlighting the lines of his muscles and the lean body that boasted not one ounce of fat. Over his shirt, he wore a holster of sorts that reminded Caitriona of a cowboy from the late 1800s. Two weapons were holstered and she wondered if the safety was on or left deliberately off. She shuddered at the thought. His hair was secured at the nape of his neck and hinted at the full mane that was being kept tightly under wraps. But it was the whip and dirk he kept strapped to his hip and thigh that intrigued her the most. It’s like walking with Indiana Jones, she thought, and then berated herself for not focusing her thoughts. In short, he was sporty without being a jock and she liked that. Maybe even a little too much.

She shook her head and picked up her pace. He matched her stride for stride.

“Look.” He spun her around so she was forced to stop and address him. “I’d say we got off on the wrong foot. Why don’t I show you where you can get cleaned up and then we can get to know each other over some food?”

She still didn’t trust him, but she also didn’t have too many options. Her head hurt and she couldn’t remember where she was or how she had ended up here. The last thing she remembered was leaving the high-rise office building in downtown Seattle where she worked. “How long have I been here?” she asked, fear giving her voice an edgy quality she didn’t like.

“Three days,” he replied.

Her mouth dropped open. “I have to leave,” she said again, this time with much more conviction in her voice. She had lost so much time. The thought left a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she was uncertain why.

“Catie, you can’t go out there. It’s not safe. Please, just stay here for now.”

“I don’t even know where ‘here’ is,” she argued, and then regretted giving him the upper hand.

“You’re in the underground tunnel that connects the Ford Theater to various buildings in New Washington.”

“New Washington?” she questioned. “I don’t understand.”

“Years ago, the tunnels were built when the Order began executing large swaths of the population. They were only rumors at first, but as more refugees found solace and eventual freedom, the stories grew and gathered momentum. Eventually, those who were considered genetically inferior fled below ground in search of the legendary tunnels. Most never found them on their own. And those who use them keep them well guarded and hidden.”

“So, if you’re not a Dweller, then you’re a…Genetic?” she said, searching for the right word. She combed her memory trying to remember why this was important. And why would these two words pop into her vocabulary as if she had been using them for years? She pressed her hand to her head. Gooseflesh rose on her skin, but she was uncertain why. “Are you a…Templar?” she continued her questioning. Again, the word seemed to float in her memory, but she didn’t know why.

“You are inquisitive, aren’t you?” At her silence, he continued. “And you also seem to have a very myopic view of politics. Where are you from?”

“Not here,” she replied.

“I gathered that much,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Give me a few hours. I will answer any questions you have and see if we can find a way to contact your people.”

She nodded her head, not sure who “her people” were. Why couldn’t she remember anything? Her options were limited, but she didn’t sense a threat coming from this man. He certainly wasn’t revealing much, but she didn’t get the sense he wanted to do her harm. She knew, however, that greed had a way of permeating the most stalwart of convictions, so until she knew what he was doing in the tunnels—or what she was doing in the tunnels—she was going to remain on guard.

“Good. I’ve taken the liberty of having the bathing chamber prepared for you. I’m certain it won’t be the most luxurious bath you’ve ever taken, but it will clear away the grime.” He draped his arm across her shoulder and pulled her playfully against him.

She chuckled, a slight smile splaying across her face. She knew she was putting a lot of trust in a man she knew nothing about. But right now, he appeared to be her only ally. And at the moment, she could use all the allies she could get.