CHAPTER SEVEN
He’d been here before.
Most people didn’t know what true darkness felt like. There was always some source of light streaming from somewhere, giving a person the ability to let their eyes adjust to the darkness. This was the kind of total blackness that eyes could never adjust to. The absence of all light.
Elias kept his breathing even, knowing that panic would only make the time go slower. His pulse was rapid, but under control, and a light sheen of sweat coated his body. His finger rubbed in a slow circle across the satin lining of the casket, just so he knew he was still there and hadn’t faded into existence. They’d be able to breathe for five and a half hours before the oxygen ran out. They’d used up more than half of that driving to their destination.
He could do this. It was much easier than last time. The serum each of The Gravediggers were given to end their life so they could be put in caskets and transported to the United States without questions wasn’t easy on the body. It was a paralytic, and it slowed the heart to the point where a pulse couldn’t be found. But true hell was the brain waking up before the body, gasping for air and praying that they remembered to dig you back up before all the oxygen disappeared.
There’d been no serum this time. He and Miller had each voluntarily climbed into the caskets and let themselves be closed inside. He’d watched Deacon’s face disappear as the lid came down and entombed him in total darkness. And he’d listened as the locks clicked into place. He had the key to open it from the inside, but it was amazing how loud those clicks could be as the casket key cranked round and round, sealing it completely shut.
He’d felt the disorienting sway as the casket had been lifted and slid into the back of the cargo van. He couldn’t hear voices or even the sounds of the highway as they traveled, and he found it ironic that the caskets were soundproof. He was alone with the darkness and nothing but his own thoughts.
The plan was that the van would take them out of Last Stop and drop them at the nearest safe house. The safe houses were there for any agent at any time, but there was a seventy-two-hour limit before having to move to the next safe house. It was for the agent’s protection and the agency’s protection. And then The Shadow would come in and make sure nothing had been compromised.
He knew where they were going. The routes they were taking. The caskets had been brought through the underground tunnel leading from HQ to the empty field, and the van had been waiting for them there, just in case the sheriff stopped them and asked questions. But lights and sirens could still be seen down at Miller’s house—every on-duty cop in the thick of things—so chances of being seen were slim.
They’d been right about the sheriff coming to question them first. A sleepy Tess had answered the door in her bathrobe with Deacon at her side, and she’d calmly explained that Miller was out of town for a research trip and she wouldn’t be back for at least another week. Cal had told Tess to have Miller call him as soon as she could so he could let her know her house had been burglarized and considerable damage had been done.
Cal had never trusted any of them, and he’d run background checks on each new employee Tess hired. Not that there was anything to show in a background check. They were all exactly who Eve Winter wanted them to be. And they tried not to think too hard about the fact that she could change her mind on a whim if she got irritated enough. He wondered how far this little stunt was going to set him back with her. Maybe too far. But he found the longer he was with The Gravediggers, and the more under her thumb he became, the less he cared.
They’d never seen eye to eye on anything, not since she’d betrayed him and ripped everything he’d ever worked for and loved out of his grasp. She’d ruined his life. All for the purpose of making her team of handpicked agents. Eve always got her way. Even if it meant killing an innocent man and hanging another out to dry. Though he guessed he wasn’t so innocent either, since he was the one who’d pulled the trigger. It was a nightmare he’d live with forever.
His heart pounded faster in his chest, and a tightness settled there as he struggled to calm his breathing. Thinking of Eve always brought on a rage he had trouble controlling. She knew it too, but all she did was stare at him out of those cold eyes, never offering an explanation or an apology. Maybe defying her direct orders would be the one thing to finally push her over the edge so she’d take him out completely.
This kind of life wasn’t really living. He’d had a life. A family. A girl he’d been interested in. A hometown with friends on every corner who’d saluted him and thanked him for his service whenever he was in town. He’d been quarterback and homecoming king. He’d been an idol. Now they all thought he was a traitor to his country. A murderer. And there was no one to tell them any different.
His parents had finally moved from the town they’d both grown up in—fallen in love in—married in—and planned to be buried in. His mother had been unable to go to the grocery store without the shame of his name bringing her to tears. He’d never thought this would be his life. He was thirty-five years old, and he’d still had some good years in him as a SEAL. He figured he’d either die in the field or retire with honors and go back to his hometown. He’d eventually settle down and have a family so his mother would stop talking about grandchildren, and then he’d open a private business of some sort so his skills didn’t get rusty and so he didn’t die of boredom.
The best laid plans . . .
The day of his death had only been a year and a half ago, but it seemed a lifetime. Every day he spent as a Gravedigger was a reminder that loyalty and trust meant nothing. And that there were evil people in the world who needed to be brought down. It was the only reason he stayed and hadn’t ended his own life. He’d thought about it. He’d held his weapon in his hand and stared at the matte black finish, the weight familiar in his hands, knowing he could pull the trigger. Knowing that if he did, not one soul would care.
The only thing that had kept him from taking his life was knowing that if he didn’t take down Eve Winter, then no one else would. She was the definition of evil. She’d wanted him for a Gravedigger, and she’d orchestrated his demise. And her power was so great that no one could stop her. No one could know the truth of the heinous crimes she’d committed. But he was going to prove it. Somehow. Some way.
His only purpose as a Gravedigger was to destroy Eve Winter. And he’d gladly accept whatever consequences came from it. So he worked and trained daily. He’d formed a bond with his brothers, and he’d do anything for them—die for them. But he never took his eye off the prize. There was no room for anything inside him other than vengeance.
And then he’d watched Miller Darling stroll into the funeral home for the first time, bold as you please, a sassy grin on her lips and a hand cocked on her lush hip. And warning signs started flashing in front of his eyes. Her beauty was unconventional, but it was her smile that mesmerized him. Her mouth was wide, her top lip slightly fuller than the bottom. Her nose was small, but slightly crooked at the bridge as if she’d broken it at some point. And her eyes dominated her face, the color of aged whiskey, flecked with gold, and rimmed with thick black lashes.
When they’d first met, her dark hair had been long, almost to her waist, but he’d come to learn that it never stayed the same for long. She’d gotten it cut short not long after, and it had been vibrant red. And then it was a little shorter and a darkish blond he’d thought complemented her eyes beautifully. And then a few weeks ago he noticed it was miraculously long again, only shoulder-length this time, black again with bold blue streaks. He liked it. It suited her. They all suited her. But this style too would probably change before long.
He’d gotten to know her over the last year and a half, despite the fact he’d been determined to keep his distance. She drew him like a moth to a flame, and when she was on the premises he couldn’t help but stop what he was doing and make a pass-through, just so he could see her face-to-face.
His attraction to her was more than skin deep. She was smart, and her mind was like a machine. She never forgot anything, including passages of books she’d read and the pages they were on. Her humor was dry and sometimes cutting, but it always made him laugh. Laughter was something he hadn’t known much of in his adult life.
He knew he’d gotten to see a rare glimpse of her because of the closeness of her relationship with Tess. She didn’t like to be in the mix of crowds, and she definitely didn’t like to be the center of attention. When he’d seen her at viewings, or once when he’d been dropping off something at the Clip n’ Curl and she and Tess had been there with a room full of women, Miller always sat to the outskirts and watched. But when she had something to say, people listened, and oftentimes they didn’t understand they’d been taken down a peg with her subtle way of using words.
He’d let himself become weak where she was concerned. He’d taken his eyes off the prize, and in that moment of weakness, he’d let himself touch her. Let himself hope for something more than he knew he could ever have. He’d always been so careful not to touch her. And once he had lost his mind. Her body had been made for his, as if he’d never touched another woman but her. If he’d taken her that night, there would’ve been no turning back. His passion for vengeance would’ve turned to passion for her. There was no way to sustain both. He had to choose. And he could never subject her to this life, especially not when he didn’t expect to come out of it alive.
But here he was. Voluntarily putting himself in her path. He didn’t know if he was punishing himself or her for being such a temptation. His only thought was that he had to protect her.
He felt the jostle as the casket was lifted from the back of the van and carried some distance away before being hefted up a little higher and abruptly set down. Traveling by casket wasn’t comfortable, and he wondered how Miller was doing. Some of the toughest men he knew wouldn’t have been able to withstand what they were doing. Deacon, for instance. He said he’d rather let Cordova’s men try to take him than ever close himself in that box again.
Deacon worked every day to overcome the claustrophobia that had almost crippled him from being able to do his job. And still there were days that were easier than others. Deacon had been the first of them to come over. An experiment. And the serum that had kept him in “death” had worn off long before he’d been dug up from the grave. It had been a kind of torture worse than many of them had already endured.
There were two sharp raps on the top of the casket. It was the signal they were in their final location and that they were on their own. He’d been holding on to the casket key in his hand, wanting to make sure he knew exactly where it was at all times. It would do no good to escape only to suffocate in the next hour.
Elias was a big man, skimming right at six feet, but he was broad through the shoulders and chest. That was going to be the challenge—getting his arm in a position above his head so he could fit the casket key in the tiny hole in the corner, which he had to find in the dark.
He brought his left arm across his chest and then moved it straight so the key pointed to the top of the casket. He slowly extended his arm, his grip on the key firm. Sweat drenched his brow and his body, and there was barely any room to get his arm where he needed it to be. But he aimed the key for the top corner where the hole was, and when the key touched the satin lining of the casket, he slowly slid it back and forth until he felt it slip into the tiny keyhole. Once it was in place, he began to crank the slim handle of the key until he heard the locks snick open.
When he pushed open the top of the casket he gulped in air and immediately took stock of where he was. This particular safe house was inside a railroad car, and it made the trip from north to south Texas on a regular basis. They’d gotten lucky that it had arrived at the station the night before and was ready to make its early morning run.
There was a sudden lurch as the train began to move at a slow and steady pace. He heard the whistle at the station and hit the button on his watch to light up the time. Six o’clock on the dot.
The train picked up speed, and he was jostled inside his makeshift bed. He undid the clasps for the bottom half of the casket and opened it up so he could get out. Then he took a flashlight from a pocket in his BDUs and clicked on the high-powered beam. His breathing came a little easier as he stood.
The railcar was locked down with the same security they used at HQ. The car was reinforced steel, and only the correct passcode and retinal scans could open the sliding side door to enter or exit the car.
He found the palm plate for the lights on the wall and placed his hand against it. Bright overheads came on, and the computer system began to come to life. He shoved the flashlight back inside his pocket and hurried to the second casket, kneeling at the top end. He placed the key in the small hole on the outside and cranked it quickly, and then he lifted the lid, unsure what state he’d find Miller in, but prepared for anything. Or mostly anything.
He found her completely still, her arms folded across her stomach and her eyes closed, her lashes fanned across her pale skin. Her hair was snarled around her face. Panic swelled inside him and he felt for her pulse, finding it in the soft thump in her neck beneath his two fingers. He released a breath and let his hand linger on her skin. She was asleep.
He’d been worried sick about her and she was asleep, snuggled inside the casket like it was a Sleep Number bed. He found that incredibly irritating.
“Miller,” he said, shaking her.
Her eyes opened slowly, and she blinked a couple of times, and then she looked at him grumpily and tried to roll over to go back to sleep.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he said, reaching back into the casket to shake her again, but she swatted away his hands and made a growling noise that had his brows rising. “You can’t possibly be sleeping right now. You’re in a casket, for God’s sake.”
Her head turned ninety degrees and he wondered if he was about to see a remake of The Exorcist. And then he shook his head because she’d gotten him comparing everything to movies just like she did. Her tawny eyes opened fully and he swore he saw a flame somewhere behind her pupils. Or it might have been the glare of the lights. And then, almost as quickly as it began, her face relaxed and her eyes softened.
“I’m in a casket,” she said, looking around as if she’d just noticed.
“And you were sleeping. I can’t believe you were sleeping.”
“What else was I supposed to do?” she asked, surprised. “I haven’t slept in days. I’ve been on deadline. I think I was asleep before they closed the lid. This thing is pretty comfortable. I should get one for my office. It’d freak people out. That’s probably the best sleep I’ve had in a couple of years.”
It wasn’t often he was speechless. But Miller made it a habit of making him shake his head. She was a constant surprise; she never did what he expected her to.
He gave her a hand and she surprisingly took it as he helped her out. He tried not to think about what her skin felt like against his. Just the touch of her hand—something so simple and innocent—was like being on the edge of a dream—familiar and comforting, but not quite within reach.
He couldn’t help but stare at her, but she didn’t notice. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her face was free of makeup. There were dark circles under her eyes and her clothes were rumpled. But she captivated him in ways that were unexplainable.
“Why does it feel like we’re on a train?” she asked, lurching slightly as she caught her balance.
“Because we’re on a train.” He let her go and took a step back. “This is our safe house for the moment.”
“Cozy,” she said.
“Well, it’s no casket. But it’ll do.” He closed her casket lid and pushed it against the back wall, and then he did the same with his. “Watch this,” he said. He put his hand against a flat metal plate in the wall, and the railcar began to transform.
“No way,” she said, watching in awe as wall panels flipped to reveal hidden treasures beneath. There were narrow spaces for sleeping stacked on top of each other on part of one wall, and a kitchen area opened up next to it. Weapons of every make and size—from knives to submachine guns—fit in their assigned spots.
“This is going in a book too.” And then she stopped for a second and the blood drained from her face.
Elias took a step toward her, afraid she might faint, but she looked at him with sheer panic in her eyes. “I left my laptop back at the funeral parlor.” Her voice was barely a wheeze.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m sure Tess will take good care of it while you’re gone.”
“We’ve got to go back and get it.”
“No,” he said. “I did grab the box of letters from your brother so we can go through them again. And seriously, you can’t put all this stuff in a book. Eve would kill you. Probably.”
“I can’t write a book with a freaking box of letters.” She looked at him like he was an idiot. “I need my laptop. I need it right now. I’m on deadline.”
“I don’t mean to sound critical, but you look like a deranged person. And your hair keeps getting bigger.”
She glared daggers at him. “You don’t mean to sound critical? Can you not see I’m having a crisis here?”
“You’re about to go on a mission in tropical waters, where a dangerous band of terrorists will be hunting us, and you think you’re going to have time to write a book? Much less carry a laptop around without it falling in the Pacific?”
“I’ve written a book while I’ve had the flu and I’ve written a book in my hall closet while tornadoes were touching down all around us.” She looked fierce and a little scary, and he wondered what was wrong with him that he found that to be a turn-on. “I can write a book anywhere.”
He was, once again, at a loss for words, so he decided on a plan of action and took two duffel bags from one of the hidden slots. They weren’t airline regulation carry-on bags, but military-style duffels that could hold long-range weapons or an average female body.
“In this bag,” he said, laying his hand on top of one of them, “are passports, cash, and credit cards. Grab a passport booklet from Australia or Canada. We can alter your hair and eye color. We have the equipment here to process your photo and add information. I can even give you a few stamps from other countries since you’re such a world traveler.”
“That would’ve been handy when I was in high school,” she said, shaking her head.
“I won’t lie,” he said. “It comes in pretty handy as an adult too.”
“What about yours?” she asked.
“Just grab mine from whatever country you choose. How are you with accents?”
“Terrible,” she said. “The magic happens inside my head and on the page. When my mouth gets involved I usually get in trouble.”
His gaze dropped to her full lips, and he hardened in an instant. He knew firsthand exactly how much trouble her mouth could be. He’d been helpless to withstand it. When his eyes met hers again, he noticed her cheeks were flushed and the pulse in her neck was thrumming wildly. As angry as she was, and as much as she wanted to shrug off the attraction, it was still there—still sizzled between them.
He placed his hand on the other bag. “There are clothes in this one. Should be something in there that fits both of us and will work for where we’re headed. We can pick up extra clothes once we get to the island. You’ll need layers. It’s a temperate climate, but we’ll be on the water, and the rain comes in every afternoon.”
She eyed the two bags as if whatever was inside them gave her hope for what was to come.
“I don’t understand this,” she said softly. “I mean, I understand what we’re doing and that people like you exist. It’s a lot easier to conceptualize something that should be fantasy that’s become reality than it is to understand Justin’s thinking. I don’t understand how he got to this point. It’s that same kind of compulsion an addict would have. Why is he doing it? Why is it worth the cost of his life? For treasure and riches and glory?”
He knew she was right. He’d spent more time with Justin and knew him better than Miller could ever hope to. His obsession with Solomon was an addiction, and one he seemed willing to give his life for.
“You’ll have to ask him when we find him,” he said. “Maybe he’ll have an answer you both can live with.”
She nodded and started digging into the first bag, pulling out the stacks of passports and credit cards. She was hurting in ways he’d never understand. He’d never known what it was like to not have his parents when he’d needed them. He knew, even if he’d stayed “alive” and come home as a disgraced soldier, they’d have both greeted him with open arms along with their disappointment. But the love would have been there as well.
She’d never had that reassurance that the people who were supposed to love and support her the most never had. Even though she’d been blessed with a friend like Tess, it was impossible to fill that void where parental love should’ve been. Whether he’d wanted to be or not, Justin had become her parental figure once her parents had died. And he’d abandoned her just like they had.
Miller had a tough exterior. She was funny and personable, and anyone looking at her might think she had all the confidence in the world. But she was insecure when it came to love and relationships. Any kind of relationship. He’d been an ass, and all he could think is that his mother would sorely disapprove of how he’d treated Miller. But he’d only been thinking of protecting himself, and he should’ve been thinking of how to protect her heart. He’d failed miserably.
He wanted to take her in his arms. Hold her. Reassure her. But instead he watched her and waited until she looked at him, hoping she’d instinctively know every emotion rioting through his body.
“What?” she asked him.
And he drew a blank as to what to say. “There’s a brush in that bag if you want to contain the beast.”
He turned his back on her and contained his laughter, expecting the brush in question to hit him in the back of the head at some point. He might not know what to do about the future, but he could at least have a good time while he was trying to figure it out.