Rattled (34 page)

Erin realized her despair had lifted and she could again think about what she could do. Sacrificing herself so Drew and Camie could escape was nice in principle, but she’d much rather be running with them. Even better, forget running, and knock Mitchell on his lazy, lying ass. She didn’t care if he’d romanced her only to get to the treasure. But now he wanted to destroy her dream, her friends, and Erin herself, and he would have to pay.

Erin scowled at the iron rings still lodged solidly in the rock floor. She needed to get to work.

Rudy called from the tunnel entrance. It didn’t seem like much time had passed, but the others trailed in behind as if nothing had gone wrong. She must have spent more time than she’d realized feeling sorry for herself. Now she had to wait until they left again. Should she tell Drew and Camie to escape or wait to see if she could get the metal ring out of the floor after all?

Drew came to the corner of the gold bar pile. He gave her a slight smile and then turned his back, pulling off his backpack to start loading up bars. He stood only a few feet away, and Erin tried to decide what to tell him.

Camie strode toward Mitchell. “Tell me one thing.”

Mitchell aimed the gun at her. “Why should I tell you anything?”

“I just want to know who you’re working for,” Camie said. “Because I know you’re not smart enough to pull this off by yourself.”

Erin’s mouth dropped open. She knew Camie had a temper, but making Mitchell mad now seemed like a bad idea. Rudy and Danny had also turned toward her, ready for trouble.

Something moved near Drew. At first Erin thought it was Tiger, but when she glanced over she saw a stick slide to the floor. Without looking back, Drew pushed it closer to her with his foot. Then Erin understood—Camie was distracting everyone while Drew gave Erin the tool she needed.

Camie kept giving Mitchell a hard time, but Erin didn’t hear what she was saying. Drew glanced over his shoulder and nudged the stick until it brushed Erin’s fingers. She managed to slide it closer and adjusted her body so her leg hid the stick from view. Drew shouldered his backpack and snapped at Camie, “Will you shut up? You’re going to get us killed.”

Camie tossed her head. “Yeah, and you’re such a big help.” She sauntered to the pile of gold bars and started filling her pack.

Mitchell slowly lowered the gun. He looked at Erin and smiled. He must have been pleased to see dissent among his prisoners. Erin made sure she kept her expression grim. Let him think he had beaten them. They still had a few tricks left.

Drew and Camie grumbled at each other as they followed Danny into the tunnel. Rudy sighed and said, “It’s going to be a long night.”

When they were alone, Mitchell sneered at Erin. “No wonder your bitch friend can’t get a man.”

Erin couldn’t think of anything worth saying, so she concentrated on looking helpless. As soon as Mitchell was elbow deep in a strongbox, she went to work with the stick. Time was key now. When the others came back, Mitchell would look around again and might notice anything out of place. Being halfway free would be worse than anything.

Erin slid the stick over to her left hand, the one without the finger brace. She managed to hold the stick between her first and middle fingers and push it backward into the metal ring behind her hand. She just hoped the stick was strong enough. It was gray and weathered, fine-grained, with no bark, about a foot long. It felt solid, but it was only about one inch thick. A metal bar would be better, but the stick was probably the best Camie or Drew could do in the circumstances.

Erin twisted her wrist, ignoring the pain of the webbing cutting in, until she could get her fingers over the stick. She glanced at Mitchell and adjusted her body so her leg would block his view if he looked over. Then she hauled on the stick, trying to turn the metal ring.

It moved. Maybe she had loosened it earlier, or maybe the extra leverage was just enough. For whatever reason, the base of the ring turned in its hole. Erin had to press her lips together tight to keep from calling out in her excitement.

But she wasn’t done yet.

She kept twisting, readjusting her grip as the ring turned. Tears burned in her eyes from the pain in her wrist and hand. She just wanted to be done! She cranked on the stick and heard it groan. Erin froze, her heart pounding. Was it breaking? She slid the stick farther through the ring. Maybe changing the pressure to a new spot would save it. She worked slower, more carefully, fighting back the urge to hurry, hurry, before something went wrong.

And then the ring popped out of the ground. It spun on the end of the twisted webbing, pinging as it danced over the rock. Erin jerked her hand up and looked at Mitchell. He didn’t glance her way. The noise must have been lost in the tinkling of metal on metal as he pawed through a box of coins.

Erin sighed and hugged her hand to her chest. The ring hung off the webbing, and she could now see the two-inch bolt that had held the ring into the rock. She wanted to get it off her hand, but getting her other hand free was more important. Now she could edge closer to that ring and use her free hand to pull on the stick. That made it riskier, if Mitchell looked her way, but also a lot easier.

Erin took a deep breath to stay calm, slid the stick through the ring, and began work. The stick started to bend. Erin changed the position and kept working. She couldn’t tell how much time passed. A minute? Two? It felt like ages.

Finally she sat on the hard cave floor with her hands free. Each wrist was still wrapped in webbing and tied to a metal ring, but she wasn’t locked to the floor.

Free!

She was panting, sweating, her arms and shoulders aching. She was in a cave with a man with a gun, and the only way out led to more dangerous men. But for the moment, she felt the soaring relief of freedom.

She just had to decide what to do next.

The door was only about 40 feet away. Not far at all, and yet potentially too far. Mitchell dug through one of the strongboxes, his body turned toward the doorway. He would probably spot her if she moved. How long did it take to run 40 feet? Maybe only five or 10 seconds, once she got up and moving, but she felt stiff from sitting on the floor. She spread her hands out as if still bolted to the floor and started stretching and flexing her legs, watching Mitchell. She had no idea how good he was with that gun. She didn’t doubt that he would use it, though, if he caught her trying to escape. Although her pounding heart screamed
Run!
, she needed to wait until he turned away from the door and then try to sneak past him.

What would she do once she reached the tunnel? She’d be trapped between Mitchell and the goons. Maybe she should try to disarm Mitchell instead. But that sounded just plain stupid. The chance of her successfully sneaking up behind him seemed slim, especially given the way shadows would shift once she got on the other side of the lantern. He had a gun, he was bigger and stronger than she was, and she had minimal fighting skills. If she didn’t knock him out with one blow before he noticed her, she’d be in trouble. Better to get into the tunnel, where she could hide or defend herself better.

Not much better, but a little.

Why didn’t he turn away? The others might be back any minute. Someone might check on her. Erin didn’t want to start a fight with all of them in the room together, not when the other side had guns and hers didn’t.

Her heartbeat ticked off the seconds—probably faster than the seconds, the way it raced. She wished she had a better idea of how long it took the group to haul their gold bars out of the cave and get back in. Just getting up or down the rope had to take several minutes per person, so she couldn’t imagine making the trip in less than half an hour. That didn’t help much, since she had no idea how long they’d been gone. Time seemed to follow its own rules down here, stretching endlessly or compressing like some time warp.

Mitchell laughed, and Erin jumped. The metal bolts still tied to her wrists clattered against the floor, but she had her hands in position as he turned to look at her. “How much do you think old bonds are worth?” he asked.

For a moment she thought he meant the kind of bonds holding her wrists. He held up a sheath of papers, and she realized he meant financial bonds. “I have no idea. You probably couldn’t collect the value on them anymore, so maybe just the price a museum or collector would pay.” On the other hand, the Wells Fargo company still existed. Would the bank have to honor bonds issued a century before, or would they have considered the account closed long ago? She didn’t know, but to disappoint Mitchell, she added, “A couple of dollars, maybe.”

He scowled and shoved the bonds back into a chest. He turned to another strongbox—the last one—and opened it. He’d turned 90 degrees from the tunnel entrance, his back toward Erin. She felt suddenly lightheaded and reminded herself to breathe. This was her chance. If only he didn’t turn around, if Rudy didn’t walk back into the cave before she got to the tunnel—

She told herself to stop thinking, and go. She lifted her hands carefully so the metal bolts wouldn’t make a noise against the floor, tucked her feet under herself, and rose. The light from her headlamp brightened the far wall, making Mitchell’s shadow more dramatic. Erin froze, then slowly lowered her gaze to pull the light away from him. He hadn’t noticed the change so far, but she didn’t want to risk throwing more light and shadow around the cave, possibly attracting his attention. She snapped off the light. Mitchell stayed hunched over the box. Thank goodness for greed.

At a sound near her feet, she remembered Tiger. She hesitated, then scooped him up, hoping he wouldn’t choose now to vocalize his feelings loudly.

She crept past the pile of gold bars. If only they had been piled away from the cave wall, she could slip behind them for protection. But no, she was completely exposed. Each step seemed to take forever. She kept glancing between Mitchell and the tunnel entrance, waiting for something to go wrong.

She was 10 feet away. Five feet. Almost there! She started trembling, torn between anxiety and relief.

“Erin!”

She launched herself for the dark opening of the tunnel. With a glance back, she saw Mitchell standing, fumbling for his gun, and then she was in the dark. The bang of a gunshot made her duck. Another followed.

She crashed against the wall and dropped Tiger. He yowled as she pushed herself away from the stone and stumbled through the tunnel with one hand brushing against the wall for guidance. She didn’t want to turn on her headlamp. Mitchell would be right behind her. No need to give him a better view of his target. She gasped for breath, as if she’d run a mile rather than a few dozen feet. She hoped Tiger stayed close behind her but couldn’t risk looking for him.

She remembered that the tunnel got lower up ahead and lifted a hand. It slapped against the cold stone a foot in front of her face.

She dropped to her hands and knees and decided she needed to risk the headlamp, even though she heard muttered swears coming through the tunnel behind her. She fumbled for the button on the headlamp. Her finger brace smacked against the headlamp and she gasped in pain, but she found the button with her thumb and pushed it. The light blinded her for a moment but she started forward anyway.

A gunshot exploded in the tunnel like a clap of thunder. Erin flinched and cried out but kept scrambling forward.

The metal rings dangling from her wrists clattered against the stone floor. Pain flashed up her arm as she jammed her broken finger on rock. She swore but didn’t slow.

And then she was scrambling through the hole into the small room with the skeletons.

She shot to her feet and looked around wildly. She could hear noises in the sloping tunnel ahead. Someone was coming down, cutting off her escape, even if she’d been able to climb the ropes in time with a broken finger. She had to make a stand where she was.

Something brushed her calf. She gasped and leaped back. Her legs bumped back against the chest and she fell onto it, sitting down hard. Her headlamp shone on Tiger, his fur bristling, and she whimpered with relief.

A scuffling sound came from the tunnel. Erin jumped behind the chest and tipped it over as Mitchell’s head came into view. Squealing packrats spilled across the ground in front of him. Mitchell yelled, jerked back his head, and smacked it against the low stone ceiling of the tunnel. He shook his head, swearing loudly.

Erin spotted the mummy with the Spanish sword. She grabbed the sword and hefted it. She’d never held a sword before; it felt heavy and awkward, hard to control.

She turned back as Mitchell’s upper body came out of the tunnel. He rose on one knee and swung the gun toward her. Erin brought the flat of the sword down on his forearm. His yell echoed in the small chamber as the gun dropped from his hand.

The sword clanged against the stone floor, ringing like a bell. Erin stumbled forward, barely retaining her grip on the pommel. Mitchell glared into the light from her headlamp. He reached for the gun.

Erin hauled the sword up again and brought it down over his head. The heavy metal cracked against bone. He slumped to the ground with a groan.

Erin stood shaking, her hands still gripping the sword while the point rested on the ground.