The Colton Marine. Lisa Childs

he just hadn’t said yet because he wanted to assess the property in person before he decided.

      She passed through the dining room, with its elegant coffered ceiling, to the kitchen. Sunlight worked its way through the vines and grime covering the many windows to gleam off the stainless steel counters that looked like they had begun to rust. The wooden floor had buckled near where the sink must have leaked. The doors to that cabinet stood open, as if they’d rotted off their hinges. She could smell the dankness of water damage and mold.

      She would need a plumber for certain and definitely a carpenter. She moved toward the stove, about to check the gas, when she heard the noises again. The basement steps creaked as if beneath someone’s weight.

      Instinctively she reached for her purse again, but then remembered the pepper spray was gone. So she reached instead for the metal pot holder dangling over the island, and she grabbed a heavy iron skillet. Declan had taught her how to swing a bat. She suspected this wouldn’t be much different.

      It would do for protection.

      Drawing in a deep breath, she opened that basement door again. But she didn’t see anything this time. Was it just the sounds of a neglected house settling into disrepair?

      Something scraped across cement, and she knew it was more than the house. Something—or somebody—was down there. But she was the only one with a right to be in this house—in Declan’s house.

      So she started down the stairs with the frying pan held over her shoulder like a bat. She was ready to swing. But when she reached the bottom step, she couldn’t tell where that scraping noise had come from.

      It was farther away than the stairs, than the utility room. She had no idea how big the basement was or where the dark hallway might lead. She needed more than the frying pan. So she moved around the stairwell until she stood beneath it. Cobwebs brushed across her face and clung to her hair, but she felt around in the shadows until she found it—the can of pepper spray.

      Its metal was dented and dirtied with dust. As she reached for it, she noticed a bright patch of color lying in the dirt next to it. She picked up the piece of pink lace along with the can. The handkerchief must not have rolled around in the dirt like the pepper spray because it wasn’t nearly as dirty.

      Where had it come from?

      She doubted River had had it on him the night before. But Mac could have; it might belong to the woman he’d started dating, Evelyn. Edith had met her at Thorne’s wedding. She dropped it into her purse so she could ask him about it later. But she held on to the pepper spray yet because she heard that noise again—that scraping noise...

      Someone else was down here. This time Edith would find the intruder and deal with him once and for all.

      * * *

      Why had it taken ten years after seizing the estate for the FBI to sell it? Why now? For a decade, it had sat empty—abandoned.

      Now there were too damn many people coming in and out, poking around.

      Trembling fingers reached for the volume on the speakers, turning them down. It wouldn’t do for anyone to hear that echo—of that damn scraping noise.

      What the hell was going on?

      The person didn’t tremble with fear but with rage. With fury.

      Those shaking fingers reached for other things now—for the gun lying atop an old bureau. Or the knife...

      Even from down here, in one of the secret rooms, someone might be able to hear a gunshot. And if they came to investigate...

      He or she would have to die with whoever was investigating now. That scraping sound was against one of the walls of the secret room. Too close.

      So close that whoever it was might accidentally trip the switch to open the door. And if they did that, they would have to die.

      The person picked up the knife and gripped it tightly. Yes, it would have to be the knife.

      It would be quick and quiet. And there were other rooms where a body could be hidden...where it might never be found.

       Chapter 5

      Excitement coursed through River. He was so glad he’d rushed over to the estate while Edith had been in the shower at Mac’s, so he’d had time to investigate before she showed up. This had to be one of them—one of Livia’s secret rooms. The wall wasn’t thick enough to be an exterior one. It wouldn’t have been installed to support anything, either. He’d found it at the back of the wine cellar. Maybe it was just a place to store more expensive bottles.

      But Livia wouldn’t have hidden those. If she had anything of value or beauty, she had put it on display. She’d only hidden her dirty money and her secrets and the evidence that had eventually put her away.

      His paternity was one of those. Who was his father that Livia had hidden his identity? One of the drug dealers or human traffickers with whom she’d associated?

      The thought turned River’s stomach. He pulled the crowbar back from the wall. He’d been shoving its end between the bricks of the cement wall, trying to get them to budge. He hadn’t wanted to knock them down; he suspected instead that one of the cracks between the blocks hid a lever—something that would open the entire wall.

      He could see where the dust on the ground had been disturbed around it. Maybe the FBI had done it when they’d searched the house again. But that had been a few months ago, long enough for the dust to have settled again.

      Unless it kept getting disturbed.

      Edith might have seen something—someone—the night before. If she hadn’t screamed...

      If he hadn’t rushed in when he had...

      Would that person have done something to her? Hurt her?

      His stomach flipped again at the thought of her being in danger or worse yet, hurt. He had to make certain that didn’t happen. And the best way to do that would be to find that person wherever he was hiding.

      Whatever he was hiding...

      River had had enough of secrets. It was time to learn the truth—no matter how horrible that might be. He lifted the crowbar to the wall again. Just as he began to swing the tip toward what looked to be a bit of metal sticking out between the blocks, he heard it.

      The scrape of shoes against the concrete and a soft gasp. He dropped the crowbar and whirled around to face Edith. She had her can of pepper spray grasped tightly in one hand and a frying pan in the other.

      “Are you going to blind me or cook me?” he asked.

      “You’re lucky I didn’t spray you or hit you,” she said with a snort of disgust. “What the hell are you doing down here again?”

      Feigning surprise, he lifted a brow. “I’m checking out the house like I told you I would last night.”

      “And I told you that wasn’t necessary,” she said.

      “I promised Mac that I’d make sure you’d be safe here,” he said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. They’d all talked about his coming back the next morning to check the place out. “I wanted to make sure there really wasn’t anyone else in here.”

      Her big, dark eyes narrowed as she studied his face. “Seems funny the only person I ever actually find inside is you. Why do you keep showing up here?”

      If he told her the truth, that he was looking for information, she’d probably toss him out and never allow him back inside. So despite how much he hated them, he’d actually have to keep a secret of his own.

      It wasn’t the only one he was keeping, though. There were things that had happened while he’d been deployed that he couldn’t talk about—even if he’d wanted to. He was honor bound to his country and his fellow soldiers. He wasn’t honor