Secret Passage. Amanda Stevens

buddy, you awake back there?”

      Zac sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I’m awake.” But he had the disconcerting notion that he had somehow been transported to a strange, new world. The neighborhood was one of those dreamy, Christmas-card-looking places made even more surreal by the swirling snow.

      “Pretty swanky address, if you don’t mind my saying so,” the driver observed.

      Yeah, Zac thought. And why do I have the feeling I’m about to fall down a rabbit hole?

      He paid the man, then got out and stood for a moment, gazing around. Von Meter’s place was a three-story redbrick town house segregated from the street by an ornate wrought-iron fence. The gate had been left ajar, as if in anticipation of Zac’s arrival.

      He stepped into the courtyard, a frozen wonderland with icicles dripping from a fountain and stone statuary cloaked in snow. If possible the wind was harsher here than on the waterfront, and Zac hurried up the cobblestone walkway to ring the front bell. A uniformed maid promptly answered the door. “Yes?”

      “My name is Zac Riley. I’m here to see Dr. Von Meter.”

      He wouldn’t have been surprised if the young woman had turned him away, but instead she smiled and curtsied and beckoned him inside the warm house. “Please come in, Mr. Riley. Dr. Von Meter is expecting you.”

      “He is?”

      “Why, yes, of course. May I take your coat?”

      “No, I think I’ll keep it if you don’t mind.” Never knew when you might need to make a speedy exit, Zac decided, his gaze taking in the luxurious surroundings.

      The foyer was large and spacious with an inlaid wood floor, a magnificent, curving staircase and a domed skylight from which one could watch the clouds by day and the stars by night. Tonight, however, the etched glass was banked with snow, giving Zac a touch of claustrophobia.

      The maid led him down a dim hallway to a set of ornate wooden doors, which she drew open after a discreet knock. The room inside was richly furnished in leather and tapestries and floor-to-ceiling bookcases packed with gilded tomes. It smelled of cigar smoke and old secrets.

      Von Meter stood at the window, staring out.

      “Mr. Riley is here to see you,” the maid announced softly.

      The old man didn’t say a word, but a brief nod of his head seemed communication enough for the maid. She motioned Zac inside, then backed out of the room. Only when he heard the doors close did Von Meter finally turn.

      He looked different tonight. His hair was a dingy white, like day-old snow, and his face was even leaner than Zac remembered, the frail, taut skin appearing to have the suppleness of parchment.

      “This is some place,” Zac said.

      Von Meter smiled faintly. “It’s old and drafty, but it suits my needs.”

      Something about the comment made Zac wonder if they’d had a similar conversation before. “It beats the dump I’m staying in now,” he said with a shrug.

      “Perhaps.” The old man walked over to his desk and sat down, then gestured to a chair across from him. “But your apartment has its attractions, does it not? I’m referring to the young lady in 3C, of course.”

      The muscles in Zac’s stomach tightened. “How do you know about her?”

      “The two of you have become quite close in recent weeks. I’m afraid that has to end. You can’t afford the distraction.”

      Zac leaped to his feet, the old man’s presumption making him suddenly furious. “What is this? How do you know about my personal life? How the hell do you know anything about me?”

      Von Meter remained outwardly complacent. “Please try to calm yourself. Everything will be clear to you soon.”

      He pressed a button on his desk, and, a moment later, the maid opened the door. “Yes?”

      “Is Roth still here?”

      “I believe he’s in the solarium, sir.”

      “Would you ask him to come in?”

      “Of course.”

      A moment later, the door opened again, and a tall, well-dressed man with a lean, muscular build strode through. His hair, a strange silvery color, was a striking counterpoint to the black turtleneck he wore, but the most remarkable thing about his appearance was the color of his eyes—one blue, one green and both cold as ice.

      As their gazes collided, a shiver went up Zac’s spine. He wasn’t one for making snap judgments, but he had an immediate aversion to the man. In spite of the expensive clothes and carefully styled hair, there was something…unseemly about his appearance. As if the man’s sinister nature lurked just beneath the surface, waiting to suck in the unsuspecting.

      A nasty customer, Zac thought, and he’d met more than a few in his time.

      As if reading his mind, the man smiled. “Well, well, well,” he said in a voice that might have belonged to the devil himself. It was smooth, oily, decadent. “The infamous Zac Riley.”

      “You know me?” Zac said with a frown. If their paths had crossed, he was glad that memory hadn’t survived.

      “Perhaps the explanations are best left to Dr. Von Meter,” the man suggested.

      “Yes, perhaps they are,” Von Meter agreed. He turned back to Zac. “This is Roth Vogel, Zac. He’s here to assist in your briefing, but first, we need to get you settled. We have a room prepared for you upstairs. I’ll send someone to your apartment to pack up your things—”

      “Like hell you will.” Zac shot to his feet. “I don’t know what kind of scam you’re trying to pull, old man, but I don’t want any part of it.”

      He spun, but before he could cross the room, the door slammed shut, apparently of its own volition. He whipped around to find a gun pointed at his chest. His gaze lifted to Vogel’s and the man’s eyes gleamed in anticipation. Zac knew that look. He’d seen it before, on a man who’d tried to slit his throat in a dark alley one night for the twenty bucks he had in his wallet. Tried was the operative word.

      “What the hell is this?” he asked through clenched teeth. “Some kind of shakedown? I hate to disappoint you, but I’ve got about ten bucks in my pocket. You think you can take it, have at it,” he challenged Vogel.

      “Put that thing away,” Von Meter barked. “There is no need for violence.” When Vogel reluctantly complied, the old man said to Zac, “I apologize. You aren’t a prisoner here. You’re free to leave any time you wish.”

      “In that case, hasta la vista.” He gave them both a quick salute.

      A muscle twitched at the corner of Vogel’s left eye—the blue one—as if he was having a very hard time suppressing his temper. Or his trigger finger.

      A nasty customer indeed, Zac thought as he strode through the doorway and down the hallway to the foyer, expecting to hear, at any moment, the sound of footsteps in hot pursuit. But no one followed him or tried to stop him as he drew open the front door and walked out.

      Once on the frosty street, he hailed a taxi, climbed into the back seat, then, before they could drive off, he got out again. Ignoring the driver’s indignant curse, Zac returned to the house and rang the bell. The same maid answered the door, and this time Zac let her take his coat. When she showed him to the study, Von Meter was alone once more.

      “Allow me to apologize again for Roth’s behavior.” He motioned Zac to a seat.

      “What the hell was that all about?” Zac demanded.

      Distaste flickered across Von Meter’s face. “You’re referring to the gun.”

      “And the slamming door. How’d you manage that little trick?”

      “It