Shock Wave. Dana Mentink

neither, but this building has stood without any major repairs since 1919. That’s a lot of time gone by for things to rust and fail.”

      He grinned.

      “What? What’s so funny?”

      “Risk assessment. You sound like a platoon leader.”

      She shook her head. “Anyway, I don’t hear Antonia.”

      He nodded. “Dust on the floor looks undisturbed here. Let’s check back by the rear entrance in case she made her way in that direction.”

      Sage stepped in close behind him, her hand on his back as they crept around the perimeter toward the thick folds of curtains.

      Something skittered by Sage’s feet and she jumped.

      “Just a rat,” he said, repressing a shudder of his own. He’d die content never having to clap eyes on a rat again.

      Her fingers clutched at his shirt, balling it up. A sensation on the back of his neck made him stop and pull farther into the velvet drapery.

      “What is it?” Sage whispered, her breath tickling the side of his face.

      What was it? Nothing concrete, just a feeling, a sensation of eyes following his progress. He looked up at the catwalk far above them. No sign of movement, but plenty of places to conceal a watcher. What for? If it was Antonia she had no cause to climb up the catwalk and even less to stay there and spy on them. So who would be watching? And why?

      He shook his head. “Nothing, I guess.” The sad by-product of combat was the paranoia, the inability to fit properly into a normal world again after the shooting stopped.

      Lord, help me put that behind me. Way behind.

      As he scanned the shrouded shapes festooned with cobwebs and smelling of mold, he decided this was definitely not a normal situation.

      As they eased toward the rear exit, his neck prickled again, the instinct that kept him alive through two tours of duty flaring to life.

      Someone is watching.

      Waiting.

      Instinctively, he reached for the M16 that wasn’t there.

      He blinked hard and looked up again at the catwalk, where his eyes found nothing but shadows.

      You’re losing it, Black. Probably just rats up there.

      As if on cue, a fist-size rodent darted along the floor a mere three feet from them.

      He expected her to scream, chauvinist that he was, but she didn’t. She tightened her grip on his shirt and he heard her sharp intake of breath, but she did not cry out.

      She never had.

      Even when the bullets started flying and one of them found the jugular artery of her friend.

      When machine gun fire nearly deafened them.

      When she climbed into the transport aircraft to carry Luis home for burial.

      She’d never screamed.

      Maybe things would be better between them if she had.

      * * *

      Sage steeled her spine against the shudder that rippled up and down her back. Rats. She wondered how many of them were peering at her right now from their burrows deep in the rotted walls and floor of the old place.

      Her stomach quivered. She clamped her jaws shut, stuffed the fear down deep and pushed the curtain aside as they went, hoping nothing hairy would meet her searching fingers. Antonia was not hiding here, she was sure. After witnessing the poor woman nearly pass out from fright when she’d seen a mouse skitter across the front walk of the Longs’ home, she knew Antonia was not likely to linger deep in these rodent-infested shadows. She must have exited through the back door.

      If they made it there quickly enough, she might be able to stop Antonia from leaving until the woman came clean.

      Where is my cousin?

      That’s all she needed to know.

      Derick’s words echoed through her ears.

      She never did see things my way.

      Derick was lying. He’d made up the email.

      Another possibility struck her.

      Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe Barbara had sent the email, trying to convey a message to her without alerting her husband.

      Only a few yards to go before they reached the exit. Trey picked up the pace. She felt the corded muscles of his lower back tense as he moved, lithe as a tiger through the dark. Some part of her was grateful that he put enough stock in her theory to follow along.

      Why was he helping? For old times’ sake? Guilt about what happened to Luis? No, he was on another mission, to deliver her from a dangerous situation, just like he’d tried so hard to do in Afghanistan, like he would try to do for any hapless stranger he happened to find wandering around. He was a machine, duty above all.

      Their feet stirred up puffs of dust that whirled and eddied through the stale air.

      From above came the loud squeal of wood. Trey grabbed her arm so tightly she almost cried out. They looked wildly up into the darkness, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise, which grew louder and louder along with a whoosh of air that stirred the curtains behind them.

      Trey yelled something and shoved her hard, sending her flying into the recesses of the stage. His body landed next to hers as a half dozen wood crates smashed to the floor around them, splinters of wood hurtling through the air. The flashlight sailed out of her hand and clattered to the floor, dousing the light.

      Billows of dust whirled past her face, making her cough. She covered her mouth to keep out the filth as she sat up.

      “What...what just happened?”

      Trey was already on his feet, crouched low, peering into the darkness. “Boxes fell from the top of the pile. You hurt?”

      “No.” She clambered to her feet. “We were almost crushed.”

      “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

      She saw a dark trickle of blood on his arm. “You’re bleeding.”

      He didn’t even look at the wound, but continued to stare upward. “Scratched.”

      “Those boxes fell at just the right moment, didn’t they?” she said.

      “Or the wrong one.”

      Something in his voice alarmed her. “Do you think the earthquake destabilized them?”

      “I think they had help.” His gaze was still riveted to the catwalk above them.

      “Trey,” she said, her voice low. “Who would do that? Fred? Somebody else? What are you thinking?”

      He shook his head and pulled her back into the covering folds of the curtain. “I’m thinking that we need to leave this theater right now.”

      “I’m not going without Antonia.”

      He straightened to his full height, a good head and a half taller. “She’s probably gone already.”

      “I need to know for sure.”

      “No, you don’t. You need to get out of here.”

      “Is that an order, Captain?”

      “A strong suggestion,” he muttered.

      “And if I don’t comply?”

      “Then I will help you to do that.” His eyes glittered in the darkness.

      “You’re not army anymore.”

      “No, ma’am. Just a carpenter, but I will see you to the exit, one way or another.”

      “If I don’t cooperate, what