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Doyle pointed to an area east of the monastery. “How about over here, past the gardens? Near the edge of the soccer field. There’s an area that I think used to be a grotto?—”
“I know where you’re talking about,” said Tia.
“The statues are gone, but the floor is stone, and it has a small bench...”
Jamal had gotten up, walked over. “I told you—it smells like dead people.”
Doyle turned to him, crouched in front of him. “Yes, you did, Jamal.” He glanced past him at Kemar. If he hadn’t misunderstood Jamal and gone to the caves in the mountain, Kemar wouldn’t be reunited with his brother.
Huh.
Tia was already fumbling through a nearby pack. She unearthed a flashlight.
Outside, the rain had turned into a miserable, chilly drizzle.
She grabbed a drying slicker hanging on a hook near the door. Doyle picked up his jacket, still covered in amber dust, and pulled up the hood. He grabbed one of the SAR packs that had been left behind on the bench.
Ethan had put down the tablet, turned up his collar. Declan set down his coffee. Austen went to stand with Rosa, whose expression had turned stricken. “You think they’re down there, with the dead?” Rosa said.
Tia flicked on her light. “If they are, I’m going to find them.” Then she drew in a breath and looked at Doyle, her eyes landing on his, so much hope in them that he wanted to reach out and...
What? Kiss her? Another panic kiss?
No.Not panic. Hope. Maybe even... Well, as he headed out into the murky darkness, forgotten feelings stirred inside him, feelings that included belonging and camaraderie and even,okay,desire.
She pushed out into the night, and something about following her and her light as it parted the darkness felt perfectly right.
He turned on his own headlamp, adding to the glow, and strode through the courtyard to open the gate for her. Light shone on the slick grass, haze showing in the puddle of light. An alarm sounded, andoops,he’d forgotten that they’d added a security system.
Around the corner appeared a man—one of the Jones, Inc. guys, in a black rain jacket, armed and striding toward them.
“It’s us,” said a voice behind him—Declan—and the man nodded and punched in a code to silence the alarm.
“We’ll be back soon,” Declan said.
“I’ll disable the alarm and leave it unlocked for when you return.” He lifted a hand and walked away.
Tia had taken off at a jog across the wet earth, her light bobbing against the tall grasses and rock. The smoke and mist and the eerie night swept over Doyle, prickled his skin.
Please let us be right.
They crossed the soccer field, and it occurred to Doyle that once upon a time, these had been gardens. Then they headed down stone steps overgrown with weeds and dirt, and he found himself in the grotto. A circular, stacked-stone area with an empty arch where once probably fitted a statuette of the Virgin Mary.
And built into the stone beside it stood a rusty iron door. Except, stones had broken free of the wall, cascaded in front of it, blocking the entrance.
Could be a result of the landslide.
“Help me move these,” Doyle said, and Declan and Ethan helped unbury the door, Tia shining light on their work.
They cleared a path, and the hinges creaked as Doyle grabbed the door handle. He pulled off his pack and found the crowbar that Pete had used to move the rocks earlier. He shoved it into the space.
The door looked damaged and had been wedged shut by the rocks, but now he levered it open and found steps leading into darkness. Must and a feral scent swilled through the open door.
Dead people.
Hopefully not children.
Tia stepped past him into the darkness, heading down the stairs, and Doyle took a last gulp of fresh air and followed.