Shock Wave

TWO

Sage’s knees were shaking, but it wasn’t from an earthquake. Those mischievous eyes, the dimples carved into his cheeks, the lazy twang of his Southern accent. Trey Black could not be here in the wreck of an opera house. Worse yet, it was not possible that her stomach stirred at the sight of him, nerves jangling at the touch of his big hands.

No, no, no.

It was not right, her attraction for this man that started the moment she’d clapped eyes on him. Romance had no place in a combat zone. And it had no place now, when she wanted to forget she’d ever set foot in Afghanistan and finally had something important to focus on, something that might allow her to escape the smothering blanket of PTSD that nearly crippled her.

She could feel him, sense his big presence in the stairwell behind her, and she quickened her pace. It was a useless effort. Trey Black would not approve of her trotting off into a potentially dangerous situation by herself. A woman doesn’t belong around danger, he’d told her calmly with that half-teasing tone. Part of her was flattered, the other part was infuriated. He was a chauvinist. She was every bit as capable, or at least she had been before her self-confidence had blown away in an angry chatter of bullets. Way down deep at the bottom of her fury, she had the dreaded feeling that maybe Trey Black had been right.

Afghanistan had been a nightmarish combination of unbelievable courage and silent grief. She saw it in the eyes of the soldiers when one of their comrades fell and behind their stoic expressions when things went bad. And she’d forced herself in, obtaining approval by using her connections. So where did the blame really belong?

She shook her head to clear it.

Don’t go back there.

Her cell phone chimed and she answered it, still moving down the stairs.

A deep voice filled the line. “It’s Derick.”

That brought her up short. She could picture his fiftysomething face, still with that luminous big-screen quality and easy charm, the perfect thatch of sandy hair. “Hello. It’s good to hear from you.”

He blew out a breath. “I was worried. Are you all right? Just had another quake and the Imperial is a collapse waiting to happen. I was afraid you might be buried alive.”

She wondered how he knew she was at the opera house. “I’m okay. A chunk of ceiling came down.”

He gasped. “You must leave there immediately. It’s not safe and Barbara would never forgive me if something happened to you.”

She wished she could hear Barbara say those words. “I’m on my way out right now. What can I do for you?”

“I want you to reconsider staying with us here. I know Barbara wouldn’t want you to be in a hotel, especially with all these quakes happening. We’ve got plenty of extra rooms, even with Antonia staying in the guest house.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“You’ve been worried about Barbara.” He laughed. “You think I’ve stuffed her away in some closet, I gather.”

“No, of course not,” she said, mentally berating herself for not taking things slower with Derick. “I just worry about her, with her pregnancy and all. It didn’t seem like a reasonable idea to take a trip when she’s due to deliver twins in a matter of weeks.”

He sighed. “Anyone who knows Barbara would agree that she is one headstrong lady. That’s what I love about her. It’s maddening, but we make it work for the most part.”

Sage didn’t know what to say about that. He sounded perfectly sincere, but he was an actor. It was his job to sound sincere. To hear him tell it, his career was in top form, but she’d heard rumblings of financial hardship, bad investments. Maybe it was just rumors. Maybe not.

“I just want you to know I received an email from her today,” he continued.

Sage’s heart sped up. Had she been wrong about everything? “That’s great. What did she say?”

“I’ll read it straight from the screen. ‘So enjoying my time in Santa Fe. Tell Sage to photograph only the front lobby of the Imperial. The rest is a wreck, too dangerous. Will call soon, love and kisses, Barbara.’”

The silence stretched between them until Derick spoke again. “Sage? Did you hear that? Are you still there?”

“Yes,” she managed. “I’m here. Thank you for sharing that with me. I appreciate it.” Her tone sounded wooden to her own ears.

“No trouble at all. Is Antonia with you, by chance?”

Sage wasn’t sure how to answer. “No,” she said. “Why?”

“I need to make sure she’s okay, and we have some business. If you see her, can you have her phone me?” He cleared his throat. “It’s rather urgent. I’ve tried calling her cell, but no answer.”

“Of course.”

“I am on my way down to the theater to make sure everything is locked up properly.”

Her stomach tightened, but she forced a light tone. “I thought you had a caretaker for that.”

“I do, but Rosalind thinks more highly of him than I do. Abandoned buildings are a beacon for the homeless or kids up to no good.” He chuckled. “I told Barbara the Imperial was an enormous black hole, sucking up money and attracting trouble like nobody’s business. She never did see things my way.”

Something about the statement chilled Sage.

“She loves the Imperial.”

“Yes, she does.”

“Promise me you won’t go back inside.”

She tried for a light tone. “I never make promises anymore.”

He hesitated. “Well, at least I can be sure you don’t go in there alone. I’ll be along shortly. Goodbye, Sage.”

Sage clicked off the phone. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped moving until Trey joined her on the wide step. So Derick needed to see Antonia urgently. Not until Sage got to her first.

“Trouble?” he asked.

She nodded. “My cousin Barbara is missing.”

He frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Because her husband told me she left a message directing me to photograph the front lobby only.”

Trey frowned. “And?”

Sage locked eyes with Trey. “I spoke to her ten days ago. She wanted me to shoot every corner of the Imperial to document the remodeling project from the basement to the rafters. My cousin never does things halfway.”

“So if the email is made up, sounds like he doesn’t want you wandering around in this opera house.” The concern on Trey’s face deepened. “Been to the police?”

She shook her head. “I have an appointment this afternoon, but first I was going to...um, check on something.”

“Sage,” he started.

“Okay, okay. I just need to talk to Antonia Verde. She’s the painter Derick hired. I saw her at the house and she was having a heated discussion with Derick. Very heated. They both clammed up when they saw me, but Antonia knows something. Several times I got the sense she wanted to talk to me, but she didn’t want him to overhear. So we made an arrangement to meet at the theater tonight, but she got here before me. She’s not answering her cell, so I figured I’d snoop around until I found her.” Her cheeks warmed.

He raised an eyebrow. “Going into the detecting business? You don’t seem cut out for that.”

I’m not cut out for anything anymore. Sleepless nights. Panic attacks. Flashbacks and worst of all, the sense that she was dead inside. She forced her chin up. “I’m just here to talk to Antonia.”

“This place...”

“I know, I know. It’s not safe to stay here. I should wait outside while you go commando and find Antonia yourself, but the fact of the matter is, I’m not going to obey orders.”

“Imagine my shock and disbelief.” He sighed, the sound bouncing along the darkened stairwell as he picked up a pack she hadn’t noticed before and handed her his flashlight.

Surprised, she took it from his calloused fingers. “You gave up easily.”

“No, ma’am. I’m army and we don’t give up. We just get the job done.” His tone was bitter.

Sage huffed. “So you’re going to shadow my every move until I leave this place?”

“That’s an affirmative.”

“You aren’t a soldier anymore.”

Her attempt to rile him didn’t work. He shot her a lazy smile. “Consider me your friendly neighborhood carpenter. You never know when you might need a guy with a bag of tools.”

Biting back a remark, Sage led the way down the stairwell toward the orchestra seating where the nearest exit would be. Maybe Antonia had gone right for it after the last quake, and if they didn’t hurry, she’d make it outside before they caught up.

Wally pranced ahead of them and disappeared.

Suddenly she heard a shrill bark.

A figure loomed out of the darkness, and Sage screamed.

In a moment Trey was in front of her.

Heart pounding, she couldn’t see around Trey’s blocky shoulders until he stepped to the side to reveal an old man, bald head shining in the lantern light. Wally stood next to him, tail wagging vigorously. Even the gloom could not hide the look of irritation on the man’s face.

“Whaddya doing here?” he demanded of Sage, thrusting his lantern in her direction.

Trey held up a calming hand. “Hey, Fred. Sage, this is Fred Tipley, the caretaker. Wally is his dog. I thought you were going to pack up your apartment today, Fred. Isn’t that why you asked me to check in on Wally?”

“Forgot something,” Fred grumbled, eyeing the dog. “I was just on my way back to my truck. Seems Wally busted out of the utility room again.” The look he gave the dog pawing at his pant leg softened the edges of his face. “You’re a troublemaker, Wally, sure enough,” he said, giving the dog a pat. His eyes narrowed as he straightened. “Where’d you find him? Not safe to go poking around this place.”

“He found me,” Trey said. “No poking involved.”

He pointed a gnarled finger at Sage. “What about her?”

Sage gave him a smile. “I’m working for Barbara Long. I’m her cousin, actually. She asked me to take some pictures.”

“Not now, she didn’t. Miss Rosalind would have called me. She manages things here, not Barbara.”

Sage eyed him closely. “Barbara and her husband own this theater and I’ve got permission to be here.”

He grumbled some more. “Dumb idea to come here in the dark. Wood’s rotted. Plenty of places to hurt yourself. Didn’tcha feel that earthquake? Been happening on and off all day. Ain’t you got no sense?”

Trey raised his voice a notch. “Fred, we’re just finishing up here and then we’re leaving for the day. I can keep Wally with me so you can go pack and I’ll make sure the doors are locked when I leave, okay? Call me when you get settled into your new place and I’ll bring Wally.”

“Nah, never mind about that. My plans have changed. I’m here now so it’s you two that need to go.”

Sage bent to pet the dog that was sniffing at her shoes. “When was the last time you saw Barbara, Fred?”

He answered with a shrug. “Can’t remember. While ago. Heard she was in New Mexico or something.”

Right. A very pregnant woman travels to Santa Fe at a moment’s notice.

“Did you ever talk to her?”

“Maybe once or twice.”

“Did she hire you to work at the Imperial?”

He folded his wiry arms across his chest. “Why the third degree? I just make sure the doors stay locked and keep trespassers out.”

Had he been the one who left her trapped? Sage saw from the tight set to his lips that she was not going to get any more information from him. A bead of sweat rolled down his wrinkled forehead and he swiped it away with the back of his hand. She would find out what she could about Fred Tipley and definitely mention him to the police that afternoon.

She felt Trey’s gaze on her. He quirked an eyebrow. Done with your interrogation, detective? his eyes seemed to say.

Not anywhere close to done. Not until I find Antonia.

A metallic clank startled them all. Fred whirled in the direction of the stage. “You hear that? Someone’s there.”

“It’s probably Antonia,” Sage said, starting down the stairs again.

“What is she doin’ backstage? I heard she was hired to paint the frescoes in the lobby only,” Fred muttered. “Don’t nobody do what they’re told anymore?”

“Maybe she got disoriented in the dark,” Trey said. He tried to edge ahead of Sage but she elbowed him back.

“Now you gotta stop right there,” Fred said, stepping in front of them. “Miss Rosalind said no one is to be messing around here. I could lose my job.”

Trey called over his shoulder as they went around him, “Fred, I’ll take care of things. We’ll locate this other trespasser and I will personally escort all of us out of this place.”

Fred made no attempt to follow, but his voice carried along the stairwell. “It ain’t right. I’m gonna have to call Miss Rosalind. It ain’t right. Wally, come here.”

The dog barked and darted off again, eliciting an angry tirade from Fred.

Trey kept pace behind her and Sage felt a twinge of guilt. She called to him. “Rosalind may not take this well. I don’t want to cost you your job or anything.”

“A job is a job. I can get another one. I’m mostly just biding time, watching my brother’s place while he’s away.” He paused. “How about you? Where do you call home?”

“Nowhere,” she said, angry at herself for saying it out loud. “Not here, anyway. I’m just in San Francisco for Barbara.”

“Kind of risking your relationship with the Longs, aren’t you? Chances are you are going to be out of Derick’s good graces after Fred makes his report.”

She nodded. “I’m willing to take the chance. After I talk to the cops this afternoon, I don’t think Mr. Long is going to ask me in for tea.”

They took the rest of the steps as fast as they dared until they found themselves at tall metal doors that marked the stage entrance. Her skin prickled as she imagined the walls closing in on them, the darkness reaching out from behind to snatch them. Anxiety burgeoned in her belly like the clouds of dust that erupted under their feet. No panic attacks now. She could not stand the humiliation of turning into a helpless hysterical lump in front of Trey.

After a deep breath, Sage grabbed the handle and yanked.

“It’s locked,” she groaned. “Antonia must have gone to the other side. We’ll have to double back.”

Trey took her hand before she could leave. He pulled her closer and she felt the warmth of his body, the scent of soap on his skin. Her pulse quickened.

“Hang on, there. I think I can help with this.” He fished something out of his pocket and bent over the lock, his back blocking her view. In a moment, he pushed the door open and turned to her with a cocky grin.

She gaped. “How did you do that?”

“I have skills.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged and held up the key ring. “Fred gave me a spare set so I could get in and check on the dog. He forgot to take them back.”

She grinned, her face unaccustomed to the expression. “So I guess you really do have skills.” For a moment, things were easy between them and she wondered what it would be like if he really was just a carpenter and she just a photographer meeting for the first time. Silly thought. Too much hurt. Too much anger. Her heart was a twisted, blighted thing that would not be salved by daydreams.

His grin turned serious, swallowed up as they stepped through the double doors into the tomblike darkness.

THREE

Trey felt a surge of cold air against his face as he eased open the door. Sage pressed against him and his breath caught. She felt just like he had imagined many times when she wasn’t aggravating him, soft and warm, like a delicious breeze trickling through an Arkansas summer day. He cleared his throat and pushed through the opening. Blackness enveloped them. He groped his way to the wall while Sage held the flashlight. The small glow did little to fend off the cavernous blackness.

“Gotta be a switch around here somewhere.”

“You haven’t been in this part of the theater?” she whispered.

“No. Fred knows it like the back of his hand, so he showed me the places I needed to see.” He found himself replying in an equally hushed voice. “Seems I was hired to repair the front lobby and that’s it. Got my orders not to explore except to check on Wally.”

Sage made a thoughtful sound. “That didn’t seem odd to you?”

“Not really. You can see the condition of this place. Not safe for a rat. Personally, I think it’s only suited to the wrecking ball.”

“Barbara doesn’t seem to think so. She’s paying you, so the Imperial must be good for something.”

He couldn’t read her expression, but he caught the tone. “As I said, I get paid through Rosalind, she’s the business manager, but if Barbara thinks there’s value here then I stand corrected. She’s smart. Figure it runs in your kin along with the stubborn streak and mouthiness.”

She huffed. “And I’m sure the women in your family are all delicate flowers.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you about my mom sometime,” he said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice that always kicked up when he considered his mother. Sage could learn a thing or two about quiet strength from her.

“I’m beginning to agree that this place may be beyond repair,” Sage said, her words swallowed up by the cavernous space.

“It’s a little late for that realization,” Trey said. Finally, his fingers found what he sought. He pushed up the lever and the overhead lights flicked on, at least the three that still had working bulbs.

The stage was empty in spots and crammed full in others with boxes piled into crazy stacks. Rising above the boxes was the massive wooden cutout of a clipper ship and several smaller bundles swaddled in sheets. “How did all this stuff get here?”

“The Imperial was purchased about twenty years ago by a man who sank a small fortune into mostly cosmetic repairs. They went bankrupt after only a few shows. Other people bought it, but most of the time it just sat here rotting until Barbara became involved.”

Trey whistled and the sound echoed strangely. “Wonder why the Longs would want to take on such an expensive wreck? Why not demolish and rebuild?”

“Barbara’s always been in love with architecture and the opera. This must have seemed like a dream opportunity for her when she married Derick and he bought it for her as a wedding gift.”

Trey heard the sad lilt in her voice. “An opera house is a pretty big gift. Why would he turn around a year later and make her disappear?”

Sage locked her eyes on his. “Things can change in a year.”

But some things don’t, he thought. Some things last, like faith and memories...and love, at least he used to think so. A restless feeling coursed through him. The darkness pressed in on them both until he could stand the inactivity no longer. He stepped forward, but Sage grabbed his wrist. He turned, struck by the way her hair shone, a strange luminosity granted by the eerie light. “Problem?”

“I did a little studying up on the theater.” She pointed to the floor. “There’s a series of trapdoors built into the stage, triggered by a lever system underneath.”

He squinted at the floor. “Don’t see any open ones.”

“Me 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.