Chapter 21
ALEX
The lodge is more dilapidated up close, with weathered boards, peeling paint, boarded windows, and shutters hanging by one hinge. The place looks like it’s been shut for years.
The front porch groans when I put my weight on it but holds.
Eva stands behind me. “It doesn’t look safe.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “See? Solid enough.”
The door’s locked. The handle is pitted with rust and barely budges when I try to open it. I shove with my shoulder. Something snaps inside the frame and the door swings open.
The smell hits first. It’s stale and heavy with dust and the faint sweetness of old wood rot mixed with a whiff of something animal.
Eva wrinkles her nose. “Lovely.”
“Could be worse. At least there’s no dead body.”
She gives me a look. “Low bar, Alex.”
“Always.” I motion toward the interior. “Ladies first?”
She folds her arms. “Try again.”
I step inside. Light spills through cracks in the warped planks, striping the floor, but the place stays dim.
She lingers near the doorway. “It’s… empty.”
“Not entirely.”
I swing the flashlight beam toward a corner where two rickety chairs lean against the wall with a broken crate between them. The beam glides over peeling wallpaper, a collapsed armchair, and a counter with broken bottles. Cobwebs lace the window frames.
We move slowly, causing the boards underfoot to creak. I scan the floor. Something’s off about the section near the far wall. The boards run crosswise here, not lengthwise like the rest. They look less grimy with straighter edges.
I move closer. “You see that?”
She follows my gaze. “What?”
“That section of floor.” I step onto it. “Doesn’t match.”
Her brow furrows. “It’s cleaner.”
“Cleaner, straighter, and nailed with newer hardware.”
She tilts her head. “You think it’s a repair?”
“Could be.” I crouch and run my fingers along the seams.
“What are you thinking?” she asks.
“The wood feels… hollow.” I look up at her. “Give me a hand?”
She kneels beside me. Her silky hair falls forward, brushing my forearm as we pry the boards up. I ignore the pleasant jolt it sends through me.
Beneath lies a square cavity, roughly a meter across, its edges framed by rough, splintered beams. The smell rising from it is metallic laced with damp earth.
I pass the flashlight to Eva. She angles the beam down, the light catching motes of dust drifting into the opening.
Inside sits a rusted but functional winch, its gears pitted but solid, bolted hard into the surrounding wood.
A thick steel cable winds tightly around the spool, the coils uniform and, too neat for something abandoned.
The line runs taut to a low, flat sled mounted on narrow metal rails that disappear into the black throat of the tunnel below.
I crouch, the boards groaning under my weight, and test the cable with a tug. It bites back with the steady tension of something anchored at the other end. My fingers skim the sled’s surface—smooth in places, gritty in others. Too smooth. Not much dust. No way this has been untouched for years.
Eva leans in beside me, her hair brushing my shoulder. “What the hell is that?”
I tug the cable again. This time, a faint metallic hum travels up through my hands, disappearing into the black gap beneath.
“Some kind of haul system,” I say slowly. “Too small for a person to ride, but perfect for moving crates.”
Her eyes meet mine, sharp. “Crates of what?”
“Smuggled goods, probably.”
She gives me a wide-eyed stare.
“What?” I ask. “Smuggling was a thriving business in these mountains. Tobacco, liquor, silk, salt, anything taxed higher in France than in Switzerland, or vice versa. Rohinn, being a stone’s throw from both borders—”
“Is a perfect contraband hub,” she finishes.
I test the line once more. It’s still solid. Still alive under my grip.
“Someone’s kept this in working order,” I say.
Her voice tightens. “Recently?”
I dislike what this could imply as much as she does, so I pause before replying. But the dustless rails, the absence of cobwebs, and the metallic tang in the air all point in one direction.
“Looks like it,” I say.
Her lips part. “You think Geoffroy…?”
“No idea.” I drop the cable. “But if this smuggling route was his, it’s been used more recently than the big tunnel.”
We peer into the darkness. The beam catches rough stone and tool marks here and there.
“Could it be a natural cave?” she asks.
I crouch and run a hand along the wall. “Yes, possibly. Someone likely found a natural cave created by water and then widened it for smuggling.”
“How far do you think it goes?” she asks.
“Far enough to make me want to find out.”
She hesitates, eyes flicking toward the black gap. “Now?”
“Why not?” I duck into the opening first. “Come on, I got you.”
She nods.
I grab her by the waist and help her down.
Once she’s inside, I take the flashlight from her and aim it along the rail hugging the packed earth.
We start forward. She moves cautiously, her gaze flicking between the floor and the narrowing walls.
I hold out my hand. She takes it, and I close my fingers firmly around hers as we follow the rail into the dark.
The tunnel constricts fast, the rough stone closing until her shoulder grazes mine with every step. The air turns cooler, damp enough to cling to the back of my throat, carrying that sharp mineral tang you only get deep underground.
The beam cuts across fresh scuff marks in the rock—low, along the rails—like something heavy’s been dragged through here.
After twenty or so meters, the ceiling dips and the walls squeeze in until the only way forward would be on hands and knees. The sled track disappears into the choke point, swallowed by shadow.
Eva exhales, her voice low. “That’s as far as I’m going without gear.”
“Fair enough.”
We retrace our steps, the tight walls forcing us close until the space opens again at the trapdoor.
Back in the lodge, she looks down into the shaft. “So, this and the tunnel from the fort… You think they’re connected? Same smuggling route?”
“Maybe.” I push the boards back into place. “Could be the same network. Could be separate routes that happen to begin a few hundred meters apart.”
She peers at me. “This one has been used more recently, right?”
“Definitely.”
She draws a slow breath. “Do you think Geoffroy knew about it?”
“If he did, it raises questions,” I say. “Was he moving contraband or working with someone who was?”
Could that someone be Kurt Ozzi?
I don’t voice my follow-up question. There’s no need. From the way her pretty face contorts, I can tell that it’s exactly what she’s asking herself.
We stand there for a moment, saying nothing.
Finally, she speaks. “We should tell Von Dietz.”
“Yeah,” I agree, my mind jumping ahead. “And I want to see if the archives at Fort Vauclairt have anything on this place.”
She nods. “It’s worth checking.”
We step back into the daylight and head for the castle. The air feels heavier now. The playful urge to seduce her out here is gone. Sex can wait. We have bigger concerns this afternoon.
Inside, we go straight to the small office with the secure line. No detours. No jokes, no flirtation. We follow protocol to reach Von Dietz.
Eva takes the lead, explaining the first tunnel, then the second, giving him every detail. I fill in where I can.
“Understood,” Von Dietz says, his voice clipped through the speaker. “I’ll have agents there within the hour. Don’t approach the lodge or either tunnel again until my team arrives.”
“Copy that,” Eva says. “We’ll be here.”
The line goes dead.
She turns to me. “Meet me in the archives room in half an hour.”
“OK.”
She disappears upstairs, her boots thumping on the stone steps.
Thirty minutes is my least favorite chunk of time—too short to start anything requiring concentration, but too long to do nothing. I pull my phone from my pocket to check my messages and find a text from Derek.
Judge’s verdict is coming tomorrow. Zero doubt you win. Get ready to start ordering stationery with “His Grace the Duke of Rohinn” on it.
A grin tugs at the corners of my mouth. I love winning. I also love finishing what I started. And I love fixing things. God knows, the estate and duchy need it. Eva would agree.
My smile fades.
What happens when I tell her?
Will she understand? Will she accept my offer to stay at Fort Vauclairt with Millie for as long as they want?
Or will her pride push her to grab Millie and move out? Will she let me pay Millie’s medical bills? Will she accept a monthly allowance to tide her over until she finds a job?
It’s anyone’s guess.
One thing I do know. It’ll nuke our truce, whether she hears it from me or Pauline. And she’ll be too worked up to share my bed tonight.
Or tomorrow.
Or ever.
I mutter a curse and pocket the phone.
Shame burns. Does it make me a coward if I don’t tell her right away?
Absolutely.
But if it buys me one more night with Eva, I’ll take the hit.