Chapter 22
The group pushed out into the storm, the wind and snow battering them immediately.
Champion led the way, his flashlight cutting through the swirling chaos, while Austin covered their rear.
Tom and Charlotte moved into the center of the group, their faces set with grim determination.
Every step toward the lighthouse felt heavier, the weight of what they might find pressing on Charlotte’s chest.
Tom leaned closer to her as they trudged forward. “Charlotte, if this is a trap, you stay behind me. Promise me.”
She shot him a look, her cheeks stinging from the cold. “Not a chance. You’re more of a target than the rest of us, and I’m not sitting on the sidelines.”
His mouth tightened, but he nodded. “Stubbornness must run in the family.”
“Maybe.” Charlotte turned forward and let her face fall.
The idea of things being handed down from one generation to another made her think of her possible pregnancy.
A single stupid comment led to a giant can of worms, where her love for Grams wound around her struggles with her own mother, where her fear of being trapped by marriage was knotted tightly with a newborn’s grin.
A baby complicated things.
Not that there was one.
Just in case there was one.
When it was just her, alone, considering marriage to Cowboy, it was a clear black and white answer.
Hell to the no. But if there was a baby on board, that resounding clarity became only one of the worms, fighting for position with hundreds of others.
And the idea of a piece of Grams being passed down to her, and passing that on to another little girl? That was a very good worm indeed.
But marriage and kids weren’t just about being tied down. Maybe they were about roots, the kind that grounded you when the world spun out of control. Maybe it was about creating something that would outlast you, handing down something more meaningful than an empty house an a kick-ass job history.
She could feel her emotions going straight to her eye sockets, which terrified her in and of itself.
Never a crier, the idea that she was becoming one pointed to a heavy hormonal influence she wasn’t sure what to do with.
It was as if this baby—if there was one—was a street-smart little highjacker who’d tapped into her endocrine system like a pirate splitting his neighbor’s cable TV line.
Something about that image made her smile.
Her little hijacker.
Jack.
Jesus, Charlotte. Don’t go naming it already.
But her hand instinctively moved to her stomach, brushing against the fabric of her coat, the image of a little Cowboy coming to mind, complete with a mischievous grin.
Time would tell. Still, maybe family wasn’t something to run from.
Maybe it was something to run toward, like docking in a safe harbor.
Preferably one that wasn’t wired to explode.
That thought brought her back to reality with an anxiety-filled jolt to her abdomen.
The lighthouse loomed ahead, its dark, weathered exterior barely visible through the storm.
Charlotte’s stomach twisted as they approached, her flashlight beam bouncing over the jagged rocks and snow-covered ground.
They reached the entrance, the heavy wooden door still ajar from their earlier exploration.
The cold air seemed to cling to the stone walls as they stepped inside, their footsteps echoing on the frosty floor.
“Let’s move,” Champion said, motioning toward the hidden door to the tunnels.
Austin moved ahead, his movements fluid and efficient as he checked their surroundings. The eerie silence of the lighthouse seemed louder now, broken only by the muffled roar of the storm outside. Charlotte’s grip on her flashlight tightened as they reached the secret passage.
They descended cautiously into the tunnels, the tension mounting with every step.
The smell of chemicals was faint but unmistakable, mingling with the damp earth and stone.
The narrow passage stretched ahead, lit only by their flashlights.
Shadows danced on the walls, creating the illusion of movement that made Charlotte jumpy as all hell.
Tom gestured toward a branching tunnel. “That way leads to the old cache point. If he’s been moving more supplies, that’s where they’ll be.”
Champion nodded. “Stay close. If anyone sees or hears anything, call it out immediately.”
They moved as one, their flashlights sweeping the tunnel walls. The path widened as they neared the cache point, the air thick with the acrid stench of a new, distinct chemical. Charlotte’s heart raced as her beam caught on stacks of crates and barrels, the markings on them stark and clear.
“Definite bomb components,” Austin muttered, his voice low.
Tom’s eyes fixed on the supplies. “I’m no chemist, but this looks like enough to level half of Maine.”
Charlotte swallowed hard, her mind racing. “If he’s stockpiling this much, he’s not just planning to blow up the lighthouse. He’s aiming for maximum destruction.”
Before anyone could respond, a faint noise echoed through the tunnel—a shuffling sound, followed by a muffled voice. Champion held up a hand, signaling them to stop. They stood frozen, every muscle tense as the sound grew louder.
“Over there,” Austin whispered, pointing to a smaller passage branching off from the main tunnel.