Chapter 36 Linc
LINC
That afternoon, we’re standing outside Check Point Secure Inc., wearing matching brown polo shirts with name tags—she’s Yulia and I’m Dirk. Jules insisted because it rhymes with jerk, to really embrace that we’re disgruntled coworkers.
We also had a fake pest control company logo patch produced on short notice. After all, this is a major city and as a billionaire’s son, money isn’t an issue.
Yulia’s hair is slicked back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck and she carries a clipboard. I’m wearing a non-descript baseball hat with my glasses and trying to look like someone who knows the difference between termites and carpenter ants.
As we approach the reception desk in the cold, stone building, Jules says, “Remember, we’re here about reports of structurally damaging pests in the basement level. With the earth beneath, once being a swamp, it’s a very common problem.”
The receptionist barely glances up from her computer. “Basement access is through the maintenance door. Building management said you’d be coming by.”
Sometimes being ridiculously wealthy and having connections pays off in ways that probably violate several laws.
The basement is a maze of modern mechanical rooms and storage areas, but eventually we find a crawl space. In a crouch, we walk through it, leading to a preserved pocket of 1800s architecture, complete with original brick walls and the musty scent of centuries-old wood and stone.
Jules turns in a slow circle, wincing when a cobweb grazes her shoulder.
“It’s like stepping back in time,” I say, fascinated while she’s visibly uneasy.
We find what remains of the inn’s foundation—soggy, splintered wood and basically a dug-out basement that’s been reinforced but not renovated. Jules hesitantly starts examining every corner with her phone’s flashlight while I search for a place where letters may have been hidden.
I find a slim break in the wall, barely wide enough for me to squeeze through. “Check this out. I found a passage that leads to a tunnel.”
“Because, of course, there are mysterious underground tunnels beneath Washington, DC. Why wouldn’t there be?”
“Stay close,” I say as we enter a low, yet cavernous space that seems to go on and on.
Jules’s expression squishes up, squeamish. “A tunnel filled with spiders and other creepy crawlies.”
“Did you ever watch the Indiana Jones movies?”
“Of course, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to star in one.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
She snorts.
Pointing out the obvious, I say, “You can handle pretending to be part of a pest extermination team, yet you aren’t a fan of the dark places where they hide.”
“I thought we’d find a vault with the letters in it or something.” Her nervous laugh echoes through the hollow space.
“Is safe cracker part of your resume, too?”
“No, actually. But what I imagined was more James Bond. Less Indiana Jones.”
“You have some imagination.” I laugh.
“What was that?” she asks, going rigid.
I listen and hear what sounded like a door closing, but from far away. I tell her as much, trying to be assuring. “Stay close.”
As we go deeper, I do wonder if we’d have been better off calling in professionals …
but for what? Because I’m chasing a lark, some lost love letters, and doing it with the woman who has taken up permanent residence in my brain …
also maybe in my chest where that major organ of mine beats wildly every time she’s in my proximity.
The tunnels are narrow, damp, and not recommended for anyone with even the slightest case of claustrophobia. I remind myself to breathe.
Jules remains close at my back, her phone light aloft as I move through the underground maze like I’m following a map when there’s nothing of the sort. I think about hockey, the open space of the arena, breathing fresh, chilled air.
“This is insane,” Jules mutters.
“This is an adventure,” I say, trying to keep morale high even as I scrape my shoulder against another brick wall.
We’re making decent progress when this time, I hear a distant clang and go still. Jules bumps into me, startled. My instinct is to clutch her to me.
“Did you hear that?” I whisper when what I really mean is, Did you feel that? The tremor between us? Will there be aftershocks? But no, we’re in the underground ruins of early America and may never again see the light of day. If this is the way I go, no regrets.
We listen. It comes again, followed by the faint echo of voices.
“Fellow adventurers?” Jules asks brightly.
“Or Checkpoint Secure discovered that we’re not from a pest company.”
“It can’t be good that someone else is down here. Maybe they’re onto us and our fake pest management company,” she whispers, grabbing my arm.
Still listening, the voices seem to be getting closer. They’re gruff, most definitely not the sound of archaeologists or maintenance workers.
“… Drecken said whatever it takes,” one voice says.
“The girl is asking too many questions.”
Ice shoots through my veins. I think they’re talking about Jules.
“It’s not security,” I whisper urgently. “We need to run. Now.”
“What? Where?” Jules turns, confusion written across her face in the dim phone light.
“They’re not after the letters. They’re after ….” But I can’t say it.
Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed immediately by fear.
We turn and scrabble-crouch back the way we came, but the voices are gaining ground.
In our panic to escape, we take a wrong turn and hit a dead end.
A small piece of dirt, the size of a pebble, drops onto my shoulder.
Then another. Our surroundings judder, dust puffing up, making me think this is the start of a dirty avalanche.
“This way.” Jules points to another narrow passage.
We barely squeeze through, emerging into a section where the ceiling is significantly lower and the walls were already slowly crumbling around rough timbers that are ready to quit. Behind us, flashlight beams sweep the tunnels.
“In here,” I pull Jules into an alcove as the footsteps get closer.
“Where are they?” one voice demands.
“Must’ve gone deeper. Come on.”
The footsteps recede, but something is wrong. The walls are groaning, and the dirt continues to fall from the ceiling like dusty snow.
“What if they—or we—destabilized things?” Jules asks, gripping my shirt, frantic.
The soft tumble of another clod of dirt follows as if punctuating her statement.
The historical section begins collapsing around us. We hurry toward what I hope is an exit, debris falling behind us as the century-old support beams truly give way.
I will myself to remain calm, clearheaded. I focus on finding an exit, imagining it’s the goal and I’m running the puck to it. I spot a narrow passage that leads upward, and once again, we squeeze through as the section we were in completely caves in.
We emerge through what turns out to be a grate in an alley behind the building, gasping, covered in dust, and probably looking like we’ve been buried alive.
Which, technically, we almost were.
“I knew you hated me,” Jules says, trying to catch her breath as she leans against a brick wall.
“Don’t say that.” The words come out harsher than I intended.
She looks up at me, dirt streaked across her cheek and her hair escaping its bun. She’s still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and she almost got killed because of something connected to me, to my family.
My gaze searches her gray eyes. She’s shaken up, but that’s understandable. Her hair is mussed, breath shallow. I gently wipe away the smudge of dirt on her cheek.
Overall, she’s okay. No injuries. Just dusty from the tunnels. I imagine I’m in need of a shower, too.
Like touching a live wire, a sudden thought jolts me. I can never let anything happen to this woman. I need her to know this, inextricably, but words fail me.
My hands skim her shoulders, neck, and then I frame Jules’s face with my palms. A shaky breath escapes. “Jules …”
Her lips part with a little exhale as her eyes dance from mine to my mouth. “Linc …”
“Kiss me,” I say.
Then our lips meet as if she, too, has the desperate need to be reminded with warmth and oxygen and skin that we’re alive.
Our mouths move together in a kiss that sparks and snaps like an electrical current.
My pulse spikes.
She grips my shirt, demanding I move closer.
Our surroundings turn blurry. My thoughts get fuzzy.
There’s just Jules. Me. This connection.
I drag my hands along her back, pulling her closer to me. Her heart drums, assuring us both this is real. The kiss deepens, boldly forging its own path forward.
My chest feels wide open, expansive like finally being able to take a deep breath after a lifetime, never mind the last thirty minutes, of holding it.
The taste of dust disappears, replaced with something sweeter—Jules. My thumb traces the curve of her jaw, and she makes a small sound against my mouth that brings light to a dark part of my interior. A place that hadn’t been in fog. But shrouded. Hidden. Alone.
This woman. It’s her. No other.
Her fingers thread through my hair, gentle but insistent, and I feel her smile against my lips before the kiss deepens again. Not frantic this time but seeking. Like we’re both trying to memorize this moment, seal it away somewhere safe.
I pull back enough to rest my forehead against hers, our breath mingling in the small space between us. Her eyes flutter open, those gray depths now liquid silver in the dim alley.
“I thought—” Her voice catches. “When that wall came down, I thought—”
It was all over.
But we’ve been given a second chance and I have to seize it.
“I know.” I brush my lips across her temple, her cheekbone. “Me too.”
She tilts her face up, and I capture her mouth again. My hands map the slope of her spine, the delicate wings of her shoulder blades. Every point of contact feels like a promise I’m making without words.
Does she feel it?
Her palm presses flat against my chest, right over my thundering heart, and I know she can feel exactly what she does to me.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard, and it has nothing to do with our underground adventure.
“Jules—” My eyebrows pinch together.
She whispers, “Please don’t say this was adrenaline or a mistake or—”
I kiss her again, softer this time, trying to pour everything I can’t say into the connection between us. Everything about who I really am, everything about how much she means to me, everything about how terrified I am that she’s in danger because of me.