12. Sanctuary and Siege #3
Silas glances back at the chamber door as we leave Dr. Rao and Rebecca behind.
“They’ll be fine,” he says, though the tension in his voice says otherwise.
I’ve started cataloguing his tells — squared shoulders, the slight narrowing of his eyes, fingers flexing like he’s running invisible calculations.
“Come. We need eyes on the search party.” The passage narrows until I’m hunching over, my spine protesting as cold droplets find their way past my collar and trail down my back.
Perfect. Just what I needed — spelunking through a damp crawlspace while everything slowly soaks through.
My knees catch on the rough stone, sending a jolt of pain up my legs. “This tunnel have a destination, or are we just fleeing until we hit bedrock?” I whisper, trying to mask my discomfort with sarcasm.
“Observation point six,” Silas replies, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space. “We can see the main foyer and staircase from there. If Garrow’s men are planning to start the fire, that’s where they’ll gather to coordinate.”
The tunnel slopes upward, the air growing stuffier as we climb.
I’ve lost all sense of where we are — under the dining room?
Behind the library? The rough stone gives way to brick and newer wooden beams, and I realize we must be slipping into the house’s bones, the hidden spaces between floors where nobody’s supposed to go.
Silas stops abruptly, his hand raised towards a metal grate above us.
His fingers work smoothly along its edge, shifting the grate just enough to let a sliver of light pour through.
“Look,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear.
“During Prohibition, they converted these old air shafts. See how the foyer’s ceiling medallions hide them?
Perfect for keeping tabs on unwelcome visitors. ”
I wedge myself against him, our bodies forced together in the tight space, both of us straining to see through the narrow grate.
My pulse hammers as I take in the destruction.
The woodwork I spent three weekends on my hands and knees restoring, sanding until my fingers bled, now scuffed with boot marks and cluttered with debris.
Something feral rises in my throat, a sound I have to swallow back.
My home. No. Our home, I correct, the possessive burning through my thoughts like a brand.
Movement catches my eye as the front door swings open, admitting a familiar broad-shouldered figure in a worn flannel shirt and work boots. Rafe stomps into the foyer with the confidant stride of someone who belongs there, nodding to the officers currently ransacking my living room.
“Mayor sent me to check the structural integrity,” he announces, his gruff voice carrying clearly through the grate. “Wanted to make sure you boys aren’t about to bring the whole place down on your heads with all this commotion.”
One of the officers, a heavyset man I vaguely recognize from town, straightens up from where he’s been rifling through a cabinet drawer. “Found anything suspicious yet?”
Rafe knocks his knuckles against the plaster, the hollow sound echoing through the foyer.
His eyes narrow in assessment. “They don’t build ‘em like this anymore. Eighteen-inch walls. Oak beams thick as a man’s thigh.
” He runs his hand along the boards, casual yet deliberate.
“Course, these old places always have quirks, air pockets between the walls. Crawlspaces that look suspicious if you don’t know what you’re looking at. ”
Rafe’s strategy clicks into place. By casually mentioning air pockets and architectural quirks, he’s planting seeds of doubt. Any hidden door they stumble on might now be dismissed as just another old house oddity.
“Check the east wing yet?” Rafe asks, casually moving toward the one area of the house where I know several passage entrances are concealed.
“Just finishing the main floor,” the officer replies.
“I’ll start upstairs then. If there are structural issues, they’ll likely show in the ceiling beams first.” Rafe heads toward the staircase, deliberately leading the search away from productive areas.
The front door bangs open and Lyle Garrow strides in, coat flapping, face flushed, eyes darting around the destroyed foyer as if expecting to find me cowering behind the furniture.
“Nothing?” he demands, voice tight with barely controlled rage. “You’ve had over three hours and found nothing?”
“Sir, we’ve searched every room, checked every closet and crawlspace—” the officer begins.
“Not thoroughly enough, clearly.” Garrow cuts him off with a sharp gesture. His gaze locks onto Rafe, who’s paused halfway up the stairs. “Calder. What a surprise to find you here.”
“Mayor.” Rafe nods, his expression neutral. “Just doing my job. Structural assessment, as you asked.”
“Funny how you always seem to be around when things go wrong at this property.”
“Been maintaining it for thirty years,” Rafe replies with a casual shrug. “Know its bones better than anyone.”
“It's bones,” Garrow repeats, his voice dripping with suspicion. “An interesting choice of words.” He moves to the foot of the stairs, looking up at Rafe with calculated menace. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Miss Hale has disappeared to, would you?”
“Haven’t seen her.” Rafe’s tone remains even, unbothered. “Maybe she went to visit family when she saw your goon squad pulling up.”
I feel Silas tense beside me, his breathing becoming more controlled, deliberate. Through the grate, I can see Garrow’s expression harden, his mask of civility slipping to reveal something truly ugly beneath.
“I think you’re lying, Calder.” Garrow gestures sharply, and two officers immediately move toward the stairs. “I think you know exactly where she is. And I think you’ve been interfering with my investigation.”
“Your illegal search, you mean?” Rafe doesn’t back away as the officers approach. “Warrant only covers safety inspection. Doesn’t authorize you to tear the place apart looking for ghosts.”
“Restrain him,” Garrow orders, all pretense abandoned.
The officers grab Rafe’s arms, twisting them behind his back with unnecessary force. He doesn’t resist, though I can see the pain flashing across his weathered face as they wrench his shoulder at an unnatural angle.
“Last chance to be helpful,” Garrow says, climbing the steps until he’s eye-level with Rafe. “Tell me where she is, and where she’s hidden the evidence.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rafe replies, his voice strained but steady.
Garrow smiles — that slow, sick thing I’ve come to hate.
“Your granddaughter starts high school next fall, doesn’t she?
Caroline, is it? Pretty little thing. Takes after her mother.
” He reaches out to straighten Rafe’s collar with mock concern.
“Would be a shame if she got mixed up with the wrong crowd. So many dangers for young girls these days.”
The blood vanishes from Rafe’s face so fast it’s as if someone sliced his throat, but his eyes ignite with something primal. “Put one finger on my granddaughter, and I will hunt you until your screams echo in hell.”
Garrow’s lips curl into a thin smile as he adjusts his cuff links.
“Officer Benson, I believe our friend Mr. Calder here needs time to reconsider his position. A night in one of our cells might improve his memory. Resisting arrest. Obstruction. I trust you’ll handle the paperwork creatively. ” He waves his hand dismissively.
Rafe lunges forward against the officers’ grip, veins bulging at his temples, teeth bared in a feral snarl. “You goddamn son of a bitch,” he spits, the words tearing from his throat like something ripped and bleeding.
Without thinking, I scramble toward the small ladder I spot against the wall of our observation tunnel, the one that must lead up to the grate and into the foyer beyond. “We have to help him,” I hiss, already reaching for the first rung.
Silas moves with that unnerving silent speed of his, suddenly between me and the ladder, his body a physical barrier. “No.” The word is quiet but absolute.
“They’re going to arrest him, or worse, because he’s protecting us!” I try to push past him, but in the narrow tunnel, there’s nowhere to go.
“And exposing yourself accomplishes what, exactly?” His voice remains low, controlled, but with an edge I haven’t heard before. “Getting yourself arrested alongside him? Revealing your hiding place to Garrow?”
“I can’t just watch while they hurt him for helping us!” I attempt to duck under his arm, but he shifts, completely blocking the passage.
“That’s exactly what you have to do.” His eyes lock onto mine, intensity radiating from him in almost palpable waves. “Rafe knew the risks. He’s played this game with Garrow for decades. He can handle a night in jail.”
“And his granddaughter? Can she handle whatever Garrow sends her way?” My voice rises despite the danger of being overheard. “How many more people have to suffer before someone stands up to him?”
“Standing up to him requires strategy, not martyrdom!” Silas’s control slips slightly, real emotion bleeding into his words. “You rushing out there without a plan doesn’t help Rafe; it just gives Garrow exactly what he wants.”
I lunge for the ladder again. This time, Silas’s hands clamp onto my shoulders, fingers pressing through my sweater. The sudden grip startles me, his first real touch, urgent and desperate against my skin.
“Let go of me!” I demand, struggling against his hold. My palms press against his chest, feeling the rapid thudding of his heart beneath my fingers.
“Not until you stop and think!” His face is inches from mine now, his voice an urgent whisper. “You expose yourself, you expose everyone, Rebecca, Dr. Rao, the entire network. Is that worth the momentary satisfaction of confronting Garrow?”
“We can’t keep hiding forever!” I push against him harder, furious at his restraint, at my own helplessness, at the entire impossible situation.