Chapter 35
Cal stayed close behind Io. They’d started taking turns with their phone flashlights to conserve battery, which meant sticking tight to each other’s heels.
Fine by him. His mouth curved. Being near Io was never a hardship.
They were scraped up, hungry, dehydrated, and no closer to getting out of this labyrinth they’d been wandering for hours. He’d memorized most of the tunnel system by now, and if he was right—and he usually was—they were looping through some kind of serpentine pattern.
Another oval room appeared, another sunburst etched into the stone.
Io marked their place with chalk, but this time she did it on the opposite side of the chamber from the symbol.
Her caution only reinforced what he’d already realized.
His wife wasn’t reckless. She was the opposite.
She was avoiding any potential booby traps, and now that Petrova and his men were dead, she’d started marking the walls every fifty feet.
As he expected, they didn’t go far before the tunnel forked again. Io lifted her phone, angling the beam until it caught three hollows carved into the stone.
Left-hand side.
Cal nodded, unsurprised. If his mental map was right—and he was damn sure it was—they were heading back toward either the church or the convent.
Io didn’t move. Just stood there. Staring.
“What’s wrong, Thing?” he asked quietly.
She turned toward him, lowering the arm with her phone.
The beam dipped, throwing jagged shadows across the stone walls.
“We’ve been down here a long time. Hours.
What if I fucked up? What if we’re hopelessly lost?
What if there’s no way out? Two hundred years is a long time.
Cities change. Buildings get torn down. Even if I’m right, the exit could’ve been paved over with a parking lot. ”
Cal studied her face in the thin wash of light. Dust streaked her cheeks. Her arms were nearly gray with grime, blood seeping through it from the scrapes she’d collected along the way. But she wasn’t panicked. He knew what panic looked like. This wasn’t that.
This was her trusting him enough to say the fear out loud.
Her trust in him. His trust in her. Both gave him hope he hadn’t lost her, that once they got out of here, he might still have a chance to win her back.
“You didn’t fuck up.”
Her lips curved, humorless. “It’s been hours, Cal. No exits. Just more tunnels, more hollows, more sunbursts. If there’s no exit this direction, we can’t get past the rubble Petrova and his men are buried under, and that means we die down here.”
He set his hands on her shoulders, steadying her. “You’ve been focused on leading us, on following the trail. I’ve been memorizing our path. And if I’m right, we’ve never left the convent and church grounds. So you don’t have to worry about the only exit being under six inches of asphalt.”
Her eyes widened a fraction. “We’re still on the grounds? Really?”
“I’m about ninety-five percent certain. My guess? This tunnel either leads to another exit into the convent or church, or it loops us back to the main tunnel. And from there, we know exactly where to go.”
Cal saw something settle in her expression—determination, sharp and clear.
“The convent grounds are huge. We need to keep moving or we’ll be down here forever.
” Io started to turn, then stopped and rose onto her toes to press her lips to his.
Quick. Unexpected. It hit him harder than it should have. Her next words hit even harder.
“Thanks, Cal. I appreciate you believing in me. Not trying to take over. That means a lot.”
Warmth spread through his chest as he followed her into the left-hand tunnel. More of the same—eroded rock, dirt and debris, endless darkness. Nearly twenty minutes later, Io slowed and lifted her light.
The archway ahead was low. They’d both have to duck to get through.
At one time it must’ve been even lower, but rock had broken away, leaving the top jagged.
Fallen stone littered the ground on both sides.
They’d have to move carefully until they cleared the debris field; the last thing they needed was a sprained ankle.
“Be careful,” Io said, as if reading his mind. “Picking our way through all that rubble and ducking so we don’t bang our heads is going to be tricky.”
“We’ll take our time.” Cal kept his voice easy. Io had pointed out the obvious, but not because she doubted him. Because she cared. He added another tick to the positive side of his mental tally, one more piece of evidence she still loved him.
He’d take all the reassurance he could get.
The smell was worse here than anywhere else in the tunnels. Stale, heavy, threaded with the lingering bite of rot. Fuck. What next?
They’d just cleared the worst of the fallen rock when Io jerked backward. Cal caught her as her heel rolled on a loose stone, steadying her before she could go down. “What?” he snapped, ready for anything.
Io’s light swept forward, cutting through the dark and catching motes of dust suspended in the air. Then he saw what she had.
Narrow niches carved into the walls. She angled her flashlight at the nearest one.
A coffin sat inside—rotted through, collapsed in on itself, exposing a skeleton. The skull grinned out at them, scraps of burial cloth clinging to brittle bone.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
“Yeah.” Io exhaled. “The bad news is we’re in a crypt. The good news is we’re probably under the church, and there has to be an exit nearby.”
Releasing Io, Cal pulled out his phone and switched on his own flashlight.
He swept the beam in a wider arc, catching more niches carved into the stone.
Most of the coffins inside were splintered or collapsed.
In some, skeletons still lay in repose, burial clothes rotting around brittle bones.
In others, the wood had given way entirely, ribs and leg bones spilling across the floor.
Io’s light moved over the walls, too. She paused at a plaque, the name nearly illegible. People buried. Forgotten.
“Let’s get out of here, Thing.”
“Copy that. This place is nightmare-inducing.”
They picked their way through the crypt, careful not to disturb the bones scattered across the floor. No staircase yet, but one had to be close.
It appeared at the front of the chamber. Stone steps, no railing, just like the set they’d used in the vestment room. But this time a hatch waited at the top instead of a doorway.
“Let me go first,” he said. “I see rust. Might take some muscle to get that hatch open.” When she nodded, he added, “Aim the light for me.”
When she angled the light, he pocketed his phone and climbed.
Cal hadn’t been wrong about the hatch needing muscle.
His hands weren’t enough; he had to brace and push with his shoulders.
The hatch groaned in protest as it lifted, dust and dirt raining down.
He squeezed his eyes shut until the grit stopped falling.
The stale air of the crypt gave way to incense and candle wax. “Come on up,” he said softly. He waited until she needed him to shift before climbing the last few steps. This had to be the church sanctuary. He helped Io through the opening, turned—and found Father Tomás staring at them.
The priest froze, eyes wide.
“Buenas tardes, Padre,” Io said.
His prayer book slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a dull thud.
It didn’t take him long to recover. Puerto Jardinese Special Forces didn’t stay rattled for long. He scooped up his missal and held it to his chest, almost apologetic. “Another hidden passage beneath God’s house?” he asked in Spanish.
Cal couldn’t help being impressed by how fast the man shifted from shock to tactical assessment.
“The crypt is beneath us. There’s a tunnel that leads into it,” Io said, switching off her flashlight and tucking her phone away. “We were pursued—”
“By Russian mafia. Sí, I am aware.” Father Tomás turned to Cal. “Your captain has the men who invaded the convent and is questioning them. Will the other mobsters be appearing in my sanctuary?”
“No, Father. They’re dead. There are booby traps in the tunnels.” Cal explained the trigger in more detail, not willing to risk the priest going down there blind.
Father Tomás nodded grimly. “The bodies of the Russians will need to be retrieved. I’ll make a phone call. I know who can be trusted. It would be better if the two of you are not here when the men arrive.”
“Sí. Gracias, Father.” Cal turned to Io. “Come on, Thing. Let’s get cleaned up and find some food.”
She nodded, and he set his hand at her back, guiding her out of the church.
Calling in to check with BD before finding a hotel had been a mistake.
They’d been recalled to the safe house instead.
Cal dabbed antiseptic onto one of Io’s scrapes.
She grimaced at the sting but didn’t flinch.
Damn, he loved this woman. Her strength was just one of a thousand reasons she was the most important person in his world.
They were both showered now, clean for the first time in hours, sitting in the room the captain used for briefings.
Cal had his medical kit spread across the table as he crouched in front of his wife, tending to her.
He’d patched up soldiers on battlefields, teammates with bullet wounds, strangers bleeding out in the dirt.
But looking after Io was different. She held his heart in her hands.
Taking care of her wasn’t just duty. It was privilege. It was home.
He reached for the gauze, ready to wrap her arm, when Io pulled back.
“I don’t need bandaging. It’s just a few scrapes.” Before he could argue, she added, “If you didn’t need bandages on your face, I don’t need them on my arms.” She picked up the antiseptic. “My turn to take care of you. Sit down so I can get to you easier.”
“I can reach the scratches myself.”
“Sit down, Sergeant. I haven’t been relieved of command yet, so consider it an order.”