Too Close For Comfort. Sharon Mignerey

Mr. Ian,’’ the child said plaintively.

      ‘‘Shh,’’ Rosie murmured.

      Within a heartbeat, he had turned into a deadly predator—lethal in his intent, his gun appearing in his hand as though it had always been there. He scared her to death. She could only hope he’d buy the time they needed to escape.

      ‘‘He’ll be along in a minute.’’ She opened the door to a coat closet, the interior looking darker than she ever remembered. Reaching through the hanging garments, she pressed on the rear wall, and it opened. She fumbled for the light switch, found it, and turned on the light above a steep, hidden stairwell. She set Annmarie down and held her hand. ‘‘Come on. You, too, Sly.’’

      Rosie heard a crash in the kitchen, the sound of breaking furniture, then a gunshot. Swiftly she retrieved her backpack from the closet floor plus one other that she used when she was gone overnight.

      ‘‘Mr. Ian,’’ Annmarie cried.

      ‘‘Shh,’’ Rosie whispered, urging the little girl down the steep steps. At the bottom she set down the packs, knelt and thrust Annmarie’s arms into the jacket, put on her shoes and tied them.

      ‘‘It’s those bad men again, isn’t it?’’ Annmarie looked up at Rosie. ‘‘I want them to go away.’’ Her chin firmed. ‘‘And I want Mr. Ian.’’

      ‘‘He’ll catch up.’’ Rosie put on a jacket, then guided the child toward the steel door at the back of the room. She didn’t know whether he would or not, but nothing was more important than getting Annmarie to safety.

      She unlatched the door and pulled it open. Sly preceded her into the tunnel, his nose to the cold concrete floor. She took Annmarie’s hand. ‘‘Come on, sweetie. It will be okay.’’

      ‘‘Rosie, where the hell are you?’’ she heard Ian call directly above them.

      Rosie kept walking, but Annmarie came to a firm halt. ‘‘Mr. Ian,’’ she called.

      Rosie frowned and let go of the child. She went back to the hidden stairwell. ‘‘Down here.’’

      An instant later he appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘‘Well, I’ll be damned.’’ He turned around and pulled the door closed behind him. Then he hit the light bulb with the heel of his hand, shattering it and thrusting the stairwell into darkness. He clattered down the stairs. ‘‘A secret passage. Just when were you going to trust me enough to tell me about this?’’

      ‘‘It wasn’t a matter of trust.’’ She turned on the flashlight she’d already put into her pocket and thrust one of the backpacks into his hands. ‘‘And it isn’t a secret. If that’s Josh out there, he knows about this. Everyone on the island does.’’

      ‘‘Everyone?’’

      ‘‘Yep.’’ She went to the doorway of the tunnel and turned to wait for him.

      As much as she wanted to know what had happened, something in his expression kept her from asking. When his gaze lit on Annmarie, who stood in the dark tunnel with Sly, the lines around his mouth softened.

      ‘‘Hey, petunia,’’ he said. ‘‘I see you’re keeping Sly company.’’

      ‘‘You don’t have to pretend,’’ she said, her voice solemn. ‘‘I know it’s those bad men.’’

      Ian glanced back Rosie, casually taking the flashlight from her. ‘‘How long is this?’’ he asked, walking away from her. ‘‘C’mon, Annmarie.’’