“Duncan? Where are you?”
“Right here.” He didn’t sound scared. “Thirty-six steps from the stairs.”
“Don’t move.” She listened hard, trying to discern if anyone else was here with them. The silence filled with dark portent. She moved forward with hesitant steps. Her shin bumped against a cardboard box. Her outstretched hands felt the cold that emanated from the walls. She pivoted and took another step. Was she going the wrong way? “Duncan, can you find the stairs?”
Instead of answering, he started counting backward from thirty-six. His strange habit came in handy; the boy seemed to know his exact location while she was utterly disoriented.
She bit back a sob. Even with her eyes accustomed to the dark, she couldn’t see a thing.
“I’m at the stairs,” Duncan announced.
She took a step toward his voice and stumbled. Falling forward to her hands and knees, she let out a yip.
“I’m okay,” she said, though Duncan hadn’t inquired. The only way she’d find the stairs was for him to keep talking. “Can you say the poem about starlight?”
Instead, he chanted, “She sells seashells…”
Crouched low, she inched toward the sound. When her hand connected with the stair rail, she latched on, desperately needing an anchor, something solid in the dark.
“Danger,” he shouted.
Shivers chased up and down her spine. She had to get a grip, had to get them to safety. “I’m going up the stairs, Duncan. I’ll open the door so we have enough light to see. Then I’ll come back down for you.”
“I can go. I’m very brave.”
“Yes, you are.” But she didn’t want to take a chance on having him slip and fall on the stairs. “That’s why you can stay right here. Very still.”
As she stumbled up the steps in the pitch-dark, the staircase seemed ten miles long. By the time she reached the door, a clammy sweat coated her forehead. Her fingers closed around the round brass doorknob. It didn’t move.
She jiggled and twisted. It was locked.
Panic flashed inside her head. A faint shimmer of daylight came around the edge of the door, and she clawed at the light as if she could pry this heavy door open.
Drawing back her fists, she hammered against the door. “Alma. Help. We’re trapped in the basement. Help.”
Behind her, she heard Duncan start up the stairs. She couldn’t allow him to climb. In the darkness, balance was precarious, and Duncan wasn’t like other kids. She couldn’t hold his arm and keep him from falling, couldn’t touch him at all.
“Wait,” she said. “I’m coming back down.”
Quickly, she descended. They’d just have to wait until they were found. Not much of a plan, but it was all she had. She sat beside Duncan on the second step from the bottom. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll count to five and you call for help. Then you count for me. Start now.”
He yelled at the top of his lungs.
Then it was her turn. Screaming felt good. Her tension loosened. After she caught her breath, she said, “Now, we wait. Somebody will find us.”
“My mama is already here,” he said quietly. “She takes care of me. Whenever I get in trouble, my mama is close. She promised. She’s always close.”
His childlike faith touched her heart. “Your mama must be a very good woman. Can you tell me about her?”
“Soft and pretty. Even when she was crying, she smiled at me.”
“She loved you,” Madeline said. “And your daddy loves you, too.”
“So do you,” he said confidently. “From the first time you saw me.”
In spite of her fear, Madeline breathed more easily. She should have been the one comforting him. Instead, this young boy lightened the weight of the terrible darkness with his surprising optimism. “You’re very lovable.”
“And brave.”
“Let’s yell again. Go.”
At the end of his five seconds of shouting, the door at the top of the staircase opened. Daylight poured down with blinding, wonderful brilliance. Silhouetted in that light was the powerful masculine form of Blake Monroe.
“What the hell is going on?” he growled.
“Danger,” Duncan yelled.
She heard Blake flick the light switch. “What’s wrong with the lights?”
Duncan scrambled up the wooden staircase, and she followed. Stepping into the kitchen, she inhaled the light and warmth. This must be how it felt to escape from being buried alive. As she stepped away from the basement door, she wiped the clammy sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. She and Duncan were free. No harm done.
When she saw the expression on Blake’s face, her sense of relief vanished like seeds on the wind. The friendly camaraderie of this morning had been replaced by tight- lipped anger. “I want an explanation,” he said.
She pushed her glasses up on her nose and cleared her throat. “Duncan and I decided to explore one room of the house before lunchtime.”
“And you chose the basement.” His hazel eyes flared. “There’s all kinds of crap down there. Damn it, Madeline. What the hell were you thinking?”
She wouldn’t blame this dreadful excursion on Duncan’s insistence that they go to the basement. She was the person in charge. “We were fine until the door slammed shut. It was locked.”
His brows arched in disbelief. He went down a step to test the doorknob, and the horrible darkness crawled up his leg. She was tempted, like Duncan, to warn him. To shout the word danger until her lungs burst.
Blake jiggled the knob. “It’s sticking but not locked. You must have twisted it the wrong way.”
She hadn’t turned the knob wrong. That door had been locked. “Then the lights went out.”
“There’s a rational explanation. I have a crew of electricians working today.”
She glanced toward Duncan, who stood silently, staring down at the toes of his sneakers. She didn’t want to frighten the boy with her suspicions about Dr. Fisher or being stalked by the serial killer, but they hadn’t been trapped by accident.
Blake yanked the door shut with a resounding slam and took a step toward her. Anger rolled off him in hot, turbulent waves.
Frankly, she couldn’t blame him. It appeared that she’d made an irresponsible decision. When he spoke, his voice was low and ominous, like the rumble of an approaching freight train. And she was tied to the tracks. “You’re supposed to be teaching my son. Not leading him into a potentially dangerous situation.”
“All of life is potentially risky,” she said in her defense. “Children need to explore and grow. New experiences are—”
“Stop.” He held up a hand to halt her flow of words. “I don’t need a lecture.”
“Perhaps I’m not explaining well.”
“You’re fired, Madeline.”
“What?” She took a step backward. Perhaps she deserved a reprimand, but not this.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. Peeling off a hundred-dollar bill, he slapped it down on the counter. “This should cover your expenses. Pack your things and get out.”
Looking past his right shoulder, she saw Alma enter through the back door with a couple of grocery bags in her arms. The housekeeper wouldn’t be happy about Madeline being fired. Nor would Duncan.