Wow, it feels like forever since I've been on here but it's really only been a few days...I got home real late last night from the March for Life in DC, which was...wow. Incredible. I have no words to describe it. More than half a million people came to stand up for life! It was amazing to experience. I hope you guys saw some of it on the news, I dunno how good the coverage was this year cuz they never show it -_- meh. But yeah, finally here's the next chapter! Please vote and comment and enjoy! I'm not sure when I'll next be able to upload cuz I have a mountain of Euro and algebra and...basically loads of homework but yeah whatever. I might just procrastinate.
Pic of Kieran ---->
Gracias! <3 vb123321
Chapter Seven
What's A House Without Secret Passages?
"We have to get out of here," said Patrick, crossing the room to the closet. Zach stepped away from me, still pale, and I kept my hand in his as Patrick picked up the painting and looked over at us with a strange expression.
"What do we do now?" I asked with a sudden sense of uselessness. I wasn't a spy or agent or anything; what chance did I have against all those men and their guns? I didn't even know what was going on. I wanted to ask who Pazzini was, but Zach's face stopped me.
Patrick opened the closet door, stepped inside briefly, and then emerged again, tossing something in my direction. I looked down as a pair of flats landed at my bare feet, and Patrick said with a little smile, "It's going to be hard to walk around in heels, Nat, get those on."
"You're a genius," I said fervently and slid my feet into the black flats; luckily Carolyn was close to my size. Zach pulled on my hand impatiently, his eyes constantly moving to the door, but he made no move to leave the room as Patrick came forward to stand in front of us, instead asking aggressively,
"What else haven't you told me? How did you know Pazzini would be here?"
Patrick sighed, running a hand over his face. "Jer knew," he replied. "I guess Pazzini really wants to get his hands on this painting, partly because it's worth a couple million and partly because he knows it's important to us." All at once he looked fed up. "I don't know why the CIA didn't just record whatever it was they wanted and burn the damn thing."
Zach's grip on my hand was very tight. "The man who originally tried to steal the painting," he said slowly. "The one I knocked out – he wasn't in the room when you first noticed it was gone?"
"No," said Patrick, shaking his head. "No one was – not the guards, no one. That's why we thought you had taken it."
"So in those few minutes, he had to have regained consciousness and somehow get to Pazzini to tell him I had the painting." Zach's jaw tightened. "That's how he knows."
Patrick was giving him a wary look. "I guess so...look, we have to get going, we're being stupid staying here. We should see if we can find Kieran or someone – I didn't see him in the ballroom – and we have to do something with this painting."
Zach nodded, though his eyes were distracted, and Patrick slid one hand into his jacket into his suit jacket, pulling out a gun. Tucking the painting under his arm, he moved towards the door and checked outside briefly before gesturing for us to follow. As we stepped into the carpeted hallway, I asked Zach why he didn't have a gun. He grimaced and said, "Jer wouldn't give me one. Didn't trust me, I guess."
"More like he didn't want you to have one if you ran into Pazzini," said Patrick, facing forward as we walked down the hall. "In case you did something crazy. He was watching out for you, bro, right up to when he thought you took the painting."
I remembered Jer's words – I'm actually helping him out. Glancing sideways at Zach, whose face was stony, I figured he didn't quite see it as that. But he kept silent as we continued down the hallway, our footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, and Patrick gave him a quick glance as he said, "I know how we can get out of here, so I'll show you two where to leave, and then you can go for help while I stay here."
"And what if Pazzini decides to shoot a few guests in the meantime?" Zach shot back. "I don't remember him ever caring if he accidentally killed anyone. Who knows what he'll do when he figures out the painting's gone?"
After a little pause, I whispered, "Would he kill Jer?"
Patrick turned to give Zach a reproachful look, but at the same time his blue eyes stretched and he screamed, "Get down!" as he whipped his gun out in front of me. Zach threw himself on top of me, and both of us crashed to the floor as several shots rang out. My mouth full of carpet fibers, I squeezed my eyes shut in terror, Zach's arms warm around my body. He yelled Patrick's name and then rolled off me.
As a few more bangs filled the air, I scrambled to one side of the hallway, a scream escaping my mouth as I saw Patrick crumpling to the ground. The painting fell out of his arms as his hands clutched blindly at the top of his white shirt, where red was spreading rapidly. Zach had hurled himself at the shooter, knocking him off his feet, and somehow he had gotten his hands on the gun and was pointing it at the man.
"Zach!" rasped Patrick, on his knees. "Don't shoot him!"
I stumbled to his side, asking, "Where did he hit you?" but he shrugged me off, focusing on Zach, whose arms were shaking as they held the gun. The man was lying on the ground, his eyes moving rapidly around the hallway as if looking for escape, but as he tried to move, Zach snapped, "Stay there!"
"Zach," said Patrick again, breathing hard, "don't do it."
"Why the hell shouldn't I?" Zach's voice, in contrast to his hands, didn't shake. "Maybe he's been told to kill all of us. Maybe he's the one that shot Jer."
I looked at the man, suddenly filled with an intense hatred at the idea of him shooting my brother. For a moment, I wanted Zach to kill him. The shooter tried to move again, Zach warning him not to, but he just smirked and drawled, "I know you don't have the guts, kid. You couldn't pull that trigger." And he slowly sat up so that his back was against the wall, Zach's gun following him but doing nothing.
"Pazzini has a message for you," he said, and the gun jerked noticeably in Zach's hands.
"What does he want?"
The man cocked his head to one side. "The painting, obviously. He knows you have it and he's giving you half an hour to bring it to him. Or," and he smiled widely, "he's going to get a little trigger-happy."
"He's bluffing, Zach," said Patrick, who had fallen against the wall as well and now shrugged painfully out of his suit coat, pressing it against his shoulder. "He's just trying to force you to come to him. Don't listen."
A laugh escaped the shooter's mouth. "Pazzini knew you would say that, since you think you're so smart," he mocked. "So he told me to remind you, kid, that he never bluffs. He said to remember the last heist."
The man's eyes leered mockingly at Zach, who stood stock still, and then suddenly his gun arm whipped downwards, smashing against the shooter's face. He crumpled to one side, his eyes rolling up in his head, and Zach grabbed him by the shoulders, hissing, "Well, you tell Pazzini that I don't give a damn about what he thinks."
And then he crashed his gun once more against the side of his head.
"Don't look at me like that," Zach muttered as he straightened up to see us staring at him. He stepped away from the man, running a hand through his hair, acting all calm and put-together, but I didn't miss the panic in his eyes. I reached out and grabbed his hand under the pretense of pulling him down to look at Patrick's shoulder, but he held it for longer than was necessary; his was ice-cold.
"You've got to leave me," said Patrick, grimacing as he applied pressure to the wound. "I won't be able to keep up with you guys."
"Don't be stupid," said Zach roughly, shoving the gun into his waistband and lifting the suit coat on his friend's shoulder. "This looks pretty bad –"
Patrick pushed him away. "And Jer's probably worse. That's why you have to forget about me and get the hell out of here. It doesn't matter if they find me; they won't kill me, they'll just bring me downstairs. But they don't need to get you, too."
I glanced over my shoulder as the sound of pounding footsteps reached my ears. Zach looked at me with consternation, obviously hearing it too, and Patrick said urgently, "Go! Get out of here before they come!"
His mouth setting into a firm, determined line, Zach clapped Patrick on his uninjured shoulder, saying, "Hang in there, man," and then he scooped up the painting from the floor and pulled me to my feet. I said a quick goodbye and good luck to Patrick before sprinting after Zach. He swerved into the first room we reached, pausing for only a brief moment before hurrying to a massive brick fireplace against the back wall that sported a deer's head above it.
"What are you doing?" I asked, breathing hard, but my question was answered a moment later as he seized a footstool from in front of the fire. Stepping on it, he reached up and tugged the antler of the deer, and a moment later a familiar low creaking came from the right side of the fireplace. I watched in amazement as the bricks slid aside to reveal another secret compartment.
"Come on," said Zach, stepping inside, and I followed him, saying a prayer of thanks that I wasn't claustrophobic as the door clicked shut, leaving us in blackness. A small beam of light illuminated our faces a moment later, Zach holding up his phone with a crooked smile as he looked at my amazed face. He tucked the painting under his arm and walked to the right. It wasn't a compartment, I discovered with awe, but a passageway. A real-life secret passageway.
"This is so Nancy Drew," I breathed, my flats making no noise on the concrete. "How do you know about all these?"
Zach shrugged, his face shrouded in shadow. "I told you guys, I looked over the safe room before you came in. After I found that one hiding place, I figured there had to be more, so I did some exploring. It's not hard to find them," he said with a modest smile, "when you know what to look for."
"You make such a good spy."
He glanced at me, something flickering in his eyes, but then he stopped as sound issued through the walls, holding out one arm to hold me in place as we listened. My heart beat so loudly that I thought they had to hear it as we stood frozen for a full minute, but then we heard someone say, "Nothing here, let's try the next floor," and the noise receded. Breathing identical sighs of relief, we kept walking.
"Do you think they'll hurt Patrick?" I asked in a low voice.
"They better not," said Zach ominously, projecting the phone's light in front of us. "I'll kill them...don't worry," he added as he caught a glimpse of my face. "They won't kill anyone. Jer should be fine, they'll want him alive for information and hostages and stuff."
Maybe he realized that his words weren't super reassuring because he took my hand and squeezed it. Lacing our fingers together, he pulled on my arm slightly so that I moved into him, a smile hovering on his lips as I looked up at him. His breath tickled my nose as he said, "You remember the last time we were in a passage like this together?"
I managed a smile. "When I first met you and we were getting out of the Alley Cat's place with Coach Alan and Maria?"
"Alan's not here now," he murmured, and then he kissed me. I closed my eyes against his soft lips that I had missed so much, my mind whirling back to October as he snared one hand in my brown curls. When his mouth moved away, I opened my eyes reluctantly to look into his intense green gaze as he said, "Did I ever mention how beautiful you look right now?"
Blushing a little, I said, "You do, too."
"I look beautiful?" He cocked an eyebrow, and I stifled a giggle.
"No, stupid, I meant –"
But then the sound of a door banging open interrupted me, and we both froze with our arms around each other, jolted back to reality. Zach's playful expression fell away as he listened carefully and then gestured that we keep moving. Despite the warm pressure of his hand in mine, I felt a lump rise to my throat as our moment dissipated like smoke in the air.
The passage twisted a little, stopping at the foot of a narrow, dusty set of stairs. Zach came to a halt, his brow furrowed as he looked at the steps. "I don't want to go to the third floor," he said, more to himself than me, "because that's where they said they were going...and Pazzini's on the first..."
I kept silent as he thought, not wanting to distract him, and after a moment he reached forward decisively and grabbed a door handle on the right wall that I hadn't noticed. As he tugged it, that part of the wall fell open a little, and he peeped through the crack before pulling the door open all the way.
We stepped into another second-floor room, this one a study. Another, smaller fireplace stood to the left of where we had emerged from the passage, and I saw that its bricks created the door like the other room. A large mahogany desk stood on the opposite wall, an armchair several feet away from the fire, and bookcases lined the wall to the right. The room appeared to be unoccupied, but neither one of us relaxed.
Handing me the painting wordlessly, Zach quickly crossed the room and peered cautiously through the doorway into the hall before closing the door silently. He fell against the wall one hand resting against the gun on his hip and the other passing over his eyes wearily. I stood next to the fireplace, unsure of what to do, but then my eyes landed on a figure slumped on the floor by the side of the desk mostly shrouded from view.
"Zach!" I cried, and he jolted, his eyes flying wide.
"What?"
I pointed towards the desk. "I think someone's over there..."
Wrenching his gun out of his waistband, Zach padded forward warily, looking around the side of the desk, and suddenly he gasped out loud and exclaimed, "Kieran!"
Dropping the gun, he fell to his knees in front of the unconscious man, and I hurried to his side, setting the painting on the floor as we looked at Kieran's face. His scalp was matted with sticky dried blood, his eyes closed and face slack, and I wondered who could possibly have knocked out so big a guy. Zach grabbed his wrist, checking for a pulse, and after a moment he dropped it and seized the man's grey shirt, shaking him.
"Kieran! Kieran, wake up!"
I put a hand on his arm, saying carefully, "I don't think you should shake him," and Zach released him with a frustrated look. But Kieran was beginning to stir, brought to the surface by our voices, and Zach practically quivered beside me as he waited for him to come to. A moment later, Kieran's dark eyes opened in a pained squint, confused as he looked at us, and he raised one hand gingerly to touch the back of his head.
"What happened?"
"We don't know," said Zach worriedly. "We just got in here and saw you...it looks like someone attacked you from behind."
Kieran inspected the blood on his fingertips, wincing. "It's not bad," he said as he saw our faces. "Head wounds bleed easily, you know." He glanced around, confusion furrowing his brow as he took in the room. "Where are we? I don't remember coming in here..."
"Some study thing on the second floor," I told him, and he nodded slowly.
Zach frowned. "Where were you last?"
Kieran man looked thoughtful. "This floor...I was checking out some security details in another room when I heard Patrick go charging down the stairs like his pants were on fire, and then I was walking out into the hall to see what was going on – I guess someone was waiting for me to leave." His eyes lit upon the wooden case. "Why the hell do you guys have the painting?"
"It was stolen," I said, and his eyebrows jumped. "I mean, we thought it was because Patrick noticed it was gone, but then we found out Zach had took it –"
"WHAT?"
Zach groaned. "Could you have worded that any worse, Nat?"
Kieran struggled to propel himself off the wall, reaching forward and clutching Zach's shoulder with a stern look. "Now, look, Zach," he said in a voice much firmer than the unsteady trembling of his hand, "I feel some responsibility to tell you that taking the painting is a very, very bad decision, and getting an innocent gal like Nat involved –"
"I didn't take it!" snapped Zach, pulling back with an annoyed look. "Why does everyone always assume that?"
"Well, I'm sorry if I happen to know you pretty good –"
"He saved it from being stolen," I said hurriedly, sending Zach a pacifying look. "Some guy was trying to take it, and he knocked him out."
Kieran's mouth twisted doubtfully before he let go of Zach and fell back against the wall, shrugging. "Sorry, man, but one can never be too sure."
"Why does everyone assume you stole it?" I asked Zach, frowning, and Kieran snorted.
"Do you know nothing about –?"
Zach cut him off, growling, "Why don't we focus on the important thing right now? Kieran, why didn't you ever tell me –?"
But Kieran held up one hand, his eyebrows furrowing. "No, this is important, Zach," he said seriously, looking at me keenly. "You mean you haven't told her anything? Don't you think she should understand some of the danger of being around you with that painting? It's not fair to leave her in the dark like that."
I looked at Zach uncertainly, saw the hesitation in his green eyes as he glanced at me, but then he leaped suddenly to his feet, glaring at Kieran. "It's not fair?" he repeated incredulously, spreading his hands wide; they were shaking again. "Who are you to say that? After you and Jer and Patrick and everyone didn't tell me the crucial point to this whole thing?" And as Kieran made a noncommittal gesture with one hand, he shouted, "Pazzini!"
"Oh boy," muttered Kieran, his mouth pressing into a disapproving line. "Here he goes."
"You would've have thought just one of you would have told me – I get why Jer didn't, but you and Patrick are supposed to be on my side here – and don't look at me like that, how the hell did you expect I would react?"
"Zach," I said loudly, but he wouldn't look at me, his chest heaving as he glowered at Kieran. Kieran groaned loudly, holding his temples, and then he grasped the edge of the desk and heaved himself to his feet. Lurching forward, he easily dwarfed Zach as he took him by the forearms and held him firmly in place, looking down at him with unsympathetic eyes.
In a calm voice, he said, "Now, why don't we calm down? Think about this lovely girl here for a second; she doesn't want to see you go crazy. And maybe you want to go to him, but I'm not too keen on Pazzini finding us here because you're yelling."
Zach stopped fighting him, but his arms still shook in the man's firm hold. "Kieran, it's him," he said in a desperate voice. "And he knows I'm here, we saw him talking in the ballroom to Jer and he said he knows I have the painting –"
"And what are you going to do about that?" Kieran was the epitome of controlled; I looked up at him in awe from the floor. "What did he threaten to do if he doesn't get the painting, kill some people? What if he decides he feels like doing that even when you give it to him like a good kid?"
"I'll kill him!" Zach's eyes were burning.
"He'll kill you first," said Kieran firmly, his hands tightening on Zach's arms. "And then you know what he'll do?" He let go with one hand to form a finger gun and point it at my head. Zach looked at me, his eyes just as terrified and furious as if it were a real weapon. "Pazzini doesn't play fair, Zach. You above all of us should know that."
I held his green eyes as his chest rose and fell with fast breaths, the turmoil evident in his eyes as at last he looked back at Kieran. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked in a constricted tone. "What other option do we have?"
"We make a plan," replied Kieran confidently. "I know you're real ticked off, and I get why. Trust me," and suddenly his eyes were so intense that Zach couldn't look away, "I get why. You think I don't want to shoot his guts full of lead just as much as you do?"
His hold finally slackened enough that Zach could pull away, his eyes hollow, and Kieran slapped him on the back with an affectionate look. Without a word, Zach offered one hand to me to help me up, keeping it entwined in mine as I stood. His touch was freezing; I clutched his hand tightly, trying to give him some warmth and forcing myself not to ask questions.
"All right." Kieran leaned against the desk, snatching up a few tissues from a Kleenex box sitting on it, and then he looked at us as he pressed them to his head. "So we should find some way to talk to Jer, and definitely get the painting out. I think I have an idea – ready?"
I nodded with more confidence than I felt. "Absolutely. Let's go kick some butt."
Kieran smiled. "Zach?"
"My dad was a professional thief," said Zach abruptly, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around my hand. I stared at him, thrown completely into left field.
"What?"
He shrugged, his expression defensive. "You asked why everyone assumed I stole the painting. That's why. And until a few years ago," his eyes flicked to Kieran, "I was, too."