With so much to process, Lana slept fitfully, her dreams twisted and confused, most involving some apparition of Griffin. Sometime in the night she awoke to a whisper—Griffin, crouching beside her, saying her name. She blinked repeatedly.
“Lana, wake up. There’s someone here.”
“The guards?”
“No. These guys are searching for something. Or someone. We gotta get out of here.”
Chapter 8
Griffin
As Lana pulled on her shoes, Griffin peered through the blinds. The pathway between the rows of trailers was empty, the shadows still. Even so, adrenaline clawed up his spine, cold and spiky. “There are four of them, moving through base camp.”
“They woke you?”
“Couldn’t sleep. I was coming back from the beach. Caught myself scanning for photographers, actually, and saw these guys. They’re all in black, and armed—holsters at their waists.”
“Some kind of beefed-up set security, because they think we broke in? Which we … did.”
“In balaclavas? No. No way these guys are here in any official capacity. They’re picking locks, breaking into trailers, keeping to the shadows. They’re moving quick, not messing around, not rummaging through stuff. We gotta get away from the trailers. There are better hiding places, like actual catacombs.”
“Have you called the cops?”
“Wi-fi’s dead. So’s the power. I’m guessing they took it out.”
“Could we head for the gates, alert the guards?”
“Too exposed. You good to go? Leave the backpack—best we travel light.”
She shoved some things in her pockets. They slipped out of the trailer, careful not to clang down the steps. Nearby, a walkie-talkie crackled, followed by a quiet male voice. Lana met Griffin’s eye and he jerked his head toward the back of the trailer, where they sheltered behind a wheel. He felt like his soldier character inThe Thunder Protocol.
“Let’s head for the tunnels,” he whispered. “One of them leads to a cave on the beach. From there we can take the coastal path.”
The citadel loomed above them, silhouetted in the moonlight. What had he gotten himself into? He barely had a conversation with a stranger unless they’d passed a background check, yet here he was, breaking into a trailer with this woman, accessing files he shouldn’t be accessing, and now escaping from some shady people. Not to mention coming dangerously close to kissing her.
The eastern citadel gate opened noiselessly—the screech in the show was added in post-production—and they slipped onto the set. They headed for the passage within the walls, but a flashlight beam swept past, catching Lana’s legs.
“I got her,” a woman shouted.
Griffin ushered Lana into the passage, as footfalls came at them from two sides. “Head for the alcove where the costumes are,” he hissed. Lana turned on her flashlight. As they ran, the beam bounced along the stone walls. A stronger beam crisscrossed theirs—their pursuers, so close Griffin could hear panting.
They rounded the corner to the alcove, just as a tall figure in head-to-toe black stepped from the shadows, hand hovering over his holster like a spaghetti-western gunslinger. Lana skidded to a halt and Griffin wheeled around, taking in both the gunslinger and the woman coming up fast behind them. Heput his back to Lana, holding out his arms to shield her. A light flashed across his eyes, leaving everything else pitch black.
“Get that out of my face,” he snapped. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“Shit, that’s Griffin Hart!” the woman said.
“It’s … what?” The guy stepped forward for a closer look. “Oh Jesus!”
Okay, so it wasn’t Griffin they were after.
“Is he in on it? Do we take him too?”
“Hey, calm down,” Griffin said, looking from one to the other, capitalizing on their indecision. “Tell me what’s going on.”
The woman deferred to the man.
“We just want a quiet chat with the girl who’s with you, that’s all,” the man said in a measured tone.
