“Three blind mice, see how they run,” Dr. Lyon taunted. Not sounding the least bit afraid. His courage no doubt bolstered by the fact that he had a loaded pistol clasped in his hands.
That or the crazy old coot could see in the dark.
Like she wasn’t scared enough, that thought sent a shiver of pure panic up her spine. Edie wondered how long they could play the avoidance game. Although the sanctuary was fairly large, with a diameter of some twenty-five feet, at some point, they were bound to bump into each other.
If she could just find Caedmon, maybe they could escape together before their would-be killer figured out they’d gone AWOL.
No sooner did that plan cross her mind than she brushed up against something warm. A body! She instinctively jerked, fell over, started to scurry away. A strong hand grabbed her ankle.
“It’s me, love.”
Caedmon! Thank God!
Relief instantly morphed into panic, another gunshot ringing out.
“You will both pay for the heinous crime that you committed,” Dr. Lyon announced.
Edie’s stomach painfully knotted. She frantically reached out, grabbing hold of the first thing that her hand came into contact with — Caedmon’s kneecap. Which one, she had no idea. “We have to turn the lantern back on!”
He leaned close to her, his nose bumping against her cheek. “I’m afraid that the lantern’s a lost cause,” he whispered in her ear.
“I have a second one in my duffel bag. It’s on the other side of the cave. All I have to do is crawl—”
“No!” he hissed, his warm breathing hitting her full in the face. “Any idea how many death traps are in the cave?”
“There are two of them — the one behind the altar and the one that I fell into earlier in the week.”
“Right. I want you to stay put while I go after the bastard.”
“Are you crazy? Not only are you handcuffed, but you have a broken hand.”
“Trust me, love, he will kill you.”
“Like you’re gonna get off with only a slap on the wrist. Not only do I have two good hands, but I’ve got a mean side kick in case you missed the earlier show. So I want you to stay—” Edie swept her arm to and fro across the stone floor.
Where before there had been a hard knee and a warm body, there was nothing but thin air.
Caedmon was gone!
CHAPTER 94
And we are all for the dark.
Damn the Bard. He had no blasted idea just how abysmally dark it could get.
Hampered by the handcuffs, Caedmon had to crawl, crab-like, on his knees and elbows, wrists held off the ground. He bit back the pain that ferociously pulsed from his mutilated hand. Surrounded by Stygian blackness, he navigated by sound. A difficult feat in a cave where each and every thud reverberated off the octagon stone walls in a distorted echo.
Knowing there was a second death trap, he painstakingly moved forward a few inches at a time. Every now and again, he stopped, listened, made a course adjustment. A blind, battered fool. But what choice did he have? If he and Edie called retreat and left the cave, the bastard would put a bullet in each of their backs.
While Dr. Lyon had a gun, he also had at least seventy winters on his head, putting the older man at a distinct disadvantage. Or so Caedmon hoped. His plan was to catch the bastard unawares.
Hearing a muffled wheeze — one that definitely did not emanate from Edie — he headed in that direction. Hope renewed.
The chain that yoked the two cuffs together softly jangled.
Almost instantaneously, a shot rang out. The bullet hit the floor a few feet from Caedmon, spraying his face with stone chips.
Bloody hell!
The bastard was standing there — wherever there was — with his ears perked. Listening. Firing each and every time he heard so much as a peep. By his count, Dr. Lyon had five bullets left in the clip. Ample ammunition to kill them.
Caedmon froze. Stilled his breathing. Focused on the palpable silence until he heard—yes! — an almost imperceptible breath.
The old man was close. Very close.
Knowing it was now or never, Caedmon surged forward, butting his head against Dr. Lyon’s shins — knocking his legs out from under him. The older man hit the ground with a thud. One that induced a pain-racked bellow.
The attack cost Caedmon, an agonizing burst of pain exploding in his left hand. He bit back a scream, unable to follow up on the initial attack.
Seconds later, catching his breath, he awkwardly clambered several feet, swiping the ground with his manacled right hand, searching for the fallen gunman. He came up empty-handed.
Where in God’s name was—
A lantern suddenly switched on, the cave flooded with fluorescent light.
Caedmon blinked, willing his pupils to speedily make the adjustment. Squinting, he glanced up… just in time to see Professor Lyon, now standing over top of him. Still clinging to the Emerald Tablet, the other man aimed his small black pistol right at him. The kill shot — when it came — would slam directly into the center of his forehead.
Caedmon gulped a deep breath. No doubt his last. Standing near the altar, Edie screamed.
“I’m sorry,” the older man murmured, eyes filled with tears.
“I’m not!” a deep voice intoned.
What happened next occurred with such stunning rapidity that Caedmon struggled to process the lightning-fast chain of action and reaction: Dr. Lyon glanced up. Gasped. Redirected his 9mm pistol at the new threat. Caedmon peered behind him. His turn to gasp—
The Narragansett Indian, Tonto Sinclair, a Winchester bolt-action rifle held to his shoulder, stood in the entryway to the sanctuary.
Just then, a bullet rang out. Fired from Dr. Lyon’s pistol. A split second later, another shot, this one from Tonto Sinclair’s rifle. Caedmon watched in stunned amazement as a high-speed bullet hit the Emerald Tablet. Actually ricocheting off the damn thing! As though it were sheathed in Kevlar, the relic proved impenetrable.
The impact of the high-velocity shot forcefully thrust Dr. Lyon backward. Like a wobbly child’s top, the older man spun to the left. He then staggered several steps, still, amazingly, keeping his hold on the sacred relic.
Suddenly realizing that the older man was veering toward the second death trap, Caedmon unthinkingly shouted, “Stop!”
Too late.
Like his beautiful paramour, Dr. Lyon instantly vanished, plummeting to… the abyss.
CHAPTER 95
A moment of stunned silence ensued.
Only to be shattered when the Indian rifleman deftly yanked the bolt handle on his weapon, ejecting the spent shell casing. Grim-faced, he closed the bolt, chambering the next round.
“Something tells me that we’re not out of the cave just yet,” Edie murmured. In her right hand, she held a lantern, its white beam skittishly jerking about. Evidence of her jittery unease.
Tonto Sinclair strolled over to the gaping hole and peered down. “What do you wanna bet there’s no big white rabbit down there?”
“You have my gratitude, Mr. Sinclair,” Caedmon said, well aware that the Indian had saved his life.
Resting the rifle in the crook of his arm, Sinclair stared at him with hooded eyes. “Last I heard, white man still speak with forked tongue. And I didn’t take out the bastard to save your ass.”
“Indeed? Which begs the question, why did you pull the trigger?”