Chapter 9

"Try not to kill me!"

Emily tightened her hold around Spenser's waist, her voice lifting over the motor of the Polaris ATV as Spenser drove over the dry, rutted land—a shortcut to the old White homestead, where the final shoot would take place.

Such gorgeous country, with the mountains rising around them, the sun high in the clear blue sky. Here, the air smelled of pine and balsam, the land ablaze with pink bitterroot and tiny blue forget-me-nots that swayed in the breeze.

They drove along a bumpy dirt path, through a gulch, a tumble of granite and rock rising on one side, dotted with scrub brush and scruffy pine. On the other side, the gulch dropped to green pasture, before dropping again to the cool, fast running Kootenai river to the east.

Around them, mountains touched the clouds, the land brutal and unforgiving.

"Just hang onto me!"

Oh, she was hanging on. She had her hand gripped around his washboard waist, her legs pressed against his thighs.

Still, she hadn't hated Spenser's grand idea that they run a general safety check on the location when she'd arrived on set this morning. Apparently, he had the day off from shooting.

A day that he spent the first few minutes pulling her behind the production trailer, his hands braced on either side of her shoulders, trapping her so he could kiss her.

Oh, he was sunshine to her soul. Something about him just made her feel…wanted.

Or at least not lost.

"You're going to get me fired," she'd said, the taste of coffee on her lips. Oh, he was breathtaking today in a Drifters T-shirt, that might be just a little too small for him, and a pair of faded jeans, cowboy boots. He even wore a black Stetson, and it fit him so well, it probably wasn't a prop.

"Trust me."

She drew in a breath. Trying. But she didn't say that because, well, she didn't want to be that girl who said…what happens next?

But it hung in her mind last night after he'd left. After they'd finished eating, then watched an episode of Law and Order—except not really because most of it they'd ended up kissing.

And Spenser Storm could kiss.

Please, let it be real.

Although, if it was a fairy tale, she intended to squeeze every last moment from it, starting with spending the day with Spenser on the ATV, driving around the Montana foothills.

Swoon.

He'd grabbed a couple sandwiches from craft services, along with bottled water, and she put them into her backpack, with her phone and an extra charger, just in case. She also added sunscreen and a handkerchief to hold her hair back.

"According to the drawing, the big ambush scene is supposed to take place just beyond this mountain." Emily held the surveyor's map of Old Henry's land in her hand.

They'd traveled maybe a mile, or less, across country, between towering balsam and lodgepole pine, following the gulch as it turned east under the shadow of the Kootenai mountains.

The map slapped against her, folding over itself in the wind, and he slowed as she plastered it against his back.

"Okay, so, the house is set back from the road a ways. I think we follow the gulch and just past this mountain, we'll run right into it."

He had stopped to survey the land, however. "Just gorgeous. So much different than lowlands where the Flying S sits. There, the mountains are just a blue line in the distance."

"I snagged this map from the fire office," she said. "If you keep following this gulch to the west, you'll run into the old house where they're supposed to film, and then beyond that, the valley where there's a resort with an airstrip and a horse farm. There's a kids' wildfire camp to the north of that, but all this land," she opened her hand and spread it over the map, "is owned by the White family. It's a massive piece, about thirty miles of acreage along the river, and into the valley. And, there's a huge gold and silver mine on it. Apparently, that's how the Whites made all their money."

"Are you talking Isaac White, the president?"

"I think so. I'm not sure, but I know he owns land in Montana, so…" She lifted her shoulder. "I did some Googling. The ghost town you're filming at started in 1870 after a silver strike in the mine, and it served the mining community—saloon, bank, trading post, livery. A school and a church. Over two thousand people lived in the area, including the mining company. Nearer the mine, there are some cabins and an office. Who knows if they're still standing, though. The mine is huge, however. There's supposedly a north entrance, too, and tunnels that run for miles. According to the map, it even connects to an underground cave system. The entrance should be around here, somewhere in that mountainside." She pointed to the rise in the land ahead, a mix of towering pine and sharp-edged granite.

"Apparently, the town was decimated in 1889 after diphtheria hit it. The mine shut down in 1912, and the town died over the next decade. It was eventually acquired by the Whites. I think they use it for hunting trips now."

"I saw some moose tracks earlier. Ready?"

For what? Probably not. "Yes."

"Hang on." The four-wheeler lurched. Sputtered. "Just a second." He depressed the ignition.

She took a moment to admire his forearms, the nice tan he was getting.

Stop.

The four-wheeler kicked on, and he cut them east, the dirt path rutted and littered with rock. They slowed as they traversed a stream, a runoff to the massive river.

They rounded the mountainside. "There's the mine." The land flattened and spread out into a grassy tarmac. An old building, the faded wooden walls partially standing, the roof fallen to the center, listed to one side near a timber-braced rocky maw.

He slowed and then worked his way off the path toward the mine entrance. Closer, it seemed the river ran from it, just a swampy trickle, but moisture that bled from the rocky entrance. Braces framed the top and sides of the entrance, and more timber ran into the tunnel. A rusty pipe, probably for ventilation, ran along the ceiling, along with a black cable for electricity.

"Want to go in?"

"No, thanks. It looks spooky."

"Whooo," he said, sounding like a ghost.

She whacked his shoulder, then pointed to a cabin, still intact, farther down the gulch. "Let's check that out."

The four-wheeler sputtered again, but he restarted it and motored them along the bumpy swath of land toward the cabin, maybe two hundred yards away.

The cabin wasn't huge—peeled logs stacked on top of each other, with pitch between the cracks, and a wooden roof. But as they drew closer— "Is that smoke coming out of a stovepipe?" She pointed.

He slowed the ATV. "I think so."

The cabin sat on a small hill, cluttered with pine trees and scrub, and as they drew around the curve of the land, shouts lifted.

He slowed.

Then a shot rang out, fracturing the air. Birds scattered. More shouts and two more shots. And from the front of the cabin, burst a man. Long hair, tied back, he wore a black shirt, jeans, and a baseball hat.

He turned, shot back into the house, just as another man stumbled out after him. Rail thin, dark hair, he also held a gun and now turned and fired back at the house.

"Spenser—"

He was already gunning the ATV. But of course, it sputtered again, died.

Ponytail Gunman spotted them. "Hey!"

"Spenser!"

He was turning over the motor, but the engine just whined.

Skinny had mounted a dirt bike.

"Spense—"

"C'mon!" He hopped off the four-wheeler, grabbed her hand, and pulled her off.

The driver with his bike skittered down the rocky hillside.

"Run!" Spenser had her hand, pulling her along the path, heading toward the trees.

A shot, and a bullet winged past them, and he ducked, kept running.

Another shot, and she glanced behind to see the biker had hit the road.

Spenser shoved her off toward the forest, sparse as it was, as another bullet pinged past them.

"Run, Em!"

The bike's motor burned the air, louder behind them. They reached the collapsed structure, and he pulled them behind it. More shots.

"The mine!"

No, no—but now the second man had cleared the hill, roaring toward them.

The cabin exploded. A massive thunder of timber and stone and fire that blazed over the tree line. Flames licked the air, edged in black, ferocious and deafening.

The bikers spurted out of the black cloud, gunning for them.

Spenser gripped her hand and took off, running hard for the mine opening. He splashed into the water, dragged her in, and ran straight into the dark maw.

More shots pinged against the walls even as they sloshed deeper into the mine, the light blinking out too fast.

"Spenser—"

"Don't let go!" He kept pulling her into the darkness. Shouts at the entrance echoed down the chamber.

She tripped, and he caught her, then kept going deeper. The darkness thickened, just a hint of gray now. "What if we fall into a pit, or a shaft?"

"Good point." He stopped then, turned and pulled her against him, his arms around her, backing up until they pressed against a wall. "Shh."

Shouts, more shots, and she closed her eyes, her focus on his arms around her, the hard planes of his warm body, his thundering heartbeat.

Swearing sounded, but it seemed to be farther away.

"We need to get out of here, so we can call my hotshot team, tell them about the fire before it gets out of control. It's so dry out—it could turn into a wild?—"

A terrible thunder erupted, careening through the tunnel. Shook the earth, and dirt showered them.

What little light remained snuffed out.

A beat, and the cacophony stilled, leaving only the explosions of her heartbeat.

"Did they—did they blow up the entrance?" She whispered, but the cave seemed to swallow her words.

Then everything inside her shattered when he drew in a breath and said, in a shaky whisper. "I think we're trapped."

* * *

"Maybe this wasn't such a brilliant idea." Spenser stepped back, his fingers raw. Sweat saturated his body despite the dank chill that permeated the mine. "I don't know how thick this cave-in is, but we're not moving these rocks."

Emily stood behind him, her cell phone flashlight aimed to the clutter of rock and timber that had exploded to block the entrance to the mine. Thick chunks of granite, wood, and boulders clogged the entrance.

"We're lucky the entire thing didn't come down on us." She shone her light along the broken beams that still clung to the ceiling. "I'm not so sure we should even try and move this debris. Feels like it's keeping the whole thing from caving in more."

Wow, she was brave. Sure, she'd screamed when the mine entrance collapsed, had hung onto him, trembling, her face in his chest.

But it only kept him from doing the same actually, and instead, he took a deep breath, held her tight.

Don't panic. He wasn't sure who said it first, but it became a sort of mantra as the dust settled, as he found his cell phone in his pants pocket and turned on the flashlight.

"Don't panic." He'd held out his hand, and she took it.

"Don't panic," she said as they picked their way to the front of the mine.

"Don't panic," he whispered as they stared at their only way out.

Now, she flicked off her flashlight—his was still lighting the cave, his cell phone propped up on some rocks—and came up to him, wrapped her arms around his waist. "Don't panic."

"I think I'm way beyond panic." He embraced her, pressing a kiss to her dusty hair.

"At least we're not being shot at."

"Right. What do you think that was?"

"I dunno. Meth lab? That's more likely than something rigged to blow on purpose."

He looked down at her. Dust streaked her face, layered her hair, her eyes so blue in his. "Really? Out here?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised. It's not unusual for hotshots to walk into a field of marijuana or some drug camp while we're out fighting fires. Or at least that's what my roommate JoJo says."

"No wonder the place blew up." He scratched at the stubble on his jaw. "Pretty careless, no matter what their beef was with each other that led to a gunfight." And then they'd shot at him and Emily.

She let him go and nodded, her face grim. "Maybe one of the shots hit something explosive." Her hands on her hips, she faced the darkness ahead of them. "So, now what? This mine is layers deep, with tunnels in all directions."

"There are rails here. Maybe they lead to another exit. Let's see that map."

She'd pulled off her backpack and now retrieved it, pulling out the map from inside. He fetched his phone and shined the light on it.

"It only marks the entrances. Here, where we came in, and then there are some cabins up this way, about a half-mile away. There's a house over here to the west, but I'm not sure it's connected to the mine."

"What's this?" He pointed to a line on the eastern edge of the map.

"That's the Kootenai river."

"We followed that for a while coming up."

"Yeah, it's probably a half mile from us."

"Does it connect to the mine?"

"I don't know."

"What about the cave system you mentioned?"

"That's connected somehow to the mine, but I have no idea where, or how."

He stood up and shone his light down the shaft.

"Okay," she said. "My dad is a caver, and he always says the best thing to do is follow a pattern. So, we go down the shaft, and every time it turns, we go left. And take a picture of where we're going. We keep track of how many times we turn, so if we have to go right, we note it. And let's turn down the beam on your light, conserve energy."

He turned the light down, let go of a couple breaths. Looked up at her.

She held onto the wall of the cave, her eyes closed.

"What are you doing?"

"Praying."

He wrapped his arms around her, held her to himself. "I haven't been much of a person of faith since Coco the Great died, but…she used to pray The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer."

"Fear or Faith."

"What?"

"Something Conner said to me. Am I going to live in fear or faith?"

"I don't think we have much choice right now."

She turned, slid her hand into his. "Maybe that's the answer. Is there ever really a good choice?"

Then she stared down the tunnel, into the darkness. A rusty metal pipe ran across the top, a black wire affixed to the wall, the rock clearly chipped out in places, possibly dynamited in other places.

Faith was the only real answer.

The temperature fell as they walked deeper, the tracks veering away, the path taking them down a staircase, then to another level.

The tracks split as they came to a larger chamber.

"Left?" she said.

He picked up a couple rocks and set them together on the tracks, another one making a T. "Just in case we come back this way." Then he took a shot of the entrance behind him and followed her into the darkness.

The tunnel grew smaller, just the size of a train cart, maybe, and he had to duck then crouch. "I don't love this."

She was on her hands and knees now. "It feels strange that miners would crawl through this space."

"Maybe this is for the track. Let's double back."

He turned around, and they followed the tracks out, hitting another expansive chamber.

"Where's our marker?" This chamber connected to two more, with stairs descending to more depths. The train track ran to a tunnel ahead, again tight, with a larger tunnel to the right.

"Where's our original tunnel?" Emily said.

He pulled up his picture. "I don't know. Did we miss a turn?"

She closed her eyes. "Okay, take a picture." She set up another marker, pointing back to the tunnel they'd emerged from.

Water clung to the walls, the mine seeping minerals, the smell of rust and dirt thick in the darkness. He flashed his light down the larger tunnel and led the way, her hand in his. His light fell upon the rusty piping. "I think we need to stay in the tunnels where there is piping—the other ones might just be for hauling out ore."

Some forty feet down the tunnel, his light fell upon a caged electrical panel. On a chance, he threw the breaker.

Nothing.

"Wait—Spense, do you feel that?"

He stilled. Nothing but her hand in his, the sense of doom hovering nearby. "No. What?"

"Air, I thought. Fresh air. Maybe I imagined it."

"Which direction?"

"In front of us."

He continued to grip her hand and headed into the darkness. They came to another stairway, down, no sign of the rails. A smaller corridor led to the right.

"Down?"

She closed her eyes. "I don't know. I don't feel it anymore."

"I don't want to go down." He showed his light into the corridor. Narrow and dark, it raised the small hairs on his neck.

"I think down is the only way," she whispered.

The uneven risers were cobbled together by rotted wood. He shone his light down. "I can't see the end."

She turned, looked back where they came. "Spenser, there are two tunnels behind us."

He turned. Stilled. "We did it again."

"Mmmhmm."

Blowing out a breath. "Okay. Down we go." He glanced at her in the wan light.

She gave him a smile. "C'mon Quillen, into the darkness, into the adventure."

"Seriously." But he turned to the stairs. "Please let this thing not crumble on us." A metal railing was affixed to the rock, and he tested each step as they descended, the wood creaking, cracking, flexing under their weight. Unlit lanterns hung from the walls.

He looked back, and only her face was illuminated above him.

Yeah, this was a bad idea.

Especially when the board snapped beneath his step. He lurched forward, hit the next board and it, too, cracked.

"Spense!"

He felt her hand on him a second before the world dropped beneath him. Suddenly, he was falling into darkness, a scream echoing off the unforgiving granite walls.