Amelia stood there, breathing heavily, confusion mixing with her adrenaline. Where could he have gone? She reached out and touched the wall, half expecting her hand to pass through as if it were an illusion. But it was solid, cold stone.

  Amelia stood there, catching her breath for a moment, looking at the seemingly impenetrable wall before her. Finn’s words echoed in her mind, reminding her of the possibility of secret passageways lurking behind the castle’s ancient façade. If Sam Falstaff had truly grown up here, playing in the corridors and exploring forgotten chambers, it was entirely possible he knew about hidden escape routes.

  Feeling along the cold, stone wall, her fingers came across a brick that felt different from the rest, slightly misaligned. Tentatively, she pushed at it. To her astonishment, there was a soft yet definitive click, and a panel of the wall below creaked open. A concealed hatch.

  She carefully took out her flashlight and peered inside. The beam revealed a narrow, winding passageway, its walls damp with age and neglect. The passage was covered in a layer of dust that looked untouched for decades, save for some recent footprints and broken cobwebs. From the darkness ahead, the faint sound of footsteps echoed back, growing fainter but confirming she wasn’t alone.

  Amelia hesitated at the entrance, torn between the impulse to pursue and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. But the need to stop a potential killer overpowered her reservations. Taking a deep breath and gathering her courage, she stepped into the dark, secret tunnel. The hatch slowly shut behind her, leaving her in an eerie silence, save for the distant, hurried footsteps. Her pursuit deep into the castle’s forgotten secrets had begun.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  The grand staircase that led to the third floor of DeGrey Castle was an architectural marvel to Finn, an artwork carved out of stone and wood. Each step was worn from centuries of use, with grooves and depressions hinting at the countless feet that had trod upon them. Intricate wooden carvings adorned the banisters, depicting scenes from times long past, and tapestries from forgotten epochs hung on the walls, their once-vivid colors now faded by time.

  Outside, the storm raged with unabated fury. Lightning illuminated the castle’s Gothic windows, casting eerie, fleeting silhouettes on the walls. The sound of rain and wind pounding against the thick stone walls became a relentless drone. Every so often, a gust of wind would seep through an unnoticed crack or crevice, carrying with it the cold, damp smell of the tempest.

  As Finn ascended, his hand skimming over the banister, his footsteps echoed in the vast emptiness, producing an odd, rhythmic drumming. The soft light from scattered sconces barely lit his path, and shadows pooled in the corners, giving the space an almost claustrophobic feel despite its size. He moved with speed and purpose.

  He had to get to the other DeGreys before Sam Falstaff did.

  Upon reaching the third floor, he noticed the corridors narrowing, ceilings becoming lower, making the castle seem older and more foreboding. The east wing, as described by Mr. Lincoln, was even more isolated and silent, its atmosphere heavy with a quiet tension. Doors lined the corridor, each one more intimidating and ancient than the last, their timeworn wood adorned with rusting, ornate handles.

  Bits and pieces of fragmented thoughts began swirling in Finn’s mind. The urgency of the situation, the silent castle, and the mysterious undertones of everything that had happened so far combined to form a cocktail of unease and suspicion. He felt like he was on the brink of a revelation, the edges of a puzzle that was slowly coming into focus.

  What if…? Could it be…? His mind tried to grasp the slippery tendrils of an idea, of a theory that was just out of reach. But just as the faint outlines of that thought began to crystallize…

  A sudden, brilliant flash of lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the corridor in stark relief. And in that split second of blinding brightness, an object swung toward him from the shadows. He barely had time to register the approaching danger before it connected with a sickening thud to the side of his head.

  Pain radiated outward, and a feeling of weightlessness took over as Finn was knocked off his feet. The world tilted and spun as he hit the cold stone floor, the roar of the storm outside fading into a distant hum. Blackness threatened to engulf his vision, and he struggled to remain conscious, desperately trying to grasp what had just happened.

  The cold stone pressed against Finn’s face, each breath coming labored and each heartbeat echoing with the sharp pang of the blow. Gritting his teeth, he mustered all his strength, pushing with his arms to roll onto his back.

  His eyes adjusted, and standing above him was a silhouette he’d hoped never to see in such close quarters. It was Sam Falstaff, a formidable figure even in the dim light. Cold, steely eyes that bored into Finn’s were set into a face that was hardened by a life of bitterness and brutality. The sharp lines of his face seemed etched in stone, but it was the gun in his hand that truly commanded Finn’s attention. The metallic glint betrayed its recent violent contact with Finn’s head, red droplets dripping menacingly from its butt.

  Without warning, Falstaff aimed the weapon straight at Finn’s face. Instinct took over, and with all the force he could muster, Finn thrust his foot into Falstaff’s knee. A grunt of pain was the only acknowledgment, but it provided the briefest of moments for Finn to regain his footing.

  The corridor echoed with the sound of their struggle as they grappled for control of the gun. An ear-piercing bang resonated, the bullet narrowly missing its mark. Even dazed, Finn’s history as a special agent and fighting all his life had honed his reflexes and instincts for close combat. Their punches were swift, the movements a blur. Finn summoned all his strength, pushing Falstaff into an antique cabinet. Wood splintered and trinkets crashed to the ground. But Falstaff, relentless, retaliated with a solid punch, catching Finn off guard. As Finn stumbled back, Falstaff took aim and fired again, this time successfully hitting Finn’s shoulder.

  The shock of the bullet’s impact was jarring, but strangely, Finn felt no pain. A rush of adrenaline flooded his system, making him hyper-focused. He quickly retreated, finding refuge behind a nearby corner. The dim light outside cast a reflection of Falstaff on a glass window. Finn watched, breath held, timing his next move.

  He lunged from his cover, striking Falstaff with a surge of energy, nearly gaining an upper hand. But his injury held him back, and Falstaff managed to counter, pushing Finn back. There was now enough space between them. Finn tried to back off, but Falstaff had him in his sights. He aimed once more, ready to finish the job.

  Suddenly, with a thunderous crash, a large vase sailed from the shadows, shattering against the wall next to Falstaff. Sharp shards sprayed in every direction, a few finding their mark on Falstaff’s face. He howled in pain and surprise.

  Emerging from the shadows, Winters’s face was a mix of determination and concern. Without hesitation, she grabbed Finn’s arm, steadying him.

  Falstaff was now on the back foot, running back the way he had come.

  “We need to go after him!” Finn exclaimed, grimacing from the pain.

  Winters shouted back, “You’re injured! Wait!”

  Finn, defiant, responded, “Now! Otherwise, I’ll probably be the one paying for that vase. It looked expensive.”

  Winters didn’t have time to even crack a smile.

  With that, they gave chase, their combined efforts driven by the knowledge that Sam Falstaff was armed and ready to kill. Just ahead, they caught a fleeting glimpse of him, his figure disappearing down another flight of stairs into the bowels of the castle.

  “I bet that goes back down to where the DeGreys are,” Winters said above a deafening clap of thunder. “Come on!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Finn and Winters charged down the stairs, the ancient wood echoing under their hurried footfalls. The castle’s long corridors seemed to extend forever, but a scream was heard, which they followed, and soon they emerged into the night air, the storm’s cool mist kissing their faces.

  The smaller courtyard, typically narrow with its cobblestones and arching shadows, had transformed into a dangerous battlefield and a hostage situation.

  In the center of the courtyard stood Sam Falstaff, casting his own tall shadow on Finn’s and Winters’s two parked cars. The dangerous glint in his eyes was unmistakable even from a distance, and Elizabeth, a captive in his grasp, added to the threat. She struggled, but he tightened his hold, pressing the barrel of his gun firmly against her temple. It was a dark tableau, made all the more eerie by the muted light of the stormy night.

  The rain seemed to have lost some of its fury, turning into a steady drizzle that created ripples in the puddles forming on the ground. The soaked environment, however, did little to dampen the tension in the air. Every once in a while, a lightning bolt sliced through the sky, casting sharp, silvery illuminations that gave fleeting clarity to the scene before them.

  “Let her go, Falstaff!” Finn shouted, his voice echoing across the courtyard.

  Winters, ever the strategist, began slowly and discreetly circling to the left, trying to get a better angle, her gaze never leaving Elizabeth.

  Falstaff smirked, his confidence evident. “I think it’s about time we settle this, Agent Wright,” he sneered.

  “We can end this peacefully,” Winters interjected, her voice firm and calm. “Let Elizabeth go, and we can find a way out of this.”

  Falstaff chuckled. “Peacefully? I think it’s a bit late for that, don’t you? This family don’t deserve peace. They deserve hell!”

  Elizabeth, despite her predicament, managed to find her voice. “Sam, you don’t need to do this.”

  He tightened his grip, causing her to gasp. “Quiet!”

  As the standoff continued, Finn began to slowly inch closer, each step deliberate, his every sense focused on Falstaff, looking for an opening.

  The storm raged on above, the clouds and lightning fighting for ascendancy. Every crackle of thunder seemed to echo their raised words, while every flash of lightning revealed the desperation in their eyes.

  In one of those split-second illuminations, Finn watched as Winters spotted a jagged piece of stone near her foot. Without breaking her gaze from Falstaff, she subtly bent down and picked it up.

  Finn realized she was preparing for something. It was all about timing now. Winters was going to do everything she could to save Elizabeth from Falstaff.

  With the next roar of thunder, Winters stepped forward, about to make her move, but then she was stopped in her tracks by Finn’s loud, booming voice.

  “I’m tired of this,” Finn said. “Just shoot her.”

  “What?!” Elizabeth pleaded.

  “Yeah, shoot her,” Finn said. “I want to go to my bed and this is way more drama than I need tonight, I mean, I’ve already been shot.”

  “Finn, what are you doing?!” Winters said in a shouted whisper.

  Finn grinned from ear to ear and winked at Winters. “He won’t shoot her.” He turned back to Falstaff. “You won’t shoot her.”

  “I will!”

  “No you won’t, Sam,” Finn said. “Because you love her, and she loves you.”

  There was a lull in the storm as Finn’s words made their way around the courtyard.

  “What?” Winters said.

  “I first noticed it,” Finn explained, “when I saw a picture of you, Sam, as a boy here in an old newspaper. A girl was sitting next to you. I didn’t quite see the resemblance to you, Elizabeth, until I saw some family photos here at the castle.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. She paused for a moment, her eyes telling the tale of her conflict. Was there a way out? Could she escape with a persuasive plea? All this Finn could see moving around in her mind like a runaway train, a frantic hope for some escape.

  But like many before her, Elizabeth seemed to finally hit a dead end in her mind. There was no way out.

  Looking dejected, she seemed intent on persuading Finn that somehow she and Sam had been right to do what they had done.

  “Try to understand,” she said. “They took everything from us.”

  “Yes,” Finn said. “They sent away your childhood sweetheart, and you both plotted to destroy them for what they had done. You, Sam, because you felt they stole your life. And you, Elizabeth, because they stole your love. It was Sam you were going to meet, wasn’t it, the night Nathaniel died? But he didn’t show at the bar in London, did he? You were as surprised as anyone that he chose that night to kill Nathaniel.”

  Elizabeth’s lip began to quiver, and Falstaff looked nervously at her at a moment, as if trying to control her with a gaze.

  Finn went on with his theory: “And then tonight. We agreed that the entire family should stay in the dining hall. You volunteered to tell Francis and Lloyd. You said you’d get Mr. Lincoln to accompany you, but you didn’t do that. Instead, you knew that if all the family was guarded in that hall, Sam wouldn’t be able to get at any of them. So you left the room. You called him, and he moved off from his hiding place. You told him that Francis and Lloyd were upstairs and sitting ducks. Did you tell him where Maggie used to jog in the mornings, too?”

  Elizabeth began to cry.

  “It doesn’t matter, though, does it?” Finn said, sarcasm rife in his voice. “After all, you were only a distant cousin of the others. No doubt, you felt on the periphery somewhat. Not as much as Sam here, but enough to make you both feel like outcasts. Enough to push you together into a bitter love and murder pact.”

  “It’s not like that!” Elizabeth yelled.

  “Save me your tears,” Finn said. “You are as manipulative as they come. I’d even hazard a guess that you managed to persuade Quentin to change his will back, so that you would get at least a cut of his money. After that, it was time to let Sam here do his dirty work and kill the man. Or was it you who injected Quentin, Elizabeth? You certainly could have gotten close enough. Maybe you did it because Sam here didn’t have the guts after all to kill someone he had once seen as a father figure.”

  Falstaff swung the gun around and pointed it at Finn. “I won’t miss this time!”

  “No, but if you wait any longer,” Finn said, “the entire power of the British police force will be raining down on you. Neither of you will escape. This is your only chance to run.”

  Finn looked at Winters and gave her a knowing glance.

  “Here,” Finn said, taking keys out of his pocket and throwing them to Elizabeth. “Take my car. It’s the one next to you.”

  “Come on, Sam,” Elizabeth said. “He’s right. I… I have money hidden away. We can run, they’ll never find us. At least we’ll be together.”

  The rain started to fall with greater fury again. Sam gave Finn an icy stare before taking the keys and getting in the car. The engine started up and the car moved off toward the small cobbled road that led to the drawbridge.

  Finn turned to Winters and grinned. “I finally got rid of that car!”

  Winters took out her own keys. “Get in.”

  The roar of engines tore through the night as Winters and Finn sped out of the courtyard. Their car’s headlights pierced through the rain, following the taillights of Finn’s old car that now carried the fugitives.

  The short cobbled road leading out of the Castle DeGrey toward the drawbridge was narrow, and felt more precarious than before, certainly treacherous in the stormy conditions. With the rain making the cobbled surface slick, the chase was fraught with danger.

  The car rumbled along the stone, and Finn felt the vibrations running up through the chassis and up into his legs. The surface was never built with cars in mind, its ancient origins laid centuries before cars and phones and even electricity were but a dream in an inventor’s imagination.

  Finn felt as though the car was going to skid off those shiny cobblestones, thrusting them into a deadly collision with the mighty stone walls of the castle, but the danger did not seem to deter Winters. She gripped the wheel intently, handling the car with the adept skill of an off-road driver.

  Even from inside Winters’s vehicle, Finn could hear the familiar grinding and crunching sound of his car’s failing gearbox up ahead. Falstaff was struggling to keep control, the car jerking erratically and losing speed.

  Using this to her advantage, Winters deftly maneuvered her vehicle alongside Finn’s car. “Hold on!” she shouted to Finn, her determination evident in the set of her jaw. “He’ll only kill again if we let him get away.”

  With a calculated nudge, she forced Finn’s car toward the edge. The two cars scraped against each other, metal against metal, before the weight and inertia sent Finn’s vehicle crashing through the guardrail and plummeting into the moat below.

  The splash was enormous, sending water cascading into the air. Winters skidded her car to a stop, and both she and Finn leaped out, rushing toward the moat’s edge. Without hesitation, they both dove into the murky waters, searching for Elizabeth and Falstaff.

  Amid the bubbles and the darkness, Finn managed to grab Elizabeth, dragging her up to the surface, struggling with the injury to his shoulder. Winters surfaced moments later, Falstaff gasping in her grip. Both culprits were dazed but alive.

  On the bank, the two gate guards, previously rendered useless in the unfolding drama, now hurried to assist. They helped pull Elizabeth and Falstaff from the water, their hands swiftly secured behind their backs with Winters’s cuffs.

  Coughing and spluttering, Finn managed to get out, “Knew you gentlemen would come in handy eventually.” He shot them a weary smile.

  Waterlogged and exhausted, Winters and Finn caught their breath, the rain mingling with the water from the moat. “You okay, Finn?” Winters asked, concern evident in her eyes.

  Finn touched his shoulder, his fingers coming away smeared with blood. “I’ll live,” he replied with a grimace. Then, with a smirk, he added, “But if I’d been wearing my lucky Hawaiian shirt, this never would have happened.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19