She nodded at his surprise.

  “Did you know that was under your bed?”

  “Not until last night when I came back into my room and found my bed had been moved.”

  So they were back to her believing that someone was in her house last night?

  “Remember the metal box I told you I found under the floorboards? That same floorboard had been pried up and hadn’t been pushed back down all the way. I knew someone had been in here. When I knelt down, I saw that the dust bunnies under the bed had been disturbed. Also there were marks on the floor where the bed had been moved.”

  He had to give her credit, that was pretty observant of her. When he’d searched her house for an intruder, he hadn’t noticed any of that. “It must just be an opening to the crawl space under the house. Did you—”

  “I took a look, but no, I didn’t go down there. But someone did. I found a piece of cloth caught on the trapdoor. It hadn’t been there long since there was no dust on it.”

  He stared at the trapdoor with the nails sticking out of it for a moment. “I’m assuming you have a hammer.”

  She reached over to the bureau, retrieved the hammer and handed it to him. “That’s not all. Remember the metal box with the photos and newspaper clippings? I had put it in an empty drawer in the kitchen. Well, it’s gone.”

  He looked up at her. “But it didn’t appear that anyone had broken into the house. Unless...” He glanced down at the trapdoor. “Sorry, I didn’t believe you last night.”

  She nodded, seeming to let it go.

  It took a few minutes to remove the nails. She’d hammered them down pretty good. He handed them to Annabelle, and after the last one, she gave him a flashlight. It was small and not all that powerful, but he figured he wouldn’t be going far. He’d seen trapdoors in other homes that were merely a way to get down to the crawl space if needed.

  That’s why he was surprised when he shone the flashlight beam down into the hole and saw the footprints on what appeared to be steps. He glanced at Annabelle. She flashed him an impatient look that said maybe it was high time he started trusting her. Now that was definitely something he wasn’t going to ponder right now.

  “I’ll go down and see—”

  “I’m going with you.” She had her arms crossed, and her jaw set, and determination burned in those blue eyes.

  “I can tell you right now there are going to be spiders, cobwebs, maybe even mice and only God knows what else down there.”

  * * *

  ANNABELLE DID HER best to hide her shudder. “I’m going.”

  He shook his head. “Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  She still had the bandanna covering her hair and wore the baggy jeans and ugly sweatshirt. Perfect for a tour of the hidden space under the house.

  Dawson took a tentative step onto the top stair, then dropped down the next three. The steps were wide apart. When he reached the earthen floor, he turned to offer her a hand. She hesitated only a moment before taking it. Even with his help, she had too much momentum and ended up in his arms.

  He chuckled. “If that’s all you wanted, we could have stayed up in your bedroom.”

  “Funny,” she said, pushing herself off his rock-solid chest.

  He turned to shine the flashlight beam under the house. “Huh?”

  She too was surprised to see that they were standing in what appeared to be a narrow trench. “Isn’t this awfully deep for a crawl space since we don’t have to crawl?” she asked.

  He shot her a look. As he shone the light toward the rear of the house—and the darkness, he said, “If you are still determined to come along, stay right behind me.”

  Once away from the trapdoor, the damp, earthy air became close. The flashlight beam punched a small hole into the absolute blackness ahead. She grabbed hold of his tooled leather belt. When she tried to see around his broad shoulders, a spiderweb hit her in the face. She shuddered and wiped crazily at it with her free hand.

  “You all right back there?” he asked, amusement in his tone.

  “Fine.”

  He stopped. The flashlight beam flickered upward and she saw that they had reached the back of the house. “Watch your head,” he said as he ducked under the edge of the foundation.

  This time when she glanced past him she saw that this underground space didn’t end under the house. It made a sharp right-hand turn and then appeared to keep going. They would have to either crouch down or crawl.

  “What is this?” she whispered, although she doubted anyone could hear them this far underground. That thought sent a chill through her.

  “It appears to be a tunnel.”

  “A tunnel? A tunnel to where?”

  “Good question,” he said. “I’m not sure you should go any farther. We have no idea how long it’s been here. If it were to cave in—” She started to argue, but he stopped her. “One of us needs to be able to call for help if the other doesn’t come back. You want to see where it goes? Or...” He turned her around. “Or do you want to make your way back to the bedroom? Just keep walking until you reach the light.” As much as she hated to admit it, he made a good point. “Give me five minutes once you reach the bedroom. If I’m not back, call for help because part of your backyard would have caved in on me.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t—”

  “Sure you can find your way back?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. He gave her a little push and she started walking. It was pitch black all around her. She put out her hands. Spiderwebs brushed her fingers. She stumbled and had to grab hold of the dirt bank next to her. She thought she heard a scampering sound and wanted to run.

  But she kept her gaze on the faint light ahead and walked as swiftly as possible. When she reached the steps up into her bedroom, she turned to look back. All she could see was darkness. Not even a faint flashlight beam.

  She pulled herself up the steps into her bedroom, grabbed her cell phone and set the timer for five minutes. That’s when she saw the spider on her sweatshirt sleeve.

  Annabelle had been a runway model, but she’d never undressed that fast in her life. Opening the window, she tossed the clothes and bandanna, spider and all, out the window. She could still feel spiderwebs in her hair. Phone in hand, she streaked across the hall to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, she jumped in, letting the warm water wash away the dirt and dust and spiderwebs as quickly as possible. The alarm would be going off in a few minutes. If Dawson hadn’t come back...

  * * *

  DAWSON FOLLOWED THE TUNNEL, aware of the fresh prints in the soil ahead of him. Annabelle was right. Someone had recently been in this tunnel, which would explain how someone had gotten into the house without breaking in.

  As he shone the flashlight into the blackness ahead, his mind raced. How long had this tunnel been here? Had the first owners of the house dug it? For what?

  He’d read stories about secret passageways. In Mexico, wealthy Spanish silver families years ago had tunnels dug under their houses to get their families and silver out in case of an attack by outlaws. But what would a family in Whitehorse have to fear? What would a sweet old lady like Frannie Clementine have to fear? Or to hide?

  He thought of the newspaper clippings and the walled-up alcove. Oh, Frannie, what secrets did you have? Maybe more to the point, why leave the house just to Annabelle? Was there something here that you wanted only her to find?

  His flashlight beam shone on what appeared to be more stairs ahead. Reaching the end of the tunnel, he climbed up a step to push on another trapdoor. It creaked open, but only a fraction of an inch. That was enough though to see where the tunnel ended—in the old garage behind the house. Someone had pushed several heavy bags of sand onto the door. To hide it?

  * * *

  WHEN THE ALARM on her phone went off, Annabelle was just stepping from the shower and ready to call the sheriff for help if Dawson hadn’t—She let out a shriek as the bathroom door swung open and jumped back into the shower to cover herself with the plastic curtain.

  “You do realize that shower curtain is see-through, don’t you?” Dawson drawled as he stepped into the steamy room and turned off her phone’s alarm.

  “You scared me half to death,” she snapped. “I was ready to call the sheriff so we could start digging for you. You could have knocked.”

  “I did. When I saw your clothes flung all over the yard, I got worried.”

  “There was a spider...”

  He nodded, still looking at her. She had to give him credit, though, his gaze was on her eyes. But she could tell that he was enjoying himself. He’d caught her at a distinct disadvantage.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  “The tunnel kept going all the way to the old garage. There was another trapdoor. Someone had pulled several bags of sand over on it recently, I would suspect so no one else found it.”

  “I wasn’t asking about that. I meant that you should leave the bathroom and let me get dressed.”

  He glanced around. “It seems you didn’t remember to bring anything to wear. It’s a good thing the tunnel didn’t cave in on me.”

  “I was ready to call for help.” She cocked her head at him. “A gentleman would leave.”

  He chuckled at that, his gaze locking with hers. “You and I are way past that, Annie.”

  Her heart did a dip-tee-doo at the sound of the pet name. He’d only called her that when they were alone and always when they were intimate. The heat of the shower had warmed her cheeks, but nothing like the sound of that cherished name on his lips.

  Without breaking eye contact, he handed her a towel.

  Her pulse throbbed under her skin as desire rippled through her. In his eyes, she could see that he remembered what they’d shared right down to the last kiss, the last caress, the last time they’d made love.

  She let go of the shower curtain to pull the towel around her. When she did, his eyes definitely weren’t on hers.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rob walked along the edge of the Milk River. He could only assume it had gotten its name because it resembled chocolate milk. The river was more like a wide ditch. It backed up onto Frannie Clementine’s property.

  After the old lady had been a problem, he’d known he couldn’t keep walking around the neighborhood. Unfortunately, there were a lot of old ladies like her. Driving past was almost as bad. He swore most of the neighbors spent their time at the window looking for trouble.

  He’d gone through the metal box of photos and newspaper clippings last night. If he’d had any doubt that Francesca Clementine was his uncle’s Baby Doll, he no longer did. He had to get back into that house, but it had been a beehive of activity. He’d watched box loads of belongings being hauled out.

  After following one of the trucks, he’d realized with a sinking feeling that all of it was going to the dump. All but some old furniture that he’d seen dropped off at a local charity shop. What if the granddaughter didn’t realize what she was throwing away?

  He told himself that wasn’t possible. She wouldn’t throw away priceless gems. He had to believe what he was looking for was still in the house.

  Anxious, he wanted to end this. The motel in town was adequate but nothing like his home in New York. The weather was colder and he couldn’t get any of the food he’d grown accustomed to in the city. It made him jumpy and irritable. Everywhere he went he saw cowboys and pickups. Last night he swore he heard mooing cows. He’d looked out his window to see a semi parked across the street. Sure enough, the back was loaded with cattle.

  “I have to get out of here,” he said to the wintry-looking landscape. The temperature had dropped and a fog had rolled in. Now everything was covered with frost. He kept slipping on the icy grass along the edge of the river. So help him, if he fell in, he was going to kill someone today.

  Last night he’d seen the trapdoor in the old barely standing garage and thought he’d hit the jackpot. But once he’d dropped down in it, he realized it was a tunnel. Following it, he’d ended up in one of the bedrooms. It had taken all of his strength to move the bed aside enough that he could get the trapdoor all the way open.

  Once inside, the house had proved to be uninteresting. He’d found the metal box with the photos and newspaper clippings, confirming what he already knew. Francesca had been Baby Doll. But that’s all he found.

  So what was the point of the tunnel? He hadn’t had enough time to search the house well. He didn’t think the loot was hidden in the tunnel. It seemed more like an escape route. The old lady must have had it installed in case someone discovered who she was, what she’d done and just how much stolen loot she had gotten away with.

  Now he stopped at the back of the house. He could see only a portion of it through the dense, bare-limbed trees and the rock wall next to the river. On the other side was the old garage. He studied the property for a few long minutes trying to decide what to do next. From what he’d seen in the house, the crew who’d been helping the granddaughter should be about done.

  The granddaughter would finally be alone. He was counting on it. The first step would be seeing what she knew. Then disposing of her. He could hide her body in the tunnel while he tore the house apart.

  He’d been so sure that the woman in the obit wasn’t his uncle’s Baby Doll. Then he’d been certain that, if she was, she’d blown the loot long ago. Then he’d discovered the tunnel and that had changed everything. The way he saw it, Frannie Clementine had the tunnel dug as an escape route in case she was found out. She would have been afraid of what Bernie would do if he found her. The woman wasn’t stupid.

  But if she was that afraid, then Rob’s instincts told him she probably lived on the cash and gold but wouldn’t have dared fence the jewels. She would have known that Bernie and his associates were all waiting for even one of the pieces to surface. Which meant the gems were still in that house. All he had to do was find them.

  * * *

  “YOU KNOW WHAT this means,” Dawson said, rising up on one elbow.

  She looked into his eyes, her heart pounding. When she’d awakened, all she could think was that this was what everyone had tried to warn her about. But being with Dawson had felt so right. She still loved him. Had never stopped loving him.

  That didn’t mean she knew what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. She thought about Willie’s warning.

  “You know what we have to do now,” he said.

  A dozen thoughts raced through her mind. Her mouth went dry. Did he think because they’d made love and fallen asleep in each other’s arms that it meant she was back? That they would take up where they’d left off? All her conflicted feelings for him aside, her life was a mess. She couldn’t commit to a paint color if she had to, let alone what she wanted to do with the rest of her life right now.

  “We have to bust open that wall in the kitchen.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “What?” That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. He must have seen her relief because his brown eyes dimmed a little. His look said, It’s okay, Annie. I know you don’t want me.

  Annabelle wanted to cry out that it wasn’t true. She’d never wanted anyone the way she did him. But everything was so complicated right now. She would never know if he’d just been an easy way out. Worse, he’d never know if that hadn’t been the case.

  * * *

  DAWSON HAD SEEN the panic on her face when they’d awakened in each other’s arms. The passion was still there between them, the chemistry, even the love. Last night had proved it. But it wasn’t enough to keep her in Montana, maybe especially with a Montana cowboy like him. She’d been out in the world. She’d lived a glamorous life. Being a ranchwoman was a far cry from the way she’d been living in California.

  “Annie, the tunnel, the metal box, all of it,” he said, hoping she didn’t see his disappointment. Had he really expected last night to change anything? “Who knows what other secrets your grandmother had, but given what we do know...we have to open that wall.”

  A laugh escaped her. He saw her relief and felt his heart drop even more. Obviously last night hadn’t meant the same things to her that it had to him. Still, he wouldn’t have changed anything. They’d wanted each other, needed each other. Even as he’d taken her in his arms, he’d known it was temporary and he hadn’t cared one damn bit.

  This morning...well, only a fool would have thought that making love with her would change everything.

  * * *

  “WE HAVE TO look at all the evidence,” Dawson said as he climbed out of bed and began pulling on his clothes. So they weren’t going to talk about last night. Apparently they were back to business as usual, which meant getting this house sold and her gone.

  “No woman has an escape tunnel unless she has something to hide,” he was saying.

  She felt bereft as she watched him dress and leave her bed. As much as she wanted to call him back, to try to explain... “Maybe the original owner—”

  “The original owner didn’t have it dug. This was the bedroom you grew up in, right? Was that escape hatch under the bed?”

  She shook her head. Nor had the board been pulled up to hide a metal box. But there had been an alcove in the kitchen that was now gone. She didn’t want to believe that any of this was true because of what it said about her grandmother. What it said about Annabelle herself. There was a reason her grandmother had left only her the house, she was starting to realize.

  “We’re talking about Frannie,” she said as she got up and quickly dressed. She saw that Dawson had retrieved her clothing from the yard, sans spider. She dropped it into the hamper and put on her own jeans and one of her new T-shirts. “You remember Frannie? Local do-gooder, tiny, sweet, always helping others.”

  “I remember her. But you’re forgetting. Sweet Frannie had a past. She was a mobster’s moll.”