Secret Passage Read online

  He didn’t want to think about that too closely, although he had no idea why. He didn’t know her. Camille Somersby was a stranger to him and yet, from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her, Zac had sensed a connection. A strange bond he didn’t understand.

  Was it possible she could be the woman from his dreams?

  He didn’t see how. He was from another time, another place. How could he have known her?

  “Are you the one?” he whispered into the darkness, and, although he knew she couldn’t have heard him, she turned, as if sensing his presence.

  He shrank back into the shadows, unwilling to confront her. His attraction to her was a dangerous thing, and he knew that if he was smart, he would keep his distance.

  But there she was, crying in the moonlight….

  “She’s waiting for you. You have to go to her.”

  The voice was so clear in Zac’s head that he whirled, almost expecting to find the boy standing behind him. But no one was there. Nothing stirred in the darkness but a soft breeze that ruffled the leaves overhead.

  When he turned back around, the woman was gone, too.

  Chapter Six

  The blond nurse, Betty, could hardly contain her excitement the next morning when she came into the ward. She headed straight for Zac’s bed. “There’s an FBI agent here asking questions about you,” she said conspiratorially as she fluffed his pillow and straightened his cover. “His name is Talbott. He’s in with Dr. Cullen now.”

  Zac tried to keep his voice neutral. “What do you suppose he wants?”

  “It’s probably just a routine visit,” Betty assured him, but she bit her lip in consternation. “The government’s pretty sensitive about security in this area. They’re always snooping around, asking a lot of questions. It’s a bit nerve-racking to have Uncle Sam constantly looking over your shoulder. But I guess they can’t be too careful—” She broke off. “Here they come,” she said under her breath.

  Zac followed her gaze. Dr. Cullen and another man had just entered the ward, and, like Betty, they strode straight to Zac’s bed.

  “How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Riley?” Dr. Cullen asked briskly. His blue eyes were shadowed with fatigue and something that might have been disapproval as his gaze moved from Zac to the young nurse. But Zac had the distinct impression the doctor’s annoyance had been aroused, not by Betty’s presence, but by the man who stood beside him.

  “This is Special Agent Talbott. He’s with the FBI. He’d like to ask you a few questions if you feel up to it.”

  Zac shrugged. “Sure. How can I help you?”

  The agent was tall and toughly built, with broad shoulders that strained against his black, ill-fitting suit. His hair was dark and he wore it slicked back, highlighting his pale skin and the patch he wore over his right eye. He gave Zac a cool appraisal before turning back to Dr. Cullen. “If you and your nurse would excuse us, I’d like to have a word with Mr. Riley in private.”

  Dr. Cullen’s scowl deepened, as if the very sound of the man’s voice grated on his last nerve. “Of course.” He motioned Betty to follow him out, and she gave Zac one final pat before hurrying after the doctor.

  Talbott glanced around the ward as if determining whether or not the other patients could overhear them. Not satisfied by what he saw, he came around the bed to stand at Zac’s side. But, for the longest moment, he said nothing.

  His silence didn’t fool Zac. It was a waiting game. An intimidation ploy. He could see how it might be effective in certain circumstances. The man’s size alone was imposing, and the way his Cyclops eye focused unblinkingly on his subject was more than a little disconcerting.

  Zac stared back at him until Talbott finally glanced away. He paced to the end of the bed and back. “The doctor tells me you’ve made remarkable progress. You’ll be leaving the hospital soon.”

  Zac shrugged. “I suppose so. But I’m a little surprised that my recovery interests the FBI.”

  The cold blue eye vectored in on him again. “Make no mistake, Mr. Riley. The Department of Justice, as well as the DOD, is very interested in your movements.”

  “Why?”

  “This area is being flooded by strangers. Most of them are coming here for legitimate reasons, but there are some who are up to no good.” His gaze deepened. “The battlefields may be overseas, but the enemy is here, within our borders. They are plotting our demise even as we speak.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” Zac asked, remembering the crates stacked in the mine.

  “You may have the proper identification and papers, Mr. Riley, but I have a feeling there is more to you than meets the eye.” Talbott’s gaze narrowed. “Much more.”

  “I have nothing to hide,” Zac said.

  “For your sake, I hope that’s true. Because the FBI has a saying—we always get our man.” Glancing around, Talbott leaned in and said in a whisper, “I will be watching you. You can be sure of that….”

  ON INDOCTRINATION, each Oak Ridge employee, civilian and military alike, was given a brochure with detailed instructions on the proper code of conduct while behind the fence. The government’s motto was What You See Here, What You Hear Here, Let It Stay Here. And to reiterate that point, signs posted throughout the compound cautioned workers and residents to be on the lookout for enemy agents.

  But, in spite of all the precautions taken by the government, including around-the-clock patrols, checkpoints and screenings, breaches in security were inevitable. On any given day, as many as twenty thousand people passed through the gates into and out of the reservation. It was not hard to imagine that a spy, or even a saboteur, could somehow slip through the cracks.

  Although constantly aware of the threat, Camille tried not to let herself get caught up in the espionage paranoia. She hadn’t traveled sixty years back in time to root out spies or to interfere with the progress of the war. She was here for one reason only: to keep Dr. Kessler—her grandfather—safe from Von Meter’s dastardly plan, whatever it might be.

  At the thought of her grandfather, she couldn’t help but smile forlornly. The first time she’d caught a glimpse of him in Oak Ridge had been a surreal moment to say the least. The man she’d left behind in California was in his nineties and growing feebler by the day. The Dr. Kessler of 1943 was only a few years older than Camille, probably no more than thirty-five. He was a stoop-shouldered, studious-looking man with dark hair and eyes radiating such warmth and kindness, Camille’s heart had ached with the knowledge that the grandfather she knew, the Nicholas Kessler of the future, was not long for his world.

  She despaired of the time when she would lose him, too. Her father had been killed in the last days of the Vietnam War, and her mother had died ten years later. Her grandfather had been her only family until Zac had come into her life. And then Adam. Now they were both gone. Adam was dead, and Zac… Zac was still alive, but he was as lost to her as her son.

  Forcing herself from the painful reverie, Camille tried to concentrate on her work. She was one of dozens of young women employed in the administrative offices on the reservation whose duties included filing the thousands of top secret documents associated with the Manhattan project.

  From her desk, she could literally watch history being made. The men who passed through the offices, laboratories and the plants themselves wore color-coded badges which denoted their security level and bore names that would someday be famous in scientific circles: Ernest O. Lawrence, J. Robert Oppenheimer and Arthur Holly Compton.

  “You look as if you’re a million miles away.”

  Camille started slightly, then glanced up with a smile. A young woman with nondescript features held out a coffee cup. “I thought you could use a break.”

  “Thanks,” Camille said, accepting the cup.

  Alice Nichols perched on the corner of Camille’s desk and took a tentative sip of her own coffee. Blond and blue-eyed, she was several years younger than Camille, probably not yet twenty-five with an easygoing personality a
nd an infectious smile. She’d once confided to Camille that she’d led a very sheltered life until the outbreak of the war. Then, over her father’s objections, she’d left school to join the WACs, hoping to be sent overseas, but instead had found herself buried in paperwork at Oak Ridge.

  She glanced around, then leaned toward Camille. “Have you noticed all the VIPs coming in and out of here today? Something big is in the works.”

  Camille shrugged. “I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. What’s going on?”

  Alice glanced around again, then lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I hear Kessler is making waves again.”

  Camille kept her tone neutral. “Really? What’s he done?”

  The young woman hesitated as if struck by a sudden bout of conscience. “I really shouldn’t say anything….”

  But, of course, she was dying to. She’d let it slip once that she had a male friend who worked in Dr. Kessler’s lab and who, despite rules to the contrary, made frequent nocturnal visits to the all-female dormitory on the reservation where Alice lived.

  The arrangement wasn’t unusual. In fact, the number of out-of-wedlock pregnancies inside the reservation was a growing concern for the government.

  “Something’s going to happen on the fifteenth,” Alice confided. “And Kessler’s trying to stop it. It’s all very hush-hush. My friend was afraid to talk about it, even with me. He says it has something to do with a U.S. Navy ship, and that if all goes well, the war could be over in a matter of weeks, if not days.”

  The Philadelphia Experiment, Camille thought, her heart starting to pound. The fifteenth was less than a week away. Whatever Zac was up to, he would make his move before then, and she would have to be prepared to stop him.

  “What’s the matter?” Alice asked in alarm. “You look a little pale all of a sudden.”

  Camille tried to smile. “Nothing. We should probably get back to work.”

  “Oh…sure.” Alice got up and headed back to her desk. But, once she was seated, Camille glanced up and saw that the young woman was gazing at her speculatively. Did she suspect something? Camille wondered. Her paperwork was all in order, her cover solid. And yet she’d had a nagging feeling for days that someone was watching her.

  Was that someone Alice Nichols?

  WHEN ZAC OPENED HIS EYES, Camille stood at his bedside. For a moment, he thought that he might still be dreaming, but then she smiled, and the desire that stabbed through him was all too real.

  If anything, she was more beautiful than he remembered. Her hair was swept back from her face in the style of the day, and she wore only a hint of lipstick. Zac remembered reading somewhere that lipstick had been exempted from the government’s wartime restrictions on the manufacture of luxuries because they’d determined that the cosmetic was too important to maintaining gender lines and morale. Good call, he thought, gazing at Camille’s lush mouth.

  “How are you today?” she inquired in a voice that might have come straight from his dreams. It was soft and feminine, but with an edge of determination that made Zac wonder again about her motives. Who was she, and what was her interest in him?

  He wanted to be flattered by her attention, but, unlike the nurses who seemed to be starved for male attention, Camille Somersby appeared to be a woman on a mission.

  What that mission was and how it involved him, Zac had no idea. But he intended to find out.

  “I’m being released today,” he informed her.

  “Yes, I know. I spoke to Dr. Cullen.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, but Zac thought he detected a hint of nerves in the way she clutched her purse in both hands. “That’s why I’m here…to extend my offer once again.”

  “For a room, you mean.”

  “Yes. Have you changed your mind?”

  He studied her features. “Not really. I guess I’m still wondering why someone like you would make such an offer to a total stranger. You don’t know anything about me. About my character. I could be a criminal, a murderer for all you know.”

  Something flickered in her eyes. “I’m not afraid of you, Mr. Riley.”

  “I can see that.” He paused. “Maybe I’m afraid of you.”

  She looked startled. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s something about you….” He trailed off and shook his head. “Every time I see you, I get the impression we’ve met before. But I can’t place you.”

  She hesitated, then lifted her shoulders. “Maybe a part of your subconscious was aware of me in the mine. Maybe that’s what you remember.”

  “Maybe,” Zac said doubtfully. “At any rate, I’m not exactly in any position to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “Meaning you accept my offer?”

  His gaze met hers. “Meaning, under the circumstances, I would be a fool not to.”

  SHE WASN’T USED TO the Studebaker, Zac thought as he watched her struggle with the gears before pulling onto the street. She released the clutch smoothly enough, but something about the way she groped for the gearshift on the steering column made him think that perhaps she hadn’t been driving all that long.

  He supposed that wouldn’t be unusual for the time. A lot of women still considered driving a male pursuit, although the war was rapidly changing old perceptions. Since the start, women had gone to work in record numbers, and their contributions at home and abroad would be a vital part of the effort.

  Camille Somersby appeared to be one of the new breed of independent women. Her navy suit was trim, tailored, all business. She wore matching shoes, but her legs were bare, Zac noticed, because nylons, like so many other things, were hard to come by in wartime.

  He glanced up to find her gazing back at him. She’d caught him staring at her legs, but rather than appearing offended, she gave him a slight smile and returned her gaze to the road.

  A new breed of woman, indeed, he thought.

  A few minutes later, she pulled off the main road onto the gravel lane that led back to the lake. As they neared the water, they passed a white clapboard house with three boys playing in the yard. The same boys Zac had seen the night before. When they saw Camille’s car, they raced toward the road, waving and calling out her name.

  She stopped and rolled down her window as they bounded up to the vehicle. “Davy, Donny, Billy, I’d like you to meet Mr. Riley. He’s the man you helped rescue from the mine the other day.”

  The boys’ eyes widened as they took him in. The two older ones looked to be around twelve, Zac decided, with features similar enough to be twins. The younger boy, Billy, was probably no more than five, a freckle-faced carrot-top with a disarming grin.

  “Hey, mister, what the heck were you doing in that mine anyway?” Davy asked bluntly.

  “That’s none of your business,” his brother, Donny, informed him.

  “Sure it is. We saved his life, didn’t we?”

  “Yeah,” Billy agreed. “We saved his life.” He beamed at Zac, obviously pleased with himself.

  “What do you mean, we?” Davy demanded. “You weren’t even there.”

  “I was, too!” Billy defended. “I went and got Miss Camille just like you told me to.”

  “I was just trying to get rid of you so you wouldn’t be in the way,” Davy said. He turned to Zac. “It was Miss Camille and me who pulled you out of that mine. You’d have been a goner for sure if it wasn’t for us.”

  “Sounds like I’m indebted to all of you,” Zac said diplomatically.

  “Me, too?” Billy asked eagerly.

  “Of course, you, too.” Camille reached out and tousled his hair. “Your job was very important that night, Billy. You did just as you were told. I’m very proud of you. I’m proud of all of you,” she added. “But I meant what I said. I want you boys to stay away from that mine. You hear me? That place is dangerous.”

  “In the meantime, whatever you have to do, you keep those damn kids away from here.”

  Zac frowned as he studied Camille’s profile. Was it possible she’d be
en in the mine last night? He thought back over what he’d seen and heard. The man had done most of the talking, but Zac was certain his companion had been female. She’d spoken so softly he hadn’t been able to hear her responses. Camille had a soft voice. And when he’d emerged from the trail last night, she’d been standing beside the lake. Had she arrived mere minutes before he had?

  That would explain why she seemed so eager to provide him a place to stay. If she thought he might have stumbled upon her nefarious activities, then it stood to reason she’d want to keep a close eye on him.

  His gaze flickered over her again. She was gorgeous, mysterious and, if his instincts were to be trusted, dangerous. The thought crossed his mind that Camille Somersby just might be Oak Ridge’s version of Mata Hari.

  “Do I have your promises that you’ll never go up there again?” Camille demanded of the boys.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Billy readily agreed.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Donny echoed.

  Davy said nothing. That kid was trouble, Zac thought, his gaze meeting the boy’s.

  Davy’s gaze was direct, knowing and more than a little defiant.

  Zac’s frown deepened. Between the kid and Camille, he looked to have his hands full.

  “THIS IS IT.” Camille pushed back the curtain revealing a tiny, converted porch with windows on one side overlooking the lake and on the other, the woods that sprawled up the face of the ridge. The bare plank flooring creaked ominously as Zac stepped into the room and glanced around. The space was sparsely furnished with a narrow bed and an old beat-up dresser shoved against a whitewashed wall. But the view from the windows more than made up for the lack of luxuries.

  “This is great,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable out here.”

  “You might not say that come morning,” Camille warned. “It’s like an oven in here when the sun comes up.”

  “I’m sure I’ll manage.” Zac placed his meager belongings on the bed and walked over to the windows to stare out at the lake. Before he’d left the hospital, Betty had put together a care package for him, complete with several changes of clothing she’d borrowed from her cousin and some toiletries she’d used her own ration coupons to purchase at the store in town.