Trapped in an Iron Cage by His Outlaw Brother, an Ex-Con Tracker and His Wife Risk $2.5 Million in Underworld Gold and Their Lives through Explosive Hidden Traps and Paternity Betrayals
I kept my gaze locked on Eli, forcing a look of defeated compliance. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
“The gold is hidden,” I rasped, my voice dry from the desert air and fear. “But it’s not here.”
Eli’s rifle didn’t waver. The barrel pointed directly at Maeve, who was still kneeling, her torn plaid dress dusted with fine sand. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.
“Where then, little brother?” Eli’s voice was a low growl, thick with impatience. “Don’t play games.”
“The map,” I whispered, leaning forward slightly, “is in Harlan Croft’s safe. The land appraiser. You know the one.”
It was a lie, a distraction. But Eli’s eyes flickered, the mention of Croft’s name a known trigger point for his illicit dealings.
Maeve, bless her fierce, brave heart, understood. Her hand, trembling, began to inch forward. I’d taught her the sequence for the hidden explosive pin beneath the cage, a desperate gamble I’d set weeks ago when I’d “allowed” myself to be caught.
She discreetly crawled on her knees, the coarse fabric of her dress whispering against the dirt. Her fingers, small and nimble, slid beneath the rusted iron frame of my cage. Eli’s attention was fully on me, a hungry predator scenting weakness.
“Croft?” Eli scoffed, a sneer twisting his lips. “Why would my gold be with that simpering fool?”
“Because you trust him,” I said, my voice carefully flat. “You’ve got him wrapped around your finger with all those forged deeds.”
A faint click echoed, so soft it was barely audible above the wind. Maeve had done it. She had pulled the safety wire. The blast trap was armed.
Now, we just needed a trigger.
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