Free Identity Unknown by Terri Reed Page B

altar and patted the floor. He squatted next to her. “Lose something?”
    â€œI’m looking for the handle. It’s inlaid into the wood.”
    â€œHandle?”
    â€œSmuggling goods to and from ships anchored off the coast was how people survived. Then the War of 1812 happened, and the tunnels were used by the militia to defend the bay. Aha. Found it.”
    â€œHow do you even know the tunnels are still there?”
    â€œI grew up in this town, remember? I’ve explored every inch of the tunnels, the cliffs and the forest on the west side of the town.” She planted her feet and grasped the handle to lift a two-by-two hatch carved into the floor. “Grab the edge.”
    He did as she asked, easily lifting the lid all the way. He peered into darkness below. He thought he heard a rustling sound. Were there snakes in Maine? An image from a movie slammed into his mind. The hero of the action flick fell into a pit of snakes. A shudder of revulsion vibrated outward from John’s core. Why could he remember a movie and not something important like his name or his life?
    â€œThere’s a ladder” she said. “We’ll have to go by feel until we close the hatch. I don’t want to use my light until we’re safely below ground.”
    She sat on the ledge and felt around with the toe of her boot until she found the ladder rung. “Got it.” She held out her hand. “Sit next to me.”
    John slipped his palm flat against hers. Warmth shot up his arm from the point of contact. Her fingers entwined with his as he settled on the edge.
    â€œCan you balance the hatch while you go down the ladder?” she asked, her voice oddly breathless.
    â€œI can manage that.”
    She slipped off the ledge and disappeared into the pit below. After a few moments, she called out, “Okay, start down.”
    John used the toe of his boot to find the rung of the ladder, then he climbed down, slowly allowing the hatch to close behind him, blocking the moonlight until only darkness remained. His hands tightened on the rung as his foot touched the ground. Audrey flipped on her flashlight, illuminating a long tunnel carved through the earth and bolstered by thick wooden beams.
    Damp, earthy scents filled his nose, making him itch. An uneasy shiver worked its way through him. He decided he wasn’t fond of enclosed places. “Are you sure this won’t collapse on us?”
    She laughed. “Yes, I’m sure. This way.”
    They traveled through the dark, dank tunnel for several yards. A rodent scurried along the ground beside him.
    They finally came to a wooden door with large black hinges and a lever latch that let out a loud squeak as Audrey lifted it. Then she pushed the door wide enough for them to slip through.
    They were at the base of a cliff just north of the beach where John had washed ashore. He breathed in deep of the salt-tinged air, liking the refreshing way it cleared off the itch to his senses and made his chest expand. Definitely more comfortable in open spaces.
    Audrey walked away from the water to a berm separating the beach from the street. John followed, the sand making his gait unbalanced. He paused to turn back to the sea, his gaze on the churning ocean. Moonlight danced on the white-crested waves that undulated with the rough current. The lights of Canada twinkled in the distance like little beacons.
    Audrey retraced her steps to his side. “John?”
    Could he have washed ashore from the country across the bay? “Have you heard from the Canadian government?”
    â€œNot yet. You have to be patient.”
    â€œI wonder if patience is one of my virtues.”
    She tucked her arm through his and steered him toward the road. “Patience takes discipline. There may be people who are born with an extra dose, but it’s been my experience that patience takes effort. We’ve become too much of an instant-gratification