“No service down here,” Harrison said, his voice dripping with false sympathy.

“The foundations of Aster Hall are four feet of solid limestone.”

“Even the radio waves cannot get through.”

He lunged forward suddenly, his hand grabbing my wrist.

His grip was tight, squeezing my bones together.

I gasped, trying to pull away, but he was stronger.

“Let go of me!” I shouted.

“Give it to me,” he muttered, his face inches from mine.

I could smell the champagne on his breath.

With his other hand, he reached for my jacket pocket.

I twisted my body, slamming my shoulder into his chest.

He stumbled back, his grip slipping from my wrist.

I scrambled to the side, trying to reach the stairs.

But Harrison recovered quickly.

He grabbed the fabric of my jacket, pulling me backward.

The fabric tore with a sharp, loud rip.

I fell to the damp floor, the cold stone scraping my palms.

The flashlight dropped from his hand, rolling across the floor.

It illuminated the base of the massive iron door.

Harrison did not chase me.

Instead, he stepped backward toward the stone staircase.