The Roadside Waitress Who Healed a Warhorse and Exposed a Mob Traitor
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Take the basement line,” Dante ordered the young guard.
“Bring the girl to the secure room below the main house.”
“What about the horse?” I asked.
“He stays here,” Dante said. “The stalls are reinforced with steel plate.”
“He will be safer here than in the crossfire.”
I reached out and patted Vesper’s muzzle one last time.
The big horse blew a warm breath against my palm.
“I’ll be back,” I whispered to him.
The guard grabbed my arm, more gently this time, and pulled me toward the back of the stable.
We walked quickly down a narrow hallway lined with leather saddles and bridles.
The smell of oiled leather and oats was strong here.
At the end of the hall, the guard pushed open a heavy wooden door.
It led to a flight of concrete stairs going down into the dark.
The light from the red emergency beacons didn’t reach down here.
I could hear the dull thud of gunshots through the earth above us.
“Keep close,” the guard said.
He had a small flashlight clipped to his vest that threw a bouncing beam of white light ahead of us.