Bouncing Betty by Liliana Hart (english reading book .TXT) 📕

I came to my feet and stepped over Wagner’s body, grabbing my handbag as I walked out of his living quarters and toward his offices. I stopped at the landing to make sure I couldn’t hear anything unusual, and then I hurried across to the table where the maps were laid out. While I studied the pins and notes and small figures placed all over Europe, I took my knife attached to a garter from my bag and slipped it over my shoe and up my leg so it rested tightly around my thigh.

I committed every bit of information to memory, and then moved to his desk, rifling through drawers. The top of the desk was clear, and most of the drawers were empty. But there was a locked drawer on the bottom right side and I dug in my handbag for the lipstick.

My head jerked up as I heard noise from below, and my fingers trembled as I went to work on the lock, fumbling in my haste. When the lock snicked open, I jerked open the drawer and saw a brown leather satchel inside. I grabbed the whole thing and strapped it over my shoulder, tightening the strap as much as I could around my small frame.

I took off my shoes and left them under the desk, and then I headed back to the landing and the stairs. My pulse beat rapidly in my throat as I considered my options. There had to be a passageway from Wagner’s rooms to the servant stairs, but I didn’t know where it was. There were several bookshelves and a fireplace, and it was likely the entrance to the servant stairs was behind one of those, but I couldn’t waste valuable time trying to find the entrance.

I had no choice but to go back down the main stairs and go through the kitchen to the servant stairs. From there, I was hoping I’d run into the Alliance and the secret room that held the Cordiers.

I slid my knife from the sheath and padded down the stairs softly. Whatever noise I’d heard earlier would have dire consequences, and I saw the first body of one of the officers who’d been charged with guard duty lying at the bottom of the stairs. His arms were splayed wildly above his head and his eyes were open and staring straight at me.

I paused when I got a better look at his face, realizing that this man hadn’t been one of the two who’d been standing at attention when I’d first arrived hours earlier. If what Wagner had said was true and he did have eyes and ears inside the Smithers’ home, then he’d have planned for an ambush tonight.

There were two other bodies at the front of the house, and I felt my heart stop as I realized one of them was John Armstrong. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and the hilt of a knife stuck out from his neck.

We’d found an accessible entrance point on the blueprints from the roof onto a fourth-floor sunroom, and as far as I knew, that was how the team planned to infiltrate the house. Whatever had happened down here had passed, and they’d moved to a different location. I just couldn’t quite figure out which direction they’d gone. The officer at the bottom of the stairs could have been blocking them from coming down or chasing them up.

I cleared the area before moving past the stairs and toward the kitchen door. It was a swinging door, but it was perfectly still. I pressed my ear to the door and heard nothing but silence, and then I carefully pushed the door far enough that I could see into the kitchen.

There was a soft thud as the door hit something solid, and I pushed again. Something heavy blocked the door, and I put all my weight behind it, pushing until I could squeeze through the opening and over the body of another officer.

The guys had been outnumbered, but where the Gestapo was used to brute force, the Alliance had spent time honing life-saving skills and stealth. The officer at my feet had a broken neck, as did a second one who was crumpled close to him.

I held the knife in my hand so it was concealed from anyone approaching me, and I hoped the sight of a scantily clad woman would be enough to give me a moment’s advantage if I needed one.

The kitchen was basic in function with a long counter that ran down the middle, and I skirted around the edge until I reached the door for the servant stairs. My hand rested on the black iron knob and I turned it slowly, pushing open the door.

We had no intelligence on the servant stairs or where they led or how they were accessed from the other room. It was a barren area with wooden steps and no carpet. It was narrower than the main stairs and there was draft that whistled down the cramped maze. The walls were papered in a small floral print that looked thin and worn, and dim sconces barely provided enough light to see one step in front of the next.

I heard nothing as I started to climb the stairs. There had to be a hidden panel somewhere along the wall. Homes along this stretch of road predated the Revolution, and secret passageways and hidden rooms were de rigueur during those days.

I trailed my hand along the wall as I made my way up the stairs, and I touched something wet along the way. When I held my fingers up to the light, I could see the red tinge, and when I brought it to my nose, I could smell the coppery scent of fresh blood.

I somehow knew it belonged to Graham, and I placed both palms along the wall, feeling for seams to a hidden doorway. Four steps up I found exactly what I was looking for. The papered section