Terror Mansion (Decorah Security Series, Book #12): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novella by REBECCA YORK Page A

like fog made from dry ice that you might see in a theater production. It wafted toward them, reaching out with cold, clammy fingers.
    Wyatt brought his mouth to Kate’s ear again, hating that the dream had failed him. “I couldn’t see through the mist,” he whispered. “I don’t know what’s in there.”
    She turned her head and answered, “We had something like this at the carnival. Things came at you in the smoke. But they were mostly long inflated balloons that were scary instead of dangerous. I’m betting whatever’s in here is more dangerous.”
    “Yeah,” he muttered, wondering what kind of surprise Treeman had rigged up. He’d used knives before. He could do it again—or use something more creative.
    “They were never lower than knee level. If we get down on the floor and belly crawl, maybe we can get through it.”
    A noise behind them made Wyatt swing around to see that a solid door had dropped down in back of them.
    “I guess we have to go forward,” he said aloud, silently cursing his lack of knowledge. But he knew how hard it was to move along on your belly like a snake. Unfortunately, they were going to have to do it. He hoped it wasn’t for too long.
    “Don’t raise your head,” he told Kate as he got down flat on his stomach and slid forward into the mist. Behind him, Kate followed.
    Wyatt kept inching forward, keeping low to the floor. He’d gotten a few feet into the tunnel when he heard a loud report and something sailed over his head, so low that he felt his hair part. Behind him Kate screamed.
    “What was that?”
    “A shot. He’s got guns—not balloons. Stay down,” he called, praying that would be enough to save them.
    It was hard to slither along on the cold floor, but he kept moving, half his attention on Kate. He heard a shot go over her, but not quite so low.
    “Okay?” he called out, his breath frozen in his lungs until he heard her say,
    “Yes.”
    “Stay down,” he whispered.
    If the guns were in fixed positions, they might have a chance. If Treeman could adjust the aim, it was only a matter of time before the bastard shot one of them—then the other.

Chapter Twelve
    Wyatt kept his face and body to the floor, scraping his cheek on the rough cement as he inched forward. He moved slowly so that Kate could keep up with him. Or was that the best way to do it?
    Did they have a better chance if they put some space between them?
    More shots rang out. Some were higher, but some came perilously close to his head and shoulders.
    Finally he saw that he was coming to the end of the smoke. He picked up his pace, plunging into a wider space, then wormed his way around to see Kate sliding toward him. When she reached the end of the tunnel, she started to get up. He pulled her down just as a blast of shots rang out—bullets that would have killed them if they’d stood.
    He eased Kate to the side of the corridor, wanting to take her in his arms but knowing that would be dangerous. All he could do was reach for her hand and squeeze hard.
    “You did good,” he whispered.
    “How much more of this?”
    “I wish I knew.” He looked back the way they’d come. “I don’t think he could see us in there.”
    He lifted his arm, waving it in the air. There were no shots but Wyatt was sure it wasn’t a good idea to stand or even sit.
    Could they rest here after the ordeal? The answer came as a roaring sound from the other end of the tunnel. He looked up to see a wall of dark water racing toward them down the tunnel.
    Kate gasped as she stared at it in horror, then gasped again as the force of the flood hit them.
    Wyatt was pulled under, and he struggled to get his head above water as the sudden flood knocked him and Kate against one wall and then the other.
    As it ebbed, it dragged them back into the smoky tunnel, where more shots rang out, the bullets whizzing too close for comfort.
    As more water poured in, buffeting Wyatt and Kate, he scrabbled to keep them both from being