Chapter 6 - Caught in the Stacks
“Someone's at the service door,” Sebastian said instantly, his body shifting into a defensive posture without a fraction of hesitation.
Maggie grabbed the corner of the ledger, her heart hammering against her ribs. “If they catch us here—”
“They won't,” Sebastian interrupted, grabbing her hand and pulling her down the narrow aisle between the towering shelves of records just as the heavy metal door of the vault swung open with a loud metallic squeak.
The beam of a heavy-duty flashlight swept across the rows of shelving, casting long, jittery shadows against the concrete walls. A night watchman's gruff voice echoed through the damp space. “Hello? Who's down here?”
Sebastian pulled Maggie flat against the back of a steel shelving unit, his arm wrapping securely around her waist to pull her entirely out of sight while his other hand slid inside his jacket, resting near the grip of his concealed firearm. Maggie held her breath, pressing her face against the rough wool of his coat as the footsteps crunched closer on the concrete floor.
The flashlight beam danced across the floorboards just inches from their shoes. For three agonizing minutes, the guard lingered near the end of their aisle, muttering a curse about faulty door latches before his footsteps finally retreated toward the exit.
When the heavy door clicked shut upstairs, Maggie let out a long, shaky breath. Sebastian slowly relaxed his grip, though his hand remained close to hers.
“You take entirely too many risks for an archivist,” Sebastian murmured, his face inches from hers in the dim green light.
“You're the one who brought a mafia boss into a restricted county archive at midnight,” she whispered back, a faint, breathless smile touching her lips despite the adrenaline.
Sebastian looked down at her, the usual cold armor he wore for the rest of the world completely dissolving in the quiet dark of the stacks. For seven months, they had lived as strangers sharing a house and a last name, separated by an unbridgeable chasm of violence and academia. In this moment, the chasm narrowed to nothing.
“We have what we need,” Sebastian said softly, his thumb brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek.
“We have proof the ledger was altered,” Maggie agreed, holding up a small digital camera she had used to photograph the binding threads and the mismatched paper grain. “Malcolm's entire legal foundation is built on stolen paper.”
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“Then tomorrow,” Sebastian said, his voice dropping into that dark, final register that made enemies shudder, “we dismantle him.”
They slipped out of the building undetected, the digital evidence safely secured in Maggie's bag, unaware that Malcolm Veseri had already anticipated their move and was setting a far more dangerous trap for the morning zoning board hearing.
