Rather than rush headlong through the front door, he sprinted to the side of the house and pried open a window. It led into a glass-roofed conservatory, where his mother had once grown prized orchids, specimens collected from around the world. It was empty now, the orchids long gone. Jake would still sometimes come here to read, especially in winter when it was the hottest place in the house. The warmth on a cold winter’s day felt like his mother’s embrace.
Hiking his leg over the windowsill, he scrambled inside and dropped to the stone floor. The summer heat had turned the place into a sauna. Pebbles of sweat immediately formed on his brow. Staying low, he scooted to the swinging doors that led from the conservatory to a side hall. The kitchen lay only a few steps away.
He listened at the conservatory door, his ears straining for any sound. But all remained quiet—which set his heart to pounding harder in his throat. How many intruders were in the house? What had happened to Aunt Matilda and Uncle Edward?
Jake eased open the door and leaned out. A narrow hallway extended a few yards and ended at the main passageway that cut the large manor house into two halves. He found himself staring at a Greek statue across the far hall. Above the sculpture’s head was the portrait of one of Jake’s ancestors: Bartholomew Jackson Ransom, the founder of Ravensgate, the famed Egyptian explorer. He stood posed next to a camel. Other portraits hung up and down the hall, marking other generations, each following in Bartholomew’s footsteps to become explorers.
As Jake stepped out of the conservatory, he heard footsteps coming down the main passageway toward him. Jake flattened himself against the oak-paneled wall. A figure crossed the opening to the side hall and continued toward the rear of the house.
It was a skeleton of a man, toweringly tall and spider-thin. He carried a steel bat in one hand. As he disappeared out of sight, his harsh voice swelled, full of menace.
“Where is it? Tell me now, or there’ll be more trouble!”
His question was punctuated by a loud crash of splintering wood. Broken glass skittered across the limestone floor. A rough-skinned rock rolled into view. But it wasn’t a rock. Jake knew that it was a fossilized tyrannosaurus egg. For more than a century, it had rested in the Cabinet of Curiosities of his great-great-grandfather Augustus.
The skeletal thief must have used his steel bat to smash open that cabinet. The main passageway was full of other display cases, each cabinet belonging to an ancestor, preserving treasures and artifacts collected by that explorer.
There was even a cabinet started by his father and mother out there.
White-hot anger surged through Jake as he pictured the would-be thief smashing that case into kindling. The fear that had held him in place burned away. He edged toward the kitchen. There was a telephone on the wall beside the pantry.
As he reached the kitchen door, he heard Aunt Matilda cry out from the front of the house. “We don’t know what you’re talking about! Leave Edward alone. Please!”
A slap of flesh sounded from the same direction, followed by a deep groan: masculine and heavy, yet still angry. Uncle Edward. Someone had just hit him. That meant there was at least one other intruder over by his aunt and uncle.
Barefooted, Jake slipped silently into the kitchen. He hurried to the phone, lifted the receiver from the wall, and dialed 911. He put the phone to his ear but heard nothing. No dial tone. Jake’s heart climbed into his throat. They must have cut the phone line.
Now what?
Before he could decide, a large hand clamped over his mouth and nose. Massive arms yanked him to a stone-hard chest. Jake fought, but it was like wrestling a Greek statue come to life.
Hot breath hissed at him. “Quit squirming, lad.”
The voice was a low whisper, meant for his ears only, but it still held a familiar British lilt.
Jake twisted enough to catch a glimpse of his captor. Craggy features, granite gray eyes, black hair clipped to his skull. The man’s lipless mouth twisted into a stern grimace. Jake flinched with recognition. So he hadn’t been mistaken back at town.
Morgan Drummond.
“I’m trying to help you, boy. So calm down.”
From the furtiveness of his words, the man was plainly trying not to be heard by the intruders. Jake didn’t trust Morgan—not fully—but at the moment, he didn’t have any other choice.
When Jake nodded, Morgan let go of him and waved him into a crouch. “You stay here. Out of sight.”
The head of security for Bledsworth Sundries and Industries had shed his suit jacket and wore only a tight pullover shirt. He pulled a black pistol from a shoulder holster and rushed toward the dining room that connected to the main hall near the back of the house.
Once Morgan was gone, Jake didn’t wait. He wasn’t going to hide while his aunt and uncle were in danger. Moving silently, he slipped out the same door he’d entered and returned to the side hall. As he stepped out, Morgan Drummond’s voice boomed like a cannon blast from the rear of the house.
“DROP YOUR WEAPON! ON THE GROUND!”
A sharp curse answered him, followed by the crack of a pistol.
The tall, skinny thief dove into the side hall from the main passageway. A bullet ricocheted off the limestone floor at the man’s heels. The skeleton with the bat was trying to escape.
Jake couldn’t get out of the way in time.
The thief fell right onto him. The steel bat clanked across the floor.
Jake tried to scramble away, but clawlike hands snatched his uniform’s collar. Before he could break free, a bony arm hooked across his throat, strangling him.
Heavy boots pounded down the passageway. Drummond appeared, now holding two pistols: one pointed down the side hall, one toward the foyer.
The thief swung Jake around, using him like a human shield. “Back off!” the skinny man squeaked at Drummond.
Morgan took in the scenario with a glance and obeyed. He took three large steps toward the rear of the house. The thief returned to the main hall, keeping Jake as a shield.
Once out in the hall, Jake caught sight of a second man in the foyer by the front door, a short bulldog with jowls to match. To the side, Aunt Matilda huddled at the entrance to the library. Her baker’s cap was askew, her white curls tangled. She fixed Jake with a look of raw terror.
“Back to the car!” the skeleton shouted to the bulldog. “As long as we have the boy, they’ll do what we want! Pay any price!”
The thief dragged Jake back with him.
They were going to kidnap him.
Jake met Drummond’s glare down the hall. Both pistols pointed forward now, but the Brit plainly feared shooting and hitting Jake.