Brighid's Flame by Cate Morgan Read Free Book Online Page B

amount of tainted air. Stephen was another matter entirely.
    The leader shook his head. “The air is clear down here. We’ve worked very hard to make it so. The masks merely serve the purpose of disguise when we don’t need them in the usual way.”
    Her wrists strained against her bindings. “If you’re lying…”
    â€œI haven’t yet, believe it or not. You’ll simply have to take my word for it. I won’t bother to blindfold you—I know very well it won’t do any good. Come, Ms. Fitzpatrick. You’re in for a treat.”
    â€œAm I?”
    Another boyish grin. “Indeed. You’re about to find out who the Underground leader is.”
    â€œThe agents were supposed to stop you at Columbus Circle,” Tara told Stephen as they walked along, trying not to sound accusatory.
    â€œI never reached it,” Stephen told her, voice soft.
    They left the main tunnels, turning into the maze of maintenance tunnels between routes. They saw one or two trains, stopped mid-route for evacuation during the war.
    Another of these trains, deep under the Square, turned out to be their destination. The Times Square station had been repurposed into a crowded, lively community. A newsstand without much going for it had been turned into a small library with basic sundries on offer. A disused, crumbling staircase provided a perch for an impromptu string quartet, their audience sitting cross-legged on the dusty ground. A former fast-food restaurant was now a cafeteria, deep recesses against the walls sleeping quarters.
    As they approached the train, two guards slid open one of the doors with a makeshift lever. Tara and Stephen were marched in, to the interest to everyone watching. Mass whispering bounced along the walls.
    â€œIs that her?” someone called out, right before the door slammed shut behind her.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Tara asked. They were taken to the back car, trapped in the tunnel. Camp lights cast a sickly, yellow-green pall over everything. The cabin had been gutted to make way for a very basic living space. A row of benches had converted into a cot, a line of crates providing table space between benches on either side of the narrow tube. The plywood board laid across the crates was awash with books and papers.
    â€œIt’s not for me to say.” The teacher motioned to his men, who unlashed Tara and retied her to the pole in the back of the car. Stephen was relegated to a bench, where his hands were tied to the rail.
    â€œHistory teacher, huh?”
    The man smiled. “Who better to teach others past mistakes?”
    He had a point.
    He should also have left guards in the cabin before leaving them alone. Of course, she would have taken them out. But it would have looked better for him.
    Stephen smiled as Tara slid her hands down the pole, bending her knees as far as she could get without actually sitting. “Getting comfortable?”
    â€œSomething like that.” She wiggled and twisted, testing her bonds. “How’s your breathing?”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œSure?”
    â€œTara, what are you up to?”
    â€œBecause we’re going to have to run.”
    He watched her in silence for a time, admiration warring exasperation. “I’ve run with you before, Tara. There’s a treadmill in my office.”
    â€œI’ve always wondered why.”
    â€œIn case we have to run again.” He crossed his legs and continued to smile at her. “I’m not ever leaving you, and I know we have to be prepared for anything. That’s my job.”
    She blinked at him. “Why did you come after me, Stephen?”
    â€œTo keep you safe.” She took another pointed look at their surroundings, and he had the good grace to blush as she raised her eyebrows. “We’ve always kept each other safe. That’s what we do. Part of that is being prepared to run with you.” He watched her test the