In Safe Arms by Lee Christine Page A

she stared at the wrought iron feature through which they’d come. An arbour arched overhead, and when Nate pointed the torch skyward, she could see a thick coverage of wisteria that had blocked out the breeze, the clouds and even the moon.
    ‘No wonder everything went so quiet. It’s beautiful. Why couldn’t I see this from the house?’
    ‘It’s off to one side. During World War II, the owner hollowed out a part of the hill. He built the arbour to disguise the entrance. In recent times, it’s been useful as a bushfire shelter. I don’t lock it for that reason.’
    He turned back to the wall in front of them and began tearing away long pieces of vine. Then he thrust a hand through the foliage and groped around. ‘There’s a handle in here.’ He gave a grunt. There was a rusty squeak, and then a perfectly rectangular, vine covered door swung open.
    ‘Ever hear a strange crying from behind the door, detective?’
    He gave her a blank look. ‘I won’t even pretend to know what that means.’
    Josie smiled. ‘ The Secret Garden . One of my favourite novels as a child. I used to pretend I was Mary. Looking back, I probably identified with her in some way.’
    ‘Fair enough.’ He shone the torch into the room. ‘I identify with vignerons. I turned it into a wine cellar.’
    Delighted, Josie ducked her head and followed him inside.
    The room was concrete, the walls hidden by hexagonal shaped terracotta wine racks, stacked together in a honeycomb format. The furnishings were sparse, one plastic armchair, a mat, and a small, metal stepladder, the roof so high that even a man of Nate’s height couldn’t reach the highest racks.
    He shone the torch around the man-made dug out. ‘I never saw the point of hooking up the electricity.’
    Josie shivered. ‘Maybe you should, it’s cold in here.’
    For the barest second his eyes swept over her. ‘Perfect temperature for a wine cellar. Don’t worry, we won’t be staying long.’
    He swiped a few cobwebs away, and they spent the next ten minutes rotating wine bottles by the light of the torch.
    ‘I’ll have to spend some time in here when all this is over,’ he said, sliding a bottle from one of the racks and reading the label. ‘Many of these are perfectly aged.’
    Josie studied his face in the low light, the arched brows, the deep set eyes, the sexy crevice in the middle of his geometrically perfect chin. Despite her declaration to the contrary, Nate Hunter was a definite nine on anyone’s scale.
    He turned and caught her watching him, held out the bottle of wine. ‘This one’s perfect for a twenty-first celebration.’
    Touched by his thoughtfulness, and a little embarrassed she’d been caught checking him out, she took the bottle and brushed the dust from the label. ‘ Penfolds Grange 1994 . It looks rare, expensive.’
    When she looked up, his eyes glittered in the dark. ‘It’s perfect.’
    A warmness spread across Josie’s cheeks, but she ignored it, determined not to read too much into Nate’s comments. She’d already made that mistake once before.
    ‘I wouldn’t have picked you as a wine buff, detective, more a boutique beer kind of guy.’
    ‘Well, I’m more forty-two than thirty-two, remember. Anyway, I wanted to show you a safe hideaway, should you need it.’
    Josie stilled, the little bubble of happiness bursting inside her as she recalled his words. It’s your safe house too. It’s crucial you learn the layout .
    She followed him out of the bunker. ‘I’m not safe in the house?’
    He pulled the door closed and cocked his head, indicating they begin making their way back. ‘You are while I’m here.’
    ‘And if you’re not?’ Josie searched his face, but his inscrutable expression told her nothing. ‘You think someone will come here?’
    ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting Barry Simpson to turn up. It’s an emergency option, that’s all.’
    When they reached the beginning of the arbour, he switched off the torch and