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he’d taken the bulk out of the guest bedroom and the walk-in closet of the master suite. He’d shortened the hallway linen closet and Willow’s bedroom by a foot, eking out a good sixty square feet of space, as far as she could tell.
    Frank Foster truly was a genius of design, especially considering the original architect would be living in the house. And she still couldn’t find the damn door to the secret room.
    Rachel started walking deeper into the tunnel. She’d hunt for it tomorrow. Right now she had an old friend to visit, and three-year-old ghosts to face.

Chapter Three
    R achel sighed in relief when the last tumbler dropped into place with gentle precision. She spun the giant lock and pulled open the huge titanium door, revealing the darkness beyond. Warm, climate-controlled air rushed past her as she stepped inside and trained the beam of her flashlight around the interior.
    Nearly as large as her kitchen at home, the huge vault was organized with shelves and cubbies and smaller safes against two of the walls. On the other two walls sheet-draped artwork was hung. Every square inch of space had been utilized and was brimming with treasure.
    Rachel wasn’t impressed. She slid the heavy pack off her shoulders and set it on the floor. She opened the buckles and pulled out the bronze statue, then used her flashlight to hunt for an inconspicuous place to set it.
    It didn’t belong here with the legitimate art collection, but since she didn’t know where Thadd’s secret room was, this vault would have to do. Better the contraband eventually be discovered in Thadd’s possession instead of hers and Willow’s. It would be Keenan Oakes’s problem then. The man couldn’t very well expect to waltz into a billion-dollar estate without having a few surprises to deal with.
    That thought perversely warmed Rachel’s heart. Keenan Oakes owned Sub Rosa now, and his great-uncle’s legacy was going to rear up and bite him on his butt.
    Rachel set the statue in one of the cubbies, then pulled the small painting out of her pack and unwrapped it from the towel she’d used to protect it for the trip here. She pushed the sheets on the far wall aside until she found a space large enough to hang it. She returned to the pack and pulled out the silver tankard, wine cup, and snuffbox next, and gently set them in another cubby beside a vase that looked as old as the earth itself. She pulled the ruby and gold ring her father had given her out of her pocket, set the beam of her flashlight on it one last time, then reached up and dropped it inside the wine cup, flinching at the sound of metal falling on metal.
    With a sigh of regret for having given up her father’s gift, she turned and dug into the bottom of the nearly empty pack again and pulled out the emeralds.
    Rachel clamped her tiny flashlight between her teeth and aimed it at the smaller, sequentially numbered safes. Holding the wrinkled paper next to the lock on safe number sixteen, she moved the dial to match another set of numbers written in black ink. Just as they had on the larger door, the tumblers fell with expected accuracy. The small door opened, and Rachel sighed again in relief.
    â€œThank you, Daddy, for thinking of everything,” she whispered into the darkness. Frank Foster had thoughtfully given her a laundry list of the art she now possessed, along with a list of combinations and codes. He hadn’t, however, given her the exact location of Thadd’s secret room.
    And she had to find it. The letter had also mentioned designs for fishing boats that had been built at the Lakeman Boatyard years ago. Special boats, with hidden compartments for smuggling stolen art into the country.
    Designs that likely had Frank Foster’s name on them.
    Rachel wanted them destroyed. She wanted every last trace of her father’s involvement in Thadd’s illegal hobby gone.
    Rachel shone her light into the small