by Kari Lemor
Her chuckle had his muscles relaxing. Not much, but she wasn’t sobbing at least.
“The shirt is Charlotte’s. It’s been around for a while.”
“I wasn’t knocking it. I wish I could see it a little better, though.”
“Should I admit to how much I like seeing you in your work pants?”
“More than seeing me without them?” God, he wanted nothing more than to be with her without clothes right now. Someplace a bit more comfortable though.
“I like that too. We definitely need more light in here. Oh, wait, then I’d be reminded of the horrible situation we’re in.” Her voice was growing stronger, but there was still a catch every now and then.
“The shackles on your wrists aren’t giving you enough of a reminder? Damn, I wish I could see what we’ve got to work with.”
“More light, huh? Let me see. Can I…?” Her feet maneuvered closer to the flashlight and soon stopped. Moving one foot, she attempted to pull it closer. Slowly, slowly, it rolled an inch. Two inches. A few more and it rested in front of her.
“Can you push it so it shines in my direction?” It would be aimed at his feet, and he wanted to see the manacles but he couldn’t ask for everything.
“Maybe I can do better than that.”
Grabbing onto the bolt above her head, she kicked up. What was she doing? Her feet swung low again and this time she closed them around the flashlight. When her feet flew up this time, the light came with them. Her legs twisted right up in front of her and she grabbed the light with her hands.
“Shit, woman, that was amazing. Where did you learn to do that?”
“I took gymnastics growing up. I’m quite flexible.”
That he knew from their short lived bedroom escapades. “I should have guessed.”
“Where do you want me to shine this?” She sounded stronger, more confident, more like the warrior princess he knew her to be.
“Up here on my hands. I want to see what’s on our wrists.”
The light moved and he twisted checking out what he could of the metal surrounding his hands. Strong, unbending and far too small to even try and get out of.
“Heather, are your manacles tight? Any possibility you can wiggle your hand out?” Her hands were definitely smaller than his.
“I’ve been trying since I woke up. No good.”
“Hmm, it looks like there’s a lock holding it closed. If I had something to pick it with I might be able to open them.”
“You know how to pick a lock?”
“They teach you all sorts of things in the military. You wouldn’t happen to have a hairpin on you?”
“Even if I did, how the heck would I get it over to you? I certainly don’t know how to pick a lock. And it’s kind of hard to throw with your hands like this.”
“Can you flash the light around the room? I want to see what’s here.”
The light bounced from surface to surface and froze when it landed on the stack of wooden boxes near the opposite wall.
“Hold it right there. I want to see where he’s got the explosives.”
“Is it that stuff? Looks like modeling clay.”
The large blocks of claylike substance sat on and around the caskets. Shit, there was a lot. The detonators sat on top, shoved into the material. A slight glow showed the timer.
“I can’t see the time on it. Can you?” His vision was getting used to the darker room and Heather was becoming clearer.
Shaking her head, she said, “No. It’s facing the back wall.”
“Shine the light near me again. On the wall and the floor.”
The light bounced around and every now and then he’d ask her to hold it someplace so he could check something out. It never ended up being anything useful. Not that he could reach anything near him anyway.
“Stop, right there. To the right of my foot. What is that?”
Heather held the beam still and Scott squinted to make out a small piece of metal a few feet away. Could he do the acrobatics like she’d done? Doubtful, but he still might be able to get it.
“Keep holding it there. That’s something metal, and I might be able to use it to get these cuffs off.”
Sliding his feet away from the wall, he took little steps until he had them on both sides of the object. Pushing his feet closer together he clasped it and attempted to lift it, like Heather had done with the flashlight. It was thin and it took several tries before he could get it stuck between his boots. Grabbing hold of the bolt above his head, he raised his legs. Clink. It fell back to the ground.
“Damn.” He tried again and again and his frustration level grew. Heather had remained quiet this whole time, holding the beam steady on the floor and the object he was trying to lift.
After what seemed like the four hundredth time, he let out a growl. “The treads of these boots are too thick. Fuck.” Sweat trickled down his back and over his face.
Holding tight to the metal above him, he lifted and lowered his legs, needing to get some movement somehow so he didn’t explode. There was a reason he liked to swing a hammer throughout the day.
The light switched off. Shit, had it died?
“I’ll save the batteries for when we need them again. Are you all right?” Her concern flooded warmth back into him. But it brought back his determination to get them out of here.
His sigh echoed in the small chamber. “I promised to get you out of here. I’m not doing a very good job.”
“Why don’t you rest for a few minutes? You’ve been at this for a while.”
Glancing at his watch, he saw it was almost noon. “Are you kidding me? How did that much time pass already?”
“You were busy.”
“Busy accomplishing nothing.” God, what a hero he was, getting them in this jam and not being prepared with a backup plan. Hadn’t he learned anything in the military? He hadn’t even mentioned where he was going to Jack. Stupid.
“Hey, princess, did you happen to tell anyone where you were going or what you were doing?”
“No,” she wailed. “I told my secretary I was taking some time and Charlotte…well, she was more interested in how I was going to win you back. She thinks you’re freakin’ hot. Her words.”
Chuckling, he said, “What do you think?”
“I think it’s hot in here. How much air do you think we have left? Oh, my God, I never even thought of that. We could die from asphyxiation instead of blowing up. Hmm, that might be preferable. I hear it feels like you’re sleepy. Asphyxiation, not getting blown up.”
“Enough. We aren’t going to die. I won’t let us. How are you feeling?”
“I’m hungry.” Her stomach took that moment to rumble. “See, right on cue. I only had a cup of coffee this morning.”
He could use something to eat also but obviously that wasn’t going to happen. He needed to pick up that damned metal strip on the floor. Could he get it with his toes? But that meant he’d have to take his boots off. No way he could kick them off. Not with how he usually tied them. But…
Grabbing hold of the bolt again, he reverse-crunched then frogged his legs so one boot came to his mouth. Grabbing the knot of the lace with his teeth, he tugged. His legs dropped but he’d felt it shift. Why the hell did he have to double knot them?
“Tell me what colors you want to paint each of the rooms in your new house.”
“You want to discuss room color while we’re hanging around here waiting to die.”
“No, damn it, Heather, but I need something to distract me and keep my mind off the fact it’s gonna take me another few hours to just get my fucking boot off. If I can even do it. Then it’s back to trying to pick up that piece of metal. I don’t even know if it’s the right size to fit in the locks for these things.”
He rattled the chains holding his hands. “It’s the only chance we
have unless you’ve got some trick up your sleeve to get these cuffs off I don’t know about.”
“No, no tricks. So, um, I was thinking of maybe a sage green in the kitchen.”
Getting the knot out of his shoe wasn’t the easiest thing, though he felt a bit more successful each time the lace shifted. As Heather rattled on about her new house and he kept pulling out the knot little by little, he gave some serious thought to dying. It wasn’t anything new. When he’d been in Afghanistan he’d thought about it a lot. Like every time they lost one of their guys or even when someone was injured. Certainly, when he’d been in the rubble of the bombed-out building.
Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he tried to keep the oppressive space from moving in on him. Ever since he’d been trapped for a few days, he had this thing about tight spaces. The room they were in wasn’t all that small but the darkness somehow made it feel smaller and more cramped. And the fact he couldn’t move or free himself exacerbated the claustrophobia more.
Resting for a few moments, he checked his watch again. Another few hours had passed. Holy shit, seriously, this was useless. Then Heather sighed a few feet from him and he knew he’d spend every last second they had in here trying to get her out and safe.
“So I told my mom I wasn’t going to this latest party. To say she wasn’t happy would be an understatement. I know she only wants to see me happily married and taken care of but I can’t stand all the fakeness and snobbery. I want to puke on half these people.”
Scott listened as she rattled on. She wasn’t expecting any response from him, which was good, since he was using his teeth to untie the lace. But as she spoke, he got a better sense of who she was. Less the socialite and more the woman he’d fallen in love with. He could admit it now. It made perfect sense when he thought about his reactions to her. Maybe now wasn’t the time to tell her. He’d keep an eye on the countdown, though. She deserved to know before it was too late.
“That’s why I’ve been working so hard with my business and why I wanted this renovation project to be successful. If I can show my parents, especially my father, that I can earn money and take care of myself, then they might not push the whole marriage-to-a-billionaire thing.”
“But your mom is the one who keeps pushing you to get married.”
“Yeah, but my dad’s opinion carries a lot of weight with her. She’d listen if he told her to stop.”
Time after time, he lifted his boot to his face and attempted to loosen the tie. Monotonous and slow, it was frying his nerves, but the alternative wasn’t acceptable. Finally, after what had to be a million times, his teeth grabbed the end of the shoe lace and it actually pulled all the way out. Fuck. About time.
Taking a few minutes to rest, he focused in on Heather. She was still talking though he hadn’t been paying real close attention for a while. The sound of her voice had been soothing and helped keep him going. It didn’t matter what she was saying. Something about volunteering at a veterans hospital and going with Charlotte to walk dogs at the pound. She was a good person. Why had he ever thought she was like those uptight snobs? Now she was back to the subject of her new house. The one he hoped he’d be able to build for her.
“I’m not sure about the two extra bedrooms upstairs. For now, I’ll use one as an office but not sure what to do with the other. If I paint it a neutral color, will I have to repaint when I have a baby?”
A baby? Whoa, maybe he should have been listening a bit closer.
“Um, princess, is there something I need to know about? You said you’d been taking your pills.”
“Nothing for you to worry about. If I’m going to daydream then I want to go all the way.” Her little chuckle sounded whimsical. “I hadn’t really thought about having kids, at least not yet. But someday. And now that I might not”—her voice had grown thick with tears—“I realize I want them. A little boy like Jonathan, or a little girl to dress up and fix her hair. Or one of each or a few of each.”
The image of Heather all full and round with his child, his little boy or girl, slammed into his gut and shook him to his soul. Shit. He wanted that too.
Sticking the toe of one work boot against the back of the one with the loosened laces, he twisted his foot, pushing. The laces were still tight, but after a few minutes of wiggling and kicking at it, his foot slipped out of the boot. Immediately, he scraped his now-stockinged foot over the metal piece then slid it toward his other foot. Manipulating it with his toes, he was able to get it wedged between his feet. Now to lift and get it near his hand.
“Here’s where I need your flexibility, princess.”
Heather clicked the light back on and focused near the action. “This might help.”
“Thanks.” Grabbing the bolt in a secure grip, he slowly raised his legs, his ab muscles screaming at the continued torture. He wouldn’t listen to them, though. If this fell and moved too far away, they were screwed. There wasn’t any other way out of this that he could tell. Time was running out.
The muscles in his arms tightened and pulled as his legs got closer and closer. Another few inches. So close. A cramp in his thigh throbbed, almost making him drop his legs. No, damn it. He needed to do this. He wanted to look at Heather and get support from her but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the piece of metal barely hanging on.
“You can do it, Scott. I know you can.”
She believed in him. Glad someone did. He was having doubts personally. But his feet were getting closer, only another inch or so. Stretching his hand out as far as the manacle would let him he reached for the object. Almost. The tips of his fingers touched it. Don’t lose it now, Holland. You’re almost there.
Yes. He closed his hand around the metal and held tight. Dropping his legs to the floor he sagged against the wall and let out a huge sigh, his breathing rough.
“You did it. You did it.”
His sweet little cheerleader.
“I’m going to need a minute to recover from that. Save the light for now.”
The flashlight beam snapped off and silence permeated the chamber, the only sound his heavy breathing. Let’s hope he didn’t nod off and drop the damned piece of metal.
He took a few minutes to get his lungs working then glanced up. He’d been manipulating the metal between his hands and he had a bad feeling it wouldn’t work. It felt too thick to fit into the lock.
“Can you flash that light over here now?”
The light flicked on and moved to his hands. It looked like part of a broken off hinge. Maybe from one of the caskets. Definitely too wide. Damn, shit, fuck.
“Is that going to fit?” God, he hated to tell her the truth.
“I may have to file it down a bit but I’ll make it fit.”
Then began the arduous task of scraping the metal against the stone behind him. Scrape a few minutes. Stop and check. Move the metal then scrape another part. Dust from the wall and the metal sprinkled down, getting in his eyes. The angle of the manacles caused his knuckles to be scraped as well. This was going to be a long process, but what choice did he have? The clock was ticking down.
Chapter 22
Heather didn’t know how Scott was still moving. She didn’t have a watch, but knew it had to have been hours since he’d started filing down the piece of metal in his hand. Every now and then he’d attempt to insert it in the lock of the cuff, but it wasn’t the right size yet. And he wasn’t saying it, but she had a feeling he wasn’t even sure if it would ever be able to open the lock.
The chatter she’d been providing had dwindled as time moved on. Lack of food was making her weak, though the fact she was standing with her arms above her head for close to, what, maybe ten hours, might have something to do with it too. But damned if she’d complain. Scott had been doing far more.
They’d been using the flashlight on and off, trying to save the batteries. The light kept growing dimmer and dimmer,
though. There was a perfectly good industrial-strength flashlight sitting in between them, but it wasn’t close enough for either one of them to get.
“Do you need a break?”
His grunt let her know the metal wasn’t the right size yet. “I need this fucking piece of shit to actually fit in the lock.”
Before she could apologize, she bit her lip. It wasn’t either of their faults, certainly not more so than the other. If only she could do more. Scott’s hands were covered in blood and it wasn’t difficult to figure out why. Every now and then he’d wince as he rubbed the metal, and his hands, against the wall. They must be scraped raw.
“When we get out of this, I want to take you to this amazing steak house in New York. My treat. The meat literally melts in your mouth and you can cut it with a butter knife.”
“God, that sounds wonderful right about now. I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Then it’s a date.” Didn’t she wish it could be a date? Not some silly dream cooked up to keep their spirits from disintegrating.
“Holy shit, it fits,” he yelled. She turned the light onto his hand. The sharpened piece of metal did indeed slide into the cuff lock. It had taken forever to get this to work.
“Now you simply need to pick the lock. You said you knew how.”
“I do, but each lock is different and my hands are at a weird angle. It might take a while.”
“I think we still have a few hours. No rush.” She tried to sound casual, but the fact was even if they got the manacles off they still needed to get through the wall. How long did brick mortar take to dry? Where was Google when you needed it?
“Okay, yeah, I think I’ve…yes, I did it.”
Scott’s left hand suddenly swung free and he turned to face the wall. Shaking his arm, he clenched and unclenched his fist then dropped his forehead to the brick. “Give me a minute. My shoulder feels like it’s been dislocated.”
“I know the feeling,” she whined, impatient to be out of these torture devices.
“Sorry, yeah, let me get this other one undone.”
