by Susan Laine
Camille shoved Riley on the back, causing his steps to falter. He stumbled forward and nearly fell, but somehow managed to stay upright with help from Cain, who braced him as best he could. Riley couldn’t do that himself, not with his hands cuffed behind his back.
“I’m sorry,” Riley whispered as he leaned into Cain a little. His voice cracked, and his jaw quivered. His eyes grew misty with fresh tears. “I’m so sorry I got you into this mess, Cain. I never meant for any of this to happen. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Cain smiled softly at him. “Don’t worry about it. This is the job. My job. There’s no place on earth I’d rather be right now.”
Much to Cain’s surprise, he actually meant that. Being in Riley’s company still made Cain’s heart beat faster and his belly flutter, even now that they faced imminent death. And to give him comfort in what probably was their final hours made Cain proud of himself and of Riley, who had courage and a heart of gold despite his untruthfulness. At least that was what Cain chose to believe at that moment, walking the green mile.
The tight corridor ended at a thick metal door without a single sign of rust or decay. It’d be impossible to break without a bomb, Cain estimated.
The door wasn’t sealed with a single lock. It had, in fact, twelve similar locking mechanisms arranged in a circular pattern.
Cain whistled low. “So this is the riddle door. There have to be, what, thousands or millions of possible combinations?”
“Permutations,” Riley corrected him, staring at the locks with a tiny, pensive frown. “With a combination, the order is irrelevant, while with a permutation, the proper sequence is key.” He must have sensed Cain staring at him dumbfounded because he ducked his head to glance at Cain with a bashful smile. “I like crosswords and puzzles and such.”
Come to think of it, Cain wasn’t too surprised. That must have been how Riley had gotten the key out of the Rodin statuette’s puzzle box base after Sheridan had chosen to leave it inside. Though the act had put their lives in danger, removing the key had probably ensured that Sheridan would live to see another day, as Camille’s taste for revenge had shifted onto Cain and Riley instead. So it had been clever of Riley.
“He’s right,” Camille noted with moderate disdain, as if annoyed at Riley for proving he wasn’t an idiot. “This is a kind of combination lock, but statistically speaking, combinations and permutations are not the same thing. In this puzzle the correct sequence is vital, or the mechanism will lock, not open.”
“So how do you know what the right permutation is?” Cain asked and winked at Riley, who blushed and smiled briefly at the wordless praise.
“With this.” Camille brought up the key. The iris-shaped bow glinted in the dim overhead illumination. The blade had three numbers etched on it: 1, 4, and 8.
“Huh.” Cain squinted to get a better look at the numbers better, as if that made a difference. “So not all the locks are used. Only three. That’s still, like, hundreds of… permutations, is it?” He surveyed the metal door. “Those locks aren’t numbered.”
“There’d be 1,360 possible combinations,” Riley interjected, pursing his lips and glaring at Camille, as if personally offended by being given such a seemingly impossible task. “However, if we assume the locks are in sequential order, that cuts down the number of potential combinations a lot.”
“Uh, sequential order, okay—but starting from where exactly?” Cain asked, scratching his head and feeling like a dumb-dumb.
Camille growled. “That’s your problem. Here you go.” Camille pushed the key into Cain’s hand, unfastened Riley’s cuffed hands, and immediately backed away. “Figure out where to begin, and you have only six possible permutations of the three numbers inscribed in the key. This is your time to play the survival game, Mr. Noble. Make your fag boyfriend proud.”
She withdrew until she stood at the end of the hallway where the fake wall had been. She was out of range for physical confrontation. Cain couldn’t beat her into submission, let alone disarm her. The narrow corridor had no room to hide or dodge bullets. And if the wrong permutation caused an incendiary device within to explode, the cramped construction of the corridor would focus the blast. There would be nothing left of Cain and Riley but ashes scattered amid debris. Camille would win regardless since the detonation would likely bust open the safe door anyway and allow her entry to the gemstone shielded by… something.
Cain exhaled long and deep. They were out of options. If he did this and got it wrong, they would blow up. If he did nothing, Camille would shoot them. The only other chance to avoid certain death was to get it right the first time.
And Cain had no idea which permutation was the correct one.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“CAIN? Again, I’m so sorry for getting you into this mess. Several times over.”
Riley had said as much a couple of times now but the sentiment bore repeating. His cheeks heated when he recalled the latest incident—the leather band and the hidden key—that had ended up with the two of them being dragged off to a basement at gunpoint, most likely to die at the hands of a merciless and greedy woman. That was if they didn’t get blown to smithereens first.
“Forget it.” Cain spoke offhandedly, his focus on the metal door and its locks. He wiped a bit of sweat from his upper lip, the only sign of his nervousness. “How do we determine what order the locks are displayed in here?”
Riley was at once relieved and disheartened that Cain changed the subject. But these were dire circumstances, so this wasn’t the right time for meaningful conversations. Needs must. To give his concerned partner a breather Riley chose to behave with a lot more confidence than he actually felt.
“Clock face,” Riley explained, having already observed a noticeable pattern. “That’s how it’s arranged, I think.” He frowned because he wasn’t sure about the rest. “Ever since shit hit the fan with Sherry and the statuette, I’ve been doing research, especially on the Nazis once Sherry brought me into her confidence about what she’d gleaned about Camille. The three numbers—one, four, and eight—make sense from an Aryan cultural perspective. Eighteen is for Adolf Hitler’s name, eighty-eight is code for Heil Hitler, and fourteen comes from an infamous phrase about securing a future for white children.”
Cain frowned, seemingly baffled. “I’m not wise on the Nazis as anything but as a bunch of homicidal lunatics hell-bent on destruction, genocide, and power. Apart from that crazy broad over there, I don’t know a single Nazi or white supremacist in person, and I hate that I have to deal with one now. So… one-four-eight, then?”
“No, that’d be too easy.” Riley had doubts about a lot of things, but he was sure about this. Riddles created by evil geniuses always had a catch.
“If you like brainteasers, please say you’ve got this figured out.” Cain chuckled dryly. “I can’t even begin to tell you how little I want to get blown up.”
Riley suppressed a giggle. Cain’s acerbic wit warmed his spirit and gave him hope. They could do this, solve this conundrum and survive this day. “I really think this is all about Nazis. The creator of this cryptogram was one, so it stands to reason that his solution reflects that. With that in mind… I think the combination is eight-one-four.”
Cain cocked his head and finally locked gazes with Riley. “Why?”
“Because of the numbers Nazis consider important, the ones I mentioned: eighteen, eighty-eight, and fourteen.” Riley let out a sigh and glanced over his shoulder toward the end of the hallway where the sinister woman in question stood like a shadow of death. “The three numbers have three eights, two ones, and one four.” Then he brought up the key for inspection and pointed at the teeth. “Also, the numbers etched into this are shown above teeth of specific height. I think Camille must have missed that little hint. Guess all the dollar signs must have blinded her to everything else.”
Cain took the key and inspected it carefully. “Eight is over the longest tooth while four is over the shortest.” A light fl
ickered in his eyes; understanding must have dawned on him. “Eight-one-four. Just like you said.” Taking a deep fortifying breath, he met Riley’s eyes. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”
As Cain raised his arm, Riley grabbed it hard and stopped him midmotion. “Wait. Please.”
He cupped Cain’s face and kissed him on the lips. His own shook because he was terribly afraid. Then Cain wrapped his arms around Riley’s waist and pulled him flush against him. Fears and doubts evaporated inside Riley, and he embraced his lover and companion as though he were a rock to hold on to in the raging current of life. Icy dread had nothing on the fiery passion Cain stirred inside Riley.
“Move it, losers” came Camille’s snarky shout from the end of the hallway. A click from a gun’s safety was enough to cement the full weight of her intentions.
Reluctantly, Riley withdrew. The taste of his lover flooded his system, soothing his nerves. “I love you, Cain Noble,” he murmured, hovering over Cain’s lips, his eyes closed in fear he’d see something else in Cain’s eyes.
He pulled away and turned back to the door, only then opening his eyes. If he was to die on this day, at least he’d known love once in his life—even if the sentiment was unrequited. Good men shouldn’t fall in love with shady liars like Riley.
“When this is over,” Cain growled into Riley’s ear from behind. “I’m going to spank your bottom till it’s as red as that slinky dress you wore earlier. Then we can talk about love.”
For some reason, despite the threat of bodily harm, the words made Riley deliriously happy. Cain still had plans to be with Riley in the near future, likely in a carnal and intimate sense. Now more than ever Riley wanted to live through this.
Cain handed Riley the key. Both their hands shook, hot and sweaty. Riley could only hope that if things went sideways Camille would catch the tail-end of the detonation and go up in flames alongside them. Silver lining, eh?
The key was cold against Riley’s palm. His fingers nearly slipped holding the damn thing. He counted the clockface till he got to number eight, pushed the key in, and hesitated. This was it. If his reasoning was wrong, he’d not get the chance to regret his faulty deductions.
A gentle hand gripped his free hand and squeezed.
“I’m with you, Riley. You can do this.”
With Cain’s encouraging words ringing in his ears, Riley took a fortifying breath and twisted the key in the lock. A series of soft clicks were mere preamble to the deep rumbling of an inner mechanism’s gears shifting into place. Riley didn’t dare breathe again and listened for a different kind of crack that would herald an abrupt end by fire.
Silence returned. Neither the door nor the occupants of the room blew up.
Cain actually released a breathy chuckle. “Fuck. So far so good. You’re brilliant, baby.”
Riley stood straighter, beaming with pride. Then he remembered he’d merely turned the key once. Two more locks awaited. But he refused to give in to the fear that threatened to strangle him, so he pulled out the key, found number one, and pushed the key in.
Standing firm, Riley spun the key. A new set of clicks ensued, followed again by a boom of gears inside the thick metal door. No explosions, though.
As Riley brought the key to the final lock, number four, he murmured as softly as he could, “Once I do this, if I’ve done it right, the door will open—and you and I become obsolete. She’ll kill us. Please tell me you have a plan.”
“If she wants inside, she’ll have to get past us. There’s not a lot of room here to get around. I just need a distraction to wrestle the gun away from her.”
Cain sounded cool and composed. Riley chose to view that as a good sign. “What should I do?”
“Get down and stay down,” Cain responded with a hiss.
Riley wasn’t a fan of that plan. He was useless now? He’d saved Cain’s life before. Okay, yes, he’d put Cain in danger too. But that was irrelevant. “I want to help,” he insisted.
“No.” Cain forced Riley to face him with a stern hold of his chin to turn his head. “I can’t do my job if I have to worry about you.”
Riley shot daggers at him with his eyes. “I can take care of myself, dammit. I’ve managed fine on my own for years. I don’t need a white knight to save me.”
Cain snorted brusquely. “Poor choice of words.”
“Fuck you.” Riley was so mad at being dismissed so casually that his hand around the key trembled.
“That’ll earn you another spanking,” Cain remarked, a lopsided grin on his lips. His gaze met with Riley’s. “I might not be able to protect you this time. Contrary to what you might believe, I’m not faster than a bullet.”
“Nor are you bulletproof,” Riley reminded him, fear overriding the anger. “If you get hurt or die, who’s going to spank me into submission then?”
Cain chuckled, his eyes melting into a warm, fond look. “Fine. If you get a chance to lend aid or distract her—without getting shot in the process—then do so. But after that, hit the deck, got it?”
Riley rolled his eyes. “When bullets start flying, that seems prudent.” He finally faced the lock again. “Okay, here we go. Last one.”
Licking his dry lips did nothing to soothe his nervousness. Riley twisted the key in the lock. A familiar set of sounds, first hushed, then louder, echoed within the door and reverberated through the hallway they stood in.
Then silence fell like a bomb between them. Nothing happened.
Riley gasped and stepped back in horror. “Oh my God, I was wrong….”
The earth quaked beneath their feet. Cain pulled Riley into his arms, shielding his head with his palm. Riley hugged Cain’s waist, clinging to the back of his shirt, and released a breathless sob. This was the end.
“WHAT did you do?” Camille shrieked, running to them, her eyes wide in shock, her mouth contorted in fury.
A piercing sound caused all three to cover their ears and cry out in pain.
The door creaked—and opened a crack.
“Open it!” Camille screamed, flushed with excitement, waving the gun about in sweeping arcs. To Riley, she seemed totally unhinged. With her attention divided between the safe and the two witnesses, maybe she would choose the former? Riley dared to hope.
Riley and Cain grabbed the edges of the door. It had to weigh tons, but it moved toward them with ease, as they dragged it back to expose the space behind it. An overhead fixture flickered on, casting a creamy yellow light into a small room resembling a bank vault, with metal shelves filled with jewelry boxes—and a pedestal in the center with a clear cone of bulletproof glass on top.
Under the transparent cover was a pedestal of black velvet, and on it rested a large red gemstone. The cut surfaces cast crimson shafts of light onto the walls, shimmering with a brilliance unlike any Riley had ever seen. The value of this extraordinary object had to be immeasurable.
“Oh my God,” Riley whispered in awe.
“It’s true…. It’s all true….” Camille stared at the bloodred jewel, mesmerized.
Cain approached the stone as if to get a closer look, drawing Camille’s eyes, which narrowed with suspicion.
And Riley saw his window of opportunity.
He elbowed Camille hard in the side, using all of his body weight to knock her off balance. She didn’t fall, though, merely floundered and barely missed slamming into the wall.
The gun she was holding went off. A bullet whizzed past Riley’s ear and left it ringing so hard that for precious seconds he couldn’t make sense of what was happening, off-kilter from the sound.
“Miserable bitch,” Camille snarled and slapped Riley on the side of face.
Riley stumbled, his back hitting the wall, and he slid down. His head rattled like a hollow gourd, and his vision distorted. His jaw and cheekbone throbbed and ached.
I’m so stupid. Once again he faced the barrel of a gun….
Until Cain tackled Camille and they both went down, fighting for control of the weapon, both of them ho
lding on to the handle. They rolled around, neither able to get the upper hand.
Riley staggered back to his feet, his knees and mind wobbly. He had to act. But how?
Cain and Camille were nothing but a jumble of limbs as they tumbled about like a pair of wrestlers. Riley didn’t know what to do. If he tried to kick or punch Camille, he might hit Cain by mistake. That would only make things worse.
Unfortunately, Riley didn’t get the chance to decide or act.
Another shot rang in the confined space.
Which was funny because Riley never saw the gun in Camille and Cain’s grip go off.
Then heat flooded his skin above his heart. Pain made him stiffen and groan. His shirt turned dark with fresh blood spilling out of a gunshot wound. A ripping burn sent shivers through him, an agony unlike any he’d ever felt. He staggered, his legs like jelly. His upper back hurt nearly as much as his front.
He pressed a hand over his chest for a moment, and when he drew back his palm, it was drenched in blood. Red rain. Was he hallucinating?
“I… I’m shot…?”
With an effort, Riley craned his neck toward the end of the hallway, barely able to see. His vision wobbled, as if he were seeing the world from underwater. Everything rippled.
An old woman with silver hair and wearing a quaint black dress stood there—holding a gun.
Riley recognized her; he’d seen her when he’d visited Sherry.
“Bianca…?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“RILEY?”
After the sound of a gunshot echoed about the room, Cain watched in shock as Riley’s chest bloomed with blood. The sight gave him the strength born of rage to finally grapple Camille’s gun away from her, shove her aside, and jump back to his feet.
“Back off,” he barked at Camille, who stood, her lips busted, her clothes in shambles. Cain pointed the gun at her chest as he crept closer to Riley. “Back the fuck off.”
“No. You back off, Mr. Noble.”
