“I don’t know. If we had a lighter at least.” An idea struck me. “Will a flare do it?”
Val shrugged. “Possibly.”
“There were roadside flares in the kit in the truck.”
Val squared his shoulders and looked off in the direction of the Yukon, parked almost a mile’s hike away. “Give me the keys and stay here. I’ll be back.”
I handed them over. “Even if you distract the guards, how am I going to get over the fence?”
Val rubbed his chin as he pondered the question. His brows rose, and he smiled. “Gotcha covered.”
“Val, what are you—”
He stepped forward into the darkness, and poof, he vanished. I shone my flashlight in his direction, but the beam illuminated nothing. A moment later, Val reappeared in my light. He jogged forward and presented his treasures: a roadside flare and a rolled-up floor mat that must have come from the Yukon’s rear cargo section.
“How do you do that?” I asked, aghast.
Val waggled his eyebrows. “I’m a god, Solina. You keep forgetting. There have to be some perks to this job.”
I pointed at the flare. “Do you think you can do something with that thing?”
“Your doubt is insulting.”
“Sorry.”
Val waved off my apology. “When that thing blows, I don’t know how long I can keep their attention. Be quick, Solina.” He passed the floor mat to me. “Can you get this mat over the top of that fence? It’s heavy.”
“Your doubt is insulting.”
Val rolled his eyes. “Don’t take any stupid risks.”
“Too late.”
Val muttered something and squeezed my shoulder. “Cross your fingers,” he said and disappeared again.
I edged closer to the fence, toting the rolled-up mat under my arm, and hunkered low in the shadows.
Two guards strolled past, both apparently oblivious to my presence. One of them was saying, “…taking a chopper, I heard.”
“She won’t believe us about the capture,” the other guard said. “That crazy bitch has to come rushing out in the middle of the night to confirm it.”
“Don’t let her hear you call her that. She’s brutal. No sense of humor.”
“I hear she’s…”
The two moved out of earshot before the second guard revealed what he had heard about Helen. What other “she” could he be talking about?
“Come on, Val,” I muttered. “What’s the problem?”
As if in reply, the sky tore apart. Val had said, “Let there be light,” and there was. The explosion lit the night in a temporary, false day—a miniature sun that lasted an instant. Someone let out a whoop, and footfalls scurried, en masse, to the scene of the explosion. I edged closer to the fence and waited several moments to allow for stragglers and latecomers.
Like a heavy steam engine, my heart chugged in my chest. My lungs worked double overtime, a pair of concertinas playing the world’s fastest polka. It’s now or never, girlfriend.
I scurried to the fence, shoved my foot in, laced my fingers around the links and climbed, one handed, trying not to drop the mat. Near the top, I said a little prayer and leaned back, unfurled the mat, and slung it over the barbed wire. It landed off-center and slid to the ground at my feet.
“Damn,” I whispered and jumped down to collect the fallen mat. How long would I have before the guards returned? Not long if they realized the explosion was something other than an equipment malfunction.
I climbed a second time and chucked the rug again. Val had been right: the rubber-backed carpeting weighed a lot, especially for attempting a one-armed toss. I heaved, and the mat sailed upward, reached the apex of its trajectory, and came down to straddle the barbed wire almost equally on both sides. What are the chances of doing that again?
The carpeting must have knotted around the barbs because the mat stayed in place as I climbed higher. I readjusted my balance and swung a leg up and over the mat, careful to keep my skin away from the threatening barbs. Thank you, Tre, for the cardio and strength training. I owe you the biggest banana pudding ever.
Barbs pressed into the rug, threatening to puncture my delicate flesh. Someone yelled again, and I froze. Then I drew in a deep breath and forced myself to move. Either the guards had seen me and I was doomed, or they hadn’t and luck was momentarily on my side. Either way, I had to get moving. I twisted and lowered myself until I hung, arms fully extended, hands bearing the brunt of my full weight. I drew in one deep breath and another, and I let go.
My feet hit the ground, and I stumbled, recovered, and took off running deeper into the compound and away from Val’s explosion. The doors of the first warehouse I came to were locked. The next ones weren’t, so I ducked inside and paused, listening for footsteps, moaning, conversation, or dismayed shouts, but only silence greeted my entry.
The floor plan laid out the interior rooms in a four-square style: four doors leading off one main hallway—two to the right, two to the left. I opened my mouth to call for Thorin but paused midbreath. What if a guard had stayed behind to watch the prisoners? If they’re even in this building in the first place. You could just be playing a giant shell game. What if they’d been taken away in a sleight-of-hand move, and all the buildings were empty?
Eenie, meenie, miney, mo. After utilizing my sophisticated analytical technique, I chose the first door on the right. If my life had been a movie, that was the point where the cellos would have started playing one ominous note, over and over, low and slow at first but mounting in pitch and tempo as the probability of danger increased.
Fear diluted my bravery, and the urge to run away, with or without the others, surged through me. Someone coughed in another room. Another guard? My bladder spasmed.
The same had happened to me as a kid whenever Mani and I played hide-and-seek. He won so many times on my forfeit because I thought for sure I would pee my pants before he found me.
I closed my eyes, said a quick prayer, and turned the handle. The door flew open, and I rushed forward, prepared to fight, but I stopped short when my gaze fell on the room’s sole occupant. My mouth dropped open and I stuttered, “Wha… What the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter Nine
Skyla Ramirez sat in an old and very heavy-looking metal chair—a medieval office chair?—that appeared to be bolted to the floor. One handcuff circled her wrist, and another spanned her ankle. Both were linked by a long chain latched around the chair’s leg.
