stuck to her in thick, wet layers.
“We’re getting the hell out of here,” Spencer said. “Everybody in the center of the room.”
We moved together into a tight circle.
“The door is locked, handsome,” Lucy told Spencer.
“I think outside the box.” Spencer removed his jacket and gave it to me to hold. “Just for a minute, Pinkie. Don’t burn it or sneeze on it. You think you can handle that?”
“So funny I forgot to laugh,” I said.
Spencer rolled up his shirtsleeves and proceeded to throw his body at the walls. The racket was earsplitting as he pounded the metal with his shoulder. Who did he think he was, Superman? I was about to laugh at him for trying to break through the walls of a super-high-tech modern panic room, when the wall buckled and dented under the pressure of his battering-ram strength.
He took a step back and surveyed the damage. “That’s what I thought. They focus the security on the obvious, on the door. They never think outside of the box.”
Then it was just a matter of time. Spencer and Remington put everything they had into mangling the wall. With the possibility of escape becoming a reality, I breathed easier and even had to pee less.
“If they weren’t saving us, I would be pretty PO’d that they were having the females stand back while they saved us,” Bridget said.
“It is rather sexist in a hot, stimulating way,” Lucy commented.
Watching Remington and Spencer literally rip apart the wall with their bare hands was indeed stimulating. They grunted and their muscles rippled as they worked. Shirtless Remington was a sight to see. Spencer wasn’t half bad, either. I couldn’t look away. I bit my lower lip and caught myself panting.
“This is the most foreplay I’ve gotten in thirty-five years,” Ruth said.
The noise was deafening. Each manipulation of the metal wall sounded like a car crash. After about twenty minutes, a sliver of bright light broke through the gap in the wall, along with a rush of fresh air.
Spencer ordered us to get out of the way. Remington peeled back a section of the wall, and Spencer climbed through. I held my breath.
The sound of voices floated through the opening. Remington motioned us to stay back, but we moved forward as a group, trying to see or hear what was going on.
I could make out Spencer’s voice. He was using his authoritarian cop voice, but I couldn’t hear the words. Was he negotiating with Rellik? Had he found the bodies of the poor people next door? I thought of Mavis and Felicia and their lovely shop, of how kind they were to me, even though Felicia wanted me to read.
I sniffed and wiped my eyes. With my fear of dying melting away, my focus turned to the murder of the innocent people next door. The cruelty and injustice was too much to bear. How could one man feel that he had the power to extinguish lives on a whim? How could he be so evil?
My nose ran, and I wiped it with the back of my hand. Bridget put her arm around my waist and leaned her head against my shoulder. I heard her hiccup and swallow back tears. Our grief was contagious. Soon Lucy was sniffling and wiping her eyes, too.
“I hope the cop tears him to pieces,” Ruth said.
But there was no evidence of Spencer tearing anyone to pieces. In fact, there was no evidence of him at all. His voice had receded and then grown quiet.
“Detective Cumberbatch,” I said. My voice came out like a little girl’s, meek and small, but it spurred him on. With all his strength, Remington pulled atthe metal wall. It gave way by inches, making a horrible sound.
That’s how it turned out that the only one who could save us was busy on the other side of the room when the door finally opened.
Chapter 8
P eople keep looking up my sleeves, dolly, like I’m Penn & Teller or something. They want to know what magic I’m weaving, what tricks I’m plotting. But with me, what you see is what you get. The only thing up my sleeve is a used Kleenex. But that’s not how
“We’re getting the hell out of here,” Spencer said. “Everybody in the center of the room.”
We moved together into a tight circle.
“The door is locked, handsome,” Lucy told Spencer.
“I think outside the box.” Spencer removed his jacket and gave it to me to hold. “Just for a minute, Pinkie. Don’t burn it or sneeze on it. You think you can handle that?”
“So funny I forgot to laugh,” I said.
Spencer rolled up his shirtsleeves and proceeded to throw his body at the walls. The racket was earsplitting as he pounded the metal with his shoulder. Who did he think he was, Superman? I was about to laugh at him for trying to break through the walls of a super-high-tech modern panic room, when the wall buckled and dented under the pressure of his battering-ram strength.
He took a step back and surveyed the damage. “That’s what I thought. They focus the security on the obvious, on the door. They never think outside of the box.”
Then it was just a matter of time. Spencer and Remington put everything they had into mangling the wall. With the possibility of escape becoming a reality, I breathed easier and even had to pee less.
“If they weren’t saving us, I would be pretty PO’d that they were having the females stand back while they saved us,” Bridget said.
“It is rather sexist in a hot, stimulating way,” Lucy commented.
Watching Remington and Spencer literally rip apart the wall with their bare hands was indeed stimulating. They grunted and their muscles rippled as they worked. Shirtless Remington was a sight to see. Spencer wasn’t half bad, either. I couldn’t look away. I bit my lower lip and caught myself panting.
“This is the most foreplay I’ve gotten in thirty-five years,” Ruth said.
The noise was deafening. Each manipulation of the metal wall sounded like a car crash. After about twenty minutes, a sliver of bright light broke through the gap in the wall, along with a rush of fresh air.
Spencer ordered us to get out of the way. Remington peeled back a section of the wall, and Spencer climbed through. I held my breath.
The sound of voices floated through the opening. Remington motioned us to stay back, but we moved forward as a group, trying to see or hear what was going on.
I could make out Spencer’s voice. He was using his authoritarian cop voice, but I couldn’t hear the words. Was he negotiating with Rellik? Had he found the bodies of the poor people next door? I thought of Mavis and Felicia and their lovely shop, of how kind they were to me, even though Felicia wanted me to read.
I sniffed and wiped my eyes. With my fear of dying melting away, my focus turned to the murder of the innocent people next door. The cruelty and injustice was too much to bear. How could one man feel that he had the power to extinguish lives on a whim? How could he be so evil?
My nose ran, and I wiped it with the back of my hand. Bridget put her arm around my waist and leaned her head against my shoulder. I heard her hiccup and swallow back tears. Our grief was contagious. Soon Lucy was sniffling and wiping her eyes, too.
“I hope the cop tears him to pieces,” Ruth said.
But there was no evidence of Spencer tearing anyone to pieces. In fact, there was no evidence of him at all. His voice had receded and then grown quiet.
“Detective Cumberbatch,” I said. My voice came out like a little girl’s, meek and small, but it spurred him on. With all his strength, Remington pulled atthe metal wall. It gave way by inches, making a horrible sound.
That’s how it turned out that the only one who could save us was busy on the other side of the room when the door finally opened.
Chapter 8
P eople keep looking up my sleeves, dolly, like I’m Penn & Teller or something. They want to know what magic I’m weaving, what tricks I’m plotting. But with me, what you see is what you get. The only thing up my sleeve is a used Kleenex. But that’s not how
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