How long?
He didn’t really have a sense of time passing, but a hollow, queasy feeling told him he hadn’t eaten in at least twenty-four hours, so there was that. He was so damned stiff, he doubted he’d moved or been moved for at least that long. But was it longer?
Sarah…
Even as her name rose in his mind, he remembered that just before he had blacked out, he’d felt a whisper of her touch in his mind. Just a whisper, unfamiliar yet certainly her and real, not his imagination. For a brief moment, Sarah had been with him.
Could he reach her? He didn’t have the faintest idea how to do it, but he’d urged Sarah to try too often not to demand the same thing of himself now. If he just concentrated…
Shhhh.
He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until they opened suddenly and he peered warily into the darkness surrounding him. And even then, he wasn’t sure he hadn’t actually heard her until she spoke in his mind again.
Shhhh. Don’t let them touch you. Whatever happens, don’t let any of them touch you.
Sarah?
Do I sound so different this way?
It’s…I’m not used to hearing you this way.
No. It’s…strange. Her thought was almost apologetic.
Not strange. Just different.
We’ll argue about it later. She seemed amused, he thought, but something else as well. Tired. And shocked, deeply shocked, because of something that had happened…
No. Don’t go there.
But what’s happened?
Never mind. Time enough to talk about that when we get you out of there.
We?
You were right; we aren’t alone in this. I’ve found some…comrades. We’re going to get you out.
Out of where? Where the hell am I?
In the cellar of a deserted church. Listen to me. Can you pick a lock? Open a locked door?
Cautiously, he flexed fingers that felt stiff, numb, and wondered whether he could. But he answered with confidence. I learned how to pick locks to research a book.
I thought you might have. Again, he felt a flicker of amusement in Sarah, but whether it was because of his stated confidence or the actual uncertainty she surely must have felt in him, he didn’t know.
I don’t have anything to use for a tool, he admitted. And I was being watched.
But not now.
No.
All right. We have to get you out of there, and soon. If this is going to work, you can’t be where they think you are. I want you to get out of that room as soon as possible. When you get the door open, turn immediately to the right and move a dozen paces. There’s a door on the left. A storage room. Go in there, close the door behind you and wait.
But—
Tucker, it’s too dark for you to help us in any way except to put yourself out of their reach. That’s vitally important. If any of them touches you now, they’ll kill you. And me.
That was enough of a threat to gain his obedience. All right. But I may not be able to find a tool in here to pick the lock—
You’ll find one. Close by. Don’t waste any time, Tucker.
If this doesn’t work—
It will.
But I want you to know—
Shhhh. I’m going to leave you now. Try not to reach out to me; it distracts me and I need to concentrate.
He felt her easing away, and it took all his willpower not to try to follow her. Instead, he concentrated on flexing his fingers again, trying to ease the stiffness and cold numbness. To be ready.
“It’s very simple,” Duran said patiently.
The boy looked at him, amazed. “Simple? My head’s gonna hurt for a week—”
“There will be…rewards if you’re successful.”
“And all you want me to do is take it from her, the way I gave her the cobwebs?”
“Exactly.”
The boy sighed, and made himself comfortable. “All right. I’ll try.”
Softly, Duran said, “Rewards for success, Jeremy. Punishment for failure.”
Jeremy looked at him and briefly chewed his bottom lip, then shifted a bit on the couch. “All right, all right.”
Duran didn’t say anything further. He just waited. And watched.
It seemed to Tucker that he had waited an awfully long time, flexing his fingers and blowing on them, before much feeling returned to them. He put his hand down, finally, touching the stone floor as he prepared to try to push himself up. And his fingers were still so chilled that he nearly missed it.
Even when he managed to pick it up, it took him several minutes to convince himself that the thin, flexible lockpick was real.
Sarah opened her eyes and drew a deep breath.
“Well?” Brodie asked.
Her right hand was clenched shut in her lap. Sarah held it out palm up and slowly uncurled the fingers. It was empty. Not ten minutes before, it had held a small tool designed to pick a lock.
“Son of a bitch,” Brodie said quietly.