Page 70 of Vanishing Point
So he was still inside. She was stuck here until she heard him leave. He would leave, wouldn’t he? Or was he just going to sit around with a loaded gun and wait?
It didn’t matter. She couldn’t worry either way. She had to set herself up for every chance, every possibility of survival. She touched the doorknob, trying to discern what kind of lock held it closed.
She could detect the tiny hole in the middle of the knob, like it was one of those Thomas had in his house where you only had to stick the little key—which was just a straight piece of metal—into the hole and then get it to catch on the mechanism inside, turn and it would unlock.
She put everything out of her mind except moving around the pantry, painstakingly slowly with her little shuffle, running her hands over every shelf. She felt cans, boxes, bags. Her fingers drifted over what were no doubt dead bugs, among other unpleasant things she wouldn’t let herself think about.
God only knew how long it took. It could have been minutes or hours—she had no sense of time in the dark. In her focus.
She inhaled sharply as a slice of pain went through her finger. Damn it. She’d given herself a splinter. She couldn’tseeit, butshe could feel a little sliver of wood in her finger. Of course that pain had nothing on what Eric could inflict, but it… It gave her an idea.
Could she find a splinter of wood small enough but strong enough to shove it into the keyhole of the door and undo the lock mechanism?
She carefully moved her fingers back over the wood shelf until she thought she was at the place she’d gotten a splinter. She felt around with her nails, trying to find a loose place in the wood that she could peel back and break off a chunk.
She pulled a piece off, shuffled over to the door, realized immediately it was too short and too flimsy to get the job done. So the next time she did it, she broke off multiple pieces, trying to make them thicker, sturdier, longer.
She didn’t let herself think beyond that. She ignored the splinters she was getting, the pain, the fatigue. She didn’t even listen for Eric. Nothing mattered right now except finding a way to unlock that door.
She was shaking by the time she got to a piece she thought might work. She was dizzy, even in the dark. No doubt because she hadn’t eaten or slept,andshe’d been knocked around. She probably didn’t have much left in her if she didn’t get out of this soon.
She bit down on her lip, hard, to focus. She worked tediously to get the piece of wood splinter in the keyhole, to find the right place. It took multiple tries, nearly sobbing in frustration and giving up and breaking all the sticks into a bunch of tiny pieces.
But she thought of Magnolia, and her cousins, and the possibility that Thomas was out there even now trying to save her, and she gave it another try.
Then another.
And another. Until finally itfeltlike something gave inside the knob.
She was shaking again, and nothing seemed to stop it. She worked hard to give the knob a careful test, just to see if it would turn.
It turned completely. She didn’t push it open yet, though, and carefully let it go. She blew out a shaky breath, then moved back to the shelves. She grabbed the two heaviest cans she could find. Her shaking made them hard to hold, but if she could use them as weapons, she would.
She went back to the door, sucked in a steadying breath. She tucked one of the cans underneath her armpit, leaving one free to open the door. But before she could even reach out to feel for the knob, a gunshot exploded outside the door.
Far, far too close.
Chapter Twenty-One
The flames were jumping from the car’s hood. Dark smoke billowed upward. There was absolutely no movement from the house.
Thomas waited, hidden behind a pole that had maybe once been some kind of security light for the property. It undoubtedly no longer worked, but it was big and bulky enough to hide him from view of the house.
Unfortunately, as time ticked by, he was coming to the conclusion that the distraction hadn’t worked.
He should wait, he knew. He was by far the closest to the house—everyone else having to spread out farther to remain hidden. He should reconvene. Replan.
But damn it, the sun was starting to set and he was done with this.
He wasn’t waiting any longer. He was moving in. It was an impulsive decision, but not a bad one. Not fully, anyway. And he wasn’t so reckless as to not take a minute to text Laurel what he was doing and instruct her to redistribute everyone to support him.
He didn’t wait for her response. He knew she wouldn’t like it. He just started to move forward. Gun drawn, trying to stay low. He kept the burning car between him and the house as long as he could.
Once he’d reached that point, he sucked in a breath and crept into the open. Anyone inside the house could see him now if they were looking out the windows, but the windows were covered in curtains.
Thomas watched them as he approached, looking for any sign of movement or life—a warning that he’d need to get down or run.
But the house seemed perfectly, utterly,deathlystill.
