Page 73 of Stolen Faith

After a few minutes of going over everything that had happened, it was clear that the five of them had been together through all the various locations. Juliette had been in an empty but elegant bedroom in the mansion to start, then a log cabin, and finally here for the last day or so.

“We need to get out,” Juliette said.

“That’s what Rowan said. We, well, I originally thought it was a kidnapping for ransom.”

“That would make more sense than whatever this is.” Juliette shook her head. “The questions they’re asking, what they’re doing…”

“The fact that they know about the Trinity Masters…”

“Not just that they know about us, they have details.”

“Well, that’s cryptic,” Izabel said, brow raised.

But Juliette was looking at her tits. Izabel looked down at her own chest, wondering if her dress had finally given out and she was free-boobing it. No, her tits were mostly covered, though the top of the dress was in shambles, the red fabric a dirty gray-brown, the lining visible through the rips.

“Is that an Alexander McQueen?”

Izabel touched the skirt. “It was.”

“He uses flexible metal rather than plastic boning. The same kind that’s in underwire bras.” Juliette leaned forward and grabbed the top of the dress.

Izabel checked the urge to shove her away. “Um, okay.”

Juliette yanked on the dress, peering down at Izabel’s tits.

“I’m married,” Izabel said apologetically.

“I know.” Juliette tore the top seam and wiggled a long, thin piece of metal out of the fabric sheath.

She held it up. About six inches long, there were small white plastic caps on each end. Did she plan to use it as a weapon? It wasn’t going to help when they were up against men with guns.

Juliette started rubbing the ends against the concrete floor. The plastic caps popped off.

Izabel looked at the thin metal strip, then at Juliette, and finally twisted to look at the door. “Tell me you know how to pick a lock.”

Juliette sharpened and shaped the metal against the concrete for another minute or two before answering.

“I know how to pick a lock, and this…” Juliette went to the door, pointing at the dead bolt above the knob. “This is just a regular, residential dead bolt, turned around so the key part is on the inside rather than the outside.”

Izabel examined the setup. “Not a very professional prison.”

“No,” Juliette agreed as she knelt and went to work with the thin piece of metal in the dead-bolt lock. “It’s not. Just another thing that doesn’t quite make sense. They have ambulances and guards with medical training, but then a door secured by a lock that only needs a bump key.”

Juliette tapped the end of the metal skewer with the heel of her hand, then very carefully twisted it. Izabel held her breath.

The deadbolt opened with a small metal thunk sound. Juliette put her hand on the knob and slowly twisted. Izabel scrambled to her feet, standing behind Juliette so her head was above the other woman’s as they peered through a tiny gap in the door. The long concrete hallway was empty.

Juliette eased the door open. They waited in silence, listening and watching.

“I know which cell my guys are in,” Izabel breathed.

Juliette nodded. “We can start there.” She tried to rise, but fumbled, nearly falling.

Izabel helped the other woman to her feet. Juliette was panting, her eyes closed. Izabel stopped her when she would have headed out and took a minute to fix Juliette’s “clothing,” though she used that term in the loosest sense. As she did, she got a good look at the front of Juliette’s body, and it took everything Izabel had not to react to the damage.

Juliette smiled, and it quivered a little. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

---