Page 108 of One Secret

Soon to be corrected...

I eye my rucksack, tidied away under the bed. Inside is my leather jacket. In the pocket of which is a penknife.

My freedom, hidden inside a Russian doll of zippers.

No time for moaning. Onward, soldier.

Awkward shuffling and a lot of core work inches the chair as close to the bed as possible. The rest is up to dental dexterity, as I stretch my head under the bed and grab the strap of the bag with my teeth. The zip is harder, but I eventually pin it between my incisors and have it worked around the rucksack. The jacket is floppier and takes longer.

By the time I have the pocket unzipped, my jaw hurts. Taking the leather in my mouth and shaking it until my penknife hits the ground gives me neck cramp.

'I swear to God,' I grumble. If that damn man isn't shot on that boat or already sinking to the bottom of the ocean... I'm gonna kill him myself.

The knife pops open with a simple nose-press to its catch but it takes an eternity to pin it into place between my knee and the bedframe. Then it's just a matter of getting my wrist near the blade.

'Goddamnit...' I grunt, thoroughly regretting turning down Lily-Anne's repeated offers to take up yoga with her.

A heavy thumping on the door has me freezing in place.

What the—?

'Open up, signorina...'

I recognize the voice and my blood runs cold. It's the guy who took Cyrus to meet Caruso.

What on earth is he doing here? And where the hell is Cyrus?

Burying the urge to panic, I focus on the task at hand.

Just get free... Get free and you can deal with whatever is on the other side of that door.

I angle my arm, press against the penknife, and use my limited range of motion to shift the bindings back and forth along the blade.

'Come on...'

A massive crash—the sound of a full-grown man slamming into a wooden door—has me jumping out of my skin. The knife slips and topples to one side, the blade muffled in the carpet.

'Shit!'

A crack of light has broken down the seam of the doorway. The paid thug on the other side is breaking in!

More frightening still: if all pretense of friendly negotiation is now gone...?

Cyrus...!

Another heavy blow hits the door. Voices in the next room over shout in surprise.

Urging myself to focus, I stare at the frayed tear I've made in the sheet. I wonder how long it'll take to realign my knife versus the time it'll take a highly-trained mercenary to break through that door.

Fuck it.

Giving up on the knife, I yank as hard as I can against that tear, my upper arm straining, my forearm pulling back from the chair.

Nothing.

Weight hits the door to the suite with another almighty impact. This time, I can see a clear strip of the hallway beyond. At least six inches wide. An ogreish dark shape rushes the door again.

'Come on, come on...'

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