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Chapter 1
Jennifer
I’ll makehim pay for what he did.
My modified headlamp cast a dim glow on the recalcitrant lock.
The file needed to be back in place before it was missed. I had my copy, and when the news broke, this folder would attract attention.
I stretched my aching shoulders. The tensioner slipped out of the lock as I pulled the pick tool toward me.
Fuck.
After wiping my brow with my sleeve, I repositioned the tool at the bottom of the key slot to start picking the cylinder again—for the fourth time, or was it the fifth?
Normal file-cabinet locks wouldn’t have been this hard, but the company hadn’t gone with standard, hardware-store locks. These were a bitch, and the latex gloves I wore didn’t help. The YouTubers made it look so much easier than it was.
The faint sound of a door opening down the corridor caught my attention.
I ducked low and quickly covered my light source with one hand before clicking it off with the other.
The door closed, and footsteps followed. They came closer, and then stopped for a few seconds before clomping my way.
Shimmying back to crouch behind a file cabinet with my bag, I worked to control my breathing, with limited success. The sound of my heart beating threatened to swamp the sounds from the corridor.
Every time this happened, I was more scared than the last. Getting caught in this file room would be something I could explain away during the workday, perhaps. But after-hours, with the lights off? No way. It would be out-of-the-company time for yours truly, and most likely off to jail as well. Worst of all, I would fail at my mission.
There were days when jail didn’t sound so bad—it would be a lot less stressful—but that was just me kidding myself. I couldn’t live with what that would do to Ramona and Billy. Who would look after them if I couldn’t? Certainly not Uncle Victor. Although, the thought of Ramona and him in the same room was amusing. She’d be after him day and night about his drinking, and I’d bet on Ramona carrying the day. She didn’t lose many arguments.
I halted a laugh halfway up my throat. Silence was paramount until I knew the footsteps were far enough away. It didn’t matter how funny my daydreams got, I had to concentrate on tonight’s task.
Eventually I judged it had been long enough and struggled to my feet again.
I wasn’t tall, but these locks were positioned for people shorter than me. Rolling a chair in here was out of the question, and hunching over for an hour was going to make this a multi-Tylenol evening.Advil, I reminded myself. I planned on a glass of wine, and research said not to take Tylenol with alcohol.
I started again on the file cabinet.
Somebody needed to invent an easier way to do this. Movie characters were always past the lock in less than five seconds, but Hollywood didn’t need to be accurate.Suspension of disbelief, they called it.
One of those actors should come in here and tackle this lock. That would show them what the real world was like. Just because the script saysand the lock openeddoesn’t make it so.
Suddenly, the tension tool loosened as the cylinder returned. Another quarter turn and the plug popped toward me with a loud clunk. At least it was open, but this stupid cabinet was all kinds of trouble.
I froze and listened intently for half a minute.
I couldn’t detect any sounds, so I slowly pulled out the squeaky bottom drawer. Pulling my notes from my pocket, I double-checked where I’d originally found the file, just to be sure. Then I pulled the folder out of my messenger bag and slid it back in the drawer, exactly where it had been two days ago.
I eased the drawer closed, pushed in the lock plug, and turned the cylinder with my tension tool to the locked position.
Success.
Removing the headlamp, I clicked it off before closing it in my bag. With the tools back in place, I quickly pocketed the leather case of my pick set. It was too tall to fit well, but I’d deal with that later.
I shouldered the bag and made my way to the door.
The hallway was quiet, so I slipped through the door and closed it behind me.
Moving quietly, I started left. I couldn’t relax until I’d made it out without being spotted.
