Page 33 of Live a Little!

Silence.

Feeling for the door handle in the dark, she eased the door open a crack. A faint glow from emergency lights illuminated the warehouse, but it was very different from daytime. The dim lighting cast horror-movie shadows and turned the crates and boxes into sinistermasses.

She’d been surprised at how lax the security was. There were a few security cameras and lights outside, but nothing inside, which was possibly suspicious in itself. If dire deeds took place in this facility, they weren’t beingrecorded.

But at least she was alone. No gang of cutthroat drug dealers had come to collect their booty, which had been her greatestfear.

Still, she fought an impulse to dive back into the bathroom and curl up into a ball.I am Cyn the Bold!she reminded herself over and over as she crept slowly out of the bathroom, closing the door soundlessly behindher.

Nowwhat?

Deciding to get her nosing around over as quickly as possible so she could get out of there, she crept toward a heap of crates stacked on a woodenpallet.

She tiptoed along the cement, searching ahead for a path. She skirted trollies and a hydraulic lift. She passed boxes fresh from England and Ireland, thanks to Mr. Percivaldsenior.

At last she reached the chopstick crates. They were stacked in front of the coffee, with an aisle widthbetween.

She stared at the heaped coffee sacks. The one she’d seen break had contained nothing but coffee, but wasn’t it possible some of the sacks contained drugs? She gnawed her thumb in indecision, then decided to stick with her original plan of action. She could always investigate the rest of the coffee later if she hadtime.

She put her backpack on the ground beside her and dug inside it for the crowbar. She’d bought the smallest one she could find, for obvious reasons, but when she tried to pry the lid off the first wooden crate, she wished she’d gone for the jumbosize.

Although she was happy to be the first person opening the crate, she cursed at how difficult it was. And noisy. Sweat prickled her forehead and neck as she worked the crowbar up and down, trying to ease the lid off as quietly aspossible.

She paused and her heart pounded double time. Had she heard something? Her eyes tried to penetrate the murky corners of the warehouse, but all she saw were menacing shadows. The crowbar grew slick in herhands.

She remained rigid, all senses alert, for a minute or so, then decided she’d imagined the noise, and went back to the crowbar. Her arms began to ache from the strain, but slowly the lid started to rise. With a final loud squeal, it camefree.

Like a kid on Christmas morning, she leaned forward to peer inside thecrate.

What made her lift her head? Another sound? The sense she wasn’talone?

She turned just in time to see a black shape hurtling toward her. Even as she opened her mouth to scream, it was too late. A black-gloved hand closed over her mouth and she was hauled backward, her body shoved hard against the pile of coffee sacks. She still had the crowbar in her hand, but as she tried to wield it, she realized that her attacker was holding it, along with her hand, in an unbreakablegrip.

His other hand still covered her mouth and half her face. Through a fog of terror, she smelled the leather of his glove, felt the rigid strength of his hand. She worked her jaw, trying to bite him, but the hand clamped so hard she couldn’t even move hertongue.

Frantically, she twisted her body, trying to get a good shot at kneeing him in the groin. Blood was ringing in her ears, and if it was possible to pant through her nose, she was doingit.

“Stay still. I’m not going to kill you till later,” a fierce voice hissed in herear.

Her body stilled and sank bonelessly against the burlap bags. After a moment the hand eased from hermouth.

“Jake!” she whispered, relief making her feelfaint.

“Don’t sound so happy to see me. I’m serious. You’re deadmeat.”

“What are you doinghere?”

“Same asyou.”

“Chopsticks?”

“Chopsticks.” He cocked his head, listening. “Since you’re here, you can hold theflashlight.”

For a second she pondered arguing, then she remembered how glad she was to see him, and what hard work it had been just getting the lid off one crate. “You almost gave me a heartattack.”

“Good.”

She held the flashlight he handed her, and got her first glimpse inside the crate. Rows and rows of chopsticks met her gaze. “Could be a ruse. Maybe the drugs are underneath,” shewhispered.

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