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Everett studies my face as I give him my most entreating look. Finally, he nods.
I go straight to the safe and press my right hand to the scanner, then punch in my social security number. The safe pops open with a new chime, a sequence of beeps I haven’t heard before. Everett helps me move all the contents to the bench in the middle of the closet, our fingers occasionally reaching for the same item, our shoulders skimming past each other.
“Okay,” I say, stepping up to the empty safe and running my hands over every surface. “How do we find the false bottom?”
“You look for the Brazilian butt lift,” says Everett.
I glare at him in disapproval. “Horrible, horrible joke.”
Everett grins. “I have a magnet handle in my cache. We should be able to lift it off.”
He jogs out and as soon as I know he’s down the hall, I shake my hands in an attempt to tame my nerves. This is insane. I can’t deny what I saw in his eyes as he tried to talk me out of this. I can’t let go of the subtext of his words. He would take a bullet for me, he thinks I’m worth that. I press my hands to my cheeks in an effort to cool my blush.
Everett comes back with a circular magnet the size of a saucer with a handle on the back. When his eyes meet mine, there’s about a million things I want to do with him and none of them involve taking apart a safe. But he’s in a completely different mode of thought, focusing on the task at hand.
“Give this a go,” he says, handing the magnet to me. “Set it on the floor of the safe, then press that power button to activate it.”
It snaps onto the bottom of the safe and I press the button, then give it a wiggle.
“Woah, that’s never coming off.”
I pull and nothing happens. I brace my legs wide and flex my nonexistent core muscles to help. I pull again, my neck bulging as I hold my breath.
Nothing.
One more time.
I reposition my grip and give it my all.
“Five, four, three,” Everett is barely whispering.
My hands fly off the magnet and I jump back with a yelp. “Why are you doing a countdown? Is there a bomb?”
“No, no, sorry! No, nothing’s wrong, go ahead.”
I glare at him and try to pull the magnet one last time. Not a thing happens. I swear not even an atom shifts.
“What the heck?” I say, letting go. “Why would-I mean-it’s just-ugh,” I finally snort-growl in frustration.
“There it is,” says Everett. “I was doing the countdown to your cute little snarl.”
“My snarl?” I ask, panting and bracing my hands on my hips. “I don’t snarl.” But I take the “cute” as a compliment and tuck it away.
“Only when you’re incredibly frustrated,” Everett replies. “It’s rare and adorable. You kind of did it after the meeting with Noa Ice.”
I scowl at him, then point to the magnet. “You try.”
Everett steps up and grips the handle of the magnet, his forearms flexing. His biceps engage, then his shoulders strain at the seams of his dress shirt. It’s clear that he’s putting all his effort into this. I hold my breath, hoping he’s strong enough.
“I have faith in you,” I say quickly.
Veins in his neck are straining and his face is turning reddish purple when an awful screech blasts through the closet. Nails on a chalkboard is too nice of an analogy, this sounds like a fork on a dinner plate but ten times worse.
“Yeah!” I cheer as Everett pulls the metal plate all the way out of the safe and lowers it to the floor.
“Oh my gosh, why is that so difficult?” he says, panting. “You could have never done that yourself. Now I’m sweating.” He swipes his sleeve across his forehead in a move that’s unfairly attractive.
I’ve followed the steps and this is it, the moment of truth. I look inside, anxious to see the famous dossier.
