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Damn!
She wasn’t a thief, didn’t know how to pick a lock to save her soul. She could try the outside window, she supposed, but she would run the risk of the security teams seeing her.
Her only hope was the bathroom, one that was accessible from the hallway and from the reverend’s office. She’d caught a glimpse of it earlier and silently prayed that it was open, the connecting door unlocked.
Noiselessly, she slid into the restroom and locked the door behind her; then she tried the connecting door, which opened, of course. The lock was on the inside.
But that was only half the battle. Now there was the file cabinet to break into. She drew the shades down and turned off her flashlight, afraid the vigilant eyes of the new legion of security guards might see the moving illumination and come into the chapel to investigate. After a minute, her eyes grew accustomed to the fading red glow from a dying fire.
She rounded the desk and tried the top drawer.
It was locked tight.
Great. Now what? Snow was melting from her shoes, leaving puddles on the carpet, puddles she hoped would dry before Lynch returned in the morning. Dressed as she was, the chill of the night had worn off, the heat in the office chasing away the cold.
She yanked at her scarf, allowing a little breathing room around her neck, but she didn’t remove her gloves. Stealthily, her heart pounding a nervous tattoo, she opened the desk drawers one by one, searching for small keys that would fit the cabinet. Nothing. It was possible, she supposed, that he kept the key with him at all times, but most people kept a spare in the office.
Somewhere.
Yeah, like in Charla King’s possession.
No, that didn’t make sense. Jules doubted Lynch would trust anyone, even King, with the key to his private files.
Bam!
The fire popped suddenly, sounding for all the world like the sharp report of a gun.
Jules bit back a scream, her knees nearly giving out, her pulse skyrocketing. She was just no good at this cloak-and-dagger stuff, no good at all. She wasn’t cut out for this.
Every muscle tense, she did a quick search, touching the underside of drawers, looking under plants, even flipping up the corners of the carpet. Again, she came up dry.
Frustration ground through her.
Where, where, where would he hide them?
Maybe they weren’t in the office. But, then, where?
She’d never been a quitter and hadn’t come this far to give up, but she was running out of ideas. And time was against her. Soon, she knew, Taggert and Takasumi would check the chapel. Would they think she’d just left and returned to her suite, or would they search for her? She couldn’t be sure.
Sweat dampening her palms, she found a letter opener in the top drawer of the desk, but it was too large to slip into the lock. Ditto, the nail file. All of her own keys were too large.
“Damn, damn, damn,” she whispered.
Maybe there was nothing in the files. Maybe her pathetic attempts at sleuthing weren’t worth the time. And yet … she reached around the back of the file cabinet, running her fingers down the flat back and came up with nothing. Short of prying the damned drawer open with a hammer and breaking the lock, she thought there was no way to open the damned cabinet.
Creeeak.
A footstep sounded in the hallway.
Jules’s heart leapt to her throat.
She froze, praying she’d imagined the sound.
Then the quiet, steady thud of footsteps, getting louder, coming closer.
Oh, God!
Keys jangled in the hallway on the other side of Lynch’s office door.
