“Are you okay? We need to get you out of there, but first, I have to know you’re okay.”
“A little winded from where youpushedme, but otherwise…”
My heart drums against my rib cage.
“Otherwise?”
“I don’t love that I’m in here. I told you this was a death trap waiting to happen.”
Exhaling roughly, I lower my head. “I know, baby. I know.”
More silence. Then: “Did you mean what you said about not wanting me to be your puppet?”
“What?”
“Just answer the question, Leo.”
Christ, I love the sound of my name when she says it. Almost as if it’s got some real meaning, like she enjoys the way it feels coming from her lips.
She continues. “When you came to this auction, when you stole the orchid from me…what were you hoping to get from all of it?”
“Why are you asking me this right now?” I push off the doors, balling my hands into fists as I refocus on a way to get her out. “Quit distracting me?—”
“I’m trying to distractmyself, because I think there’s a good chance I’ll die in here if you can’t open the doors soon.”
My heart ceases beating entirely. I stare at the metal, acute horror working its way up my sternum.
“When you pushed me back, I turned my head, and I guess…my hair got caught.”
I glance down as she speaks, noting a handful of her hair sticking out from the seam of the doors. Blinking, I use my fingers to try and push it through, but the limp strands don’t budge.
“Pull yourself free,” I snap, the tightening in my chest growing to unbearable heights.
“Ican’t.” She pauses, and the soft sounds of her straining trickle through our barrier, enraging me further. “There’s too much in there. I can’t get a good grip on it.”
Shit.
Pocketing my phone, I try to slip my fingers into the cracks, wondering if I can force them apart if I get enough of my hand in between. But I can’t. My fingers are too large, and the seam is too narrow.
Nausea rolls in my stomach like an angry ocean wave. I’ve never felt so entirely helpless.
Still, I can’t let myself dwell on the fear. I need to get her out of there, especially if Ranolfo or Gino are the reason Frankie was poisoned.
I draw a deep breath and step away from the elevator. “Can you reach Frankie?”
“Um…yes. With my foot.”
“Good. There should be a utility knife in his front right pocket. Try to get it.”
There’s some distant shuffling, and then her voice returns. “Okay, I’ve got it.”
“Now cut it.”
“Cut my hair?”
“Do you see a better solution right now?”
“But…” I hear her sigh, and it sounds like she’s pouting. “You love my hair.”
