Now that she knew the door’s secret, she swept her hand over it again, seeking…what? A handle. A lock. Step-by-step instructions.
Nothing popped. Of course it wouldn’t be easy.
There had to be a way in.
For a minute she considered pounding on the door or rattling the chain. No, that would be too loud and might give her presence away. She wished her guardian angel had provided more than an address.
As if reading her mind—and she hoped he hadn’t been lying about that—a string of numbers appeared in her line of vision.
A keycode?
Which meant a keypad. But where?
Her fingers passed over one of the grimy windows. A pale light flickered in response. A keypad disguised as a window? Pretty fucking clever.
She pulled her hands away and stared at the dirty glass. The numbers floated in her field of vision. But no instructions.
“If I hid a keypad in a window…”
It should be easy to access, because standing out here too long would draw unwanted attention.
Dizzie turned halfway, scanning the area. She’d been out here too long.
She traced around the edge of the window with her nails, sliding them back and forth over the seam. One caught on a seam where the surface of the window was slightly higher than the frame.
“Aha!”
She held her breath and slid the tip of a nail under the thin edge. Praying she didn’t break a nail, she braced a knuckle against the window frame. With the added leverage, the glass plate inched up with a creak.
Slowly, with as much finesse as possible, she lifted the grimy glass plate. Blue light appeared in the crack. She braced the panel open with her free hand. Once the plate was lifted all the way, a keypad was visible. The gap was wide enough to slip her hand in.
“Here goes nothing,” she whispered.
She entered the string of numbers slowly, each move in the tiny space deliberate. Would it lock her out if she entered the wrong code? After the final number, she pulled her hand away and waited.
The double doors—which were actually one big door—opened with a groan. The entry was to her right.
Dizzie closed the glass panel. The fake dirt remained unsmudged, with no indication it hid a keypad. If there were this many tricks on the outside, what would she find inside?
The entryway was dark when she stepped into it. Nothing happened until she tugged the door closed behind her. Lights flickered on, reminding her of Killian’s garage.
Was he the hacker? He had money and liked his toys…
“You’re being silly, Dizzie.” She turned in a circle, studying the entry. It was a small room with concrete walls. With the door behind her, a narrow hallway led in the opposite directions. The air was musty, as if someone hadn’t been here for a while, but the air didn’t carry the smell of rot the way the alley did. The faint hum of electricity—from the lights?—was the only other sound besides her breathing.
She paused where she was. Would there be more instructions?
When none appeared, she adjusted her grip on her helmet, ready to use it as a weapon, and followed the hallway. It dead-ended at another heavy steel door. At least this one had an embedded keypad.
She typed in the door code. Nothing happened. Afraid she’d made a typo, she typed it in again, double-checking each number before she pressed each key.
Nothing.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” She kicked the door, tired of all the games.
Here she was, no sleep, no bed and, apparently, no code. And no help. So much for the promised safe house.
“I want to go home,” she announced to the empty room. “Why did I listen to you?”
