He needed someone to hear him. He needed someone to come.
When his legs began to shake with exhaustion, he used his hands. His knuckles grew bloody. As much as his body protested, he found he could master it far better than his mind.
His mind turned on him like poison. He worried that no one would answer his pounding. He worried about the things Tom and his men might do to a young and beautiful captive. He worried that he wouldn’t be able to find her. That he’d go to the police and they’d search and search and ... nothing. He worried that Britt wouldn’t make it through this alive.
He ceased his movement long enough to catch his breath, to pray.
Right here and right now, when it mattered, Zander knew who to turn to. The fire of his predicament brightly illuminated what was, and wasn’t, important.
His head bent beneath the weight of his remorse. For years,he’d nurtured his complaints, content to bind himself to God with duty. His behavior shamed him now, so much his chest ached with the force of it.
The God he’d failed was the same one—the only one—who could shield Britt now.
Zander had been unfaithful, and if God operated on human rules of fairness, then he would have no right to ask God anything. God would have every right to turn away and shut His ears to Zander’s pleas.
But against all odds and all comprehension, God didn’t operate on human rules. He’d trampled fairness when He’d sanctioned the most unfair act of history—the crucifixion. Because of that, Zander had been made right with God. He was God’s son. A son full of mistakes. But a son, nonetheless.
Zander’s unfaithfulness couldn’t negate God’s faithfulness. Faithfulness was inseparable from God’s character. And so Zander could be sure that here, where no one else might be able to hear him, there was One whowouldhear. One who could be counted upon to listen.
Zander prayed, empty-handed and undeserving. He begged God to forgive him. He begged God to keep Britt safe. He begged God to send someone to free him.
Renewed energy flowed in his limbs by the time he ended the prayer. He hit his feet against the wall over and over. He prayed. Hit his feet against the wall. Prayed.
At last, a knock finally sounded at the door. “It’s management,” a female voice called. “Everything all right in there?”
He thumped furiously with his feet until he heard a key turn in the lock. Relief blurred Zander’s vision when a middle-aged woman wearing a navy business suit entered. Her face blanched at the sight of him. She reassured him that she’d get help, used her phone to alert a coworker, then knelt beside him. Her name tag readCrystal.
Gingerly, she peeled the duct tape from his mouth.
“Scissors,” he said.
She placed a quick follow-up call requesting scissors. “Are you all right?” Fear and concern stamped her face.
No. He was not all right. “I’m fine.”
“Who did this to you?”
“I’d rather not say. Do you see my cell phone or my keys?”
“Wait a sec.” She hurried around the space. “No. I’m sorry, I don’t.”
They’d taken his method of communication and his method of transportation.
Crystal returned to his side. “What happened?”
“Some men stole something from me.” He wasn’t referring to the painting. “And left me here.”
“I’m so glad that Mrs. Jenks, in the apartment below yours, called to tell us about the noise you were making.”
Another woman ran in with scissors. Her name tag identified her asPam.
“If you’ll cut the tie around my wrists, I’ll cut the one around my ankles,” Zander said.
It took some muscle to sever the plastic tie, but after a few moments, Pam managed it.
Zander took the scissors, cut the tie around his ankles, and ascended to his feet. “I’m going to need access to a phone and a car.”
“We’ll call the police,” Crystal, clearly the more senior of the two, replied. “Our security protocol—”
