“Ready?” he asked, our gazes locking.
Not really.
My thoughts raced. The dildo of consequences rarely arrived lubed, and if I had wronged someone badly in the past, this was surely where I’d get my payback. What if Andrew was mistaken and it was booby-trapped? My hand was inside. Could I lose it? Beats of sweat covered my face, too. And bugs now ran down my sides, and under my shirt.
Fuckity fuck.
“Wait.” My mouth was dry. “What if it crushes my hand? What if it’s not how to open it?”
“I’m certain this is the correct way to unlock the door.”
I raised one eyebrow. “You were also certain Dr. Garcia was a decent man.”
“Yes, and I was wrong about that.” Andrew hung his head and took a deep breath, then looked up at me. “But I’m not wrong about how to open this door. In a letter, Augustine encoded a series of specific instructions. I have no doubt it’s for this room, and I’m sure I interpreted them precisely.”
“Ifthissituation goes south, Dr. Andrew Oliver Jones, you’ll owe me for the rest of your life.”
He smiled. “Even if nothing happens to you, I’ll owe you for the rest of my life.”
My fingers tightened, and I struggled to rotate the handle clockwise. I gritted my teeth and tried harder. Again.
Nope.
It didn’t budge.
“It doesn’t want to turn,” I hissed.
“Try the other way.”
WTF.
I shot Andrew awhat-the-helllook. “I thought you knew how to open this!”
“I don’t have theexactstep-by-step instructions. There was a fifty-fifty chance which way to turn.”
I took a deep breath and tried to twist it counterclockwise. It still didn’t budge. Perhaps the locking mechanism had rusted after so many years. “It’s stuck. Or it’s broken.” I relaxed my grip.
“Let me think.”
Andrew took off his hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Then he replaced it and closed his eyes. I didn’t want to be an asshole and break his concentration, but there was a highway of bugs going over, in and out of my bra, and quickly migrating south on my stomach.
Hurry up, Andrew. Hurry the fuck up.
Andrew opened his eyes. “Pull on the bar, then turn it clockwise.”
I wrapped my fingers again around the bar, squishing bugs by accident. Yuck. I tugged. Then tugged harder.
A movement.
Stone grinding on stone.
My eyes met Andrew’s, and we both gasped.
“It’s working,” I squalled, my heart lurching, hard.
I twisted the bar clockwise. The enclosure around my wrist shifted, and light pressure surrounded my hand, pressing on the bracelet. I envisioned huge pliers or crab cracker clamping my wrist. “Oh, my god.”
“What?” Andrew stepped closer to me. “If you feel something isn’t right, pull your hand out.”
