EVEN BREAKING EVERY speed limit, it took forty-five minutes to get to the museum at the Burwell Estates. Shelby’s knees were shaking by the time they turned onto the dirt lane. She’d let Lark drive, because time was of the essence. She’d spent most of the drive with her eyes screwed shut.
“There it is,” Lark said. “Oh, shit. Look at all those cars.”
Three SUVs sat at odd angles in front of the manor, as though the drivers had simply braked wherever was convenient.
“Max is definitely here. Pull over,” Shelby said. “We need to go in on foot.”
Lark pulled the car as far as she could to the side of the lane. Shelby got out, eyes darting around as she opened the rear passenger door.
“Holy shit, Shel, are we actually going to do this? This is, um, kind of scary.”
“You can stay in the car, if you want. Just give me the stuff.”
Lark straightened her shoulders, chin lifting. “You don’t know how to do it. Besides, it only works with both of us. Okay. Okay. Let’s do this, before I pee my pants.”
Shelby slung the assault rifle over her shoulder and took her Beretta out of the gym bag.
“Here,” she said, handing it to Lark. “Just in case.”
Lark seemed to be having trouble breathing as she took the handgun. “Just pull the trigger, right?”
Shelby took hold of the barrel, angling it away from herself. “Here, see this little lever? You have to push it down until you see the red dot. Then you pull the trigger.”
“Okay.”
Her voice was as low and subdued as Shelby had ever heard it. She took the younger girl by the shoulders, leaning down until they were face-to-face. “You’ll be outside the whole time, Lark. You’ll be safe.”
“But you’ll be—”
“Shh. I’ll be fine.” Shelby hugged her friend hard. “We need to hurry, though.”
Lark pulled out her bag and opened it while Shelby slipped into a windbreaker. All too soon, they were ready.
“Wait,” Lark said. She rummaged in the bag. “Here.”
Shelby looked at the can of Pledge. “Uh . . .”
“Homemade flamethrower. Here, take the lighter.”
She tapped the assault rifle. “You know I have a gun, right?”
“Just take it. In case.”
She didn’t ask “in case what” as she pocketed both items. It seemed to make Lark feel better.
They tiptoed their way to the front door. A thick archway surrounded it, with a balcony at the top. The door itself was a solid piece of dark brown wood.
“It’s locked.” Momentarily bewildered, Shelby looked around. No way would she be stymied by something as simple as a locked door. Maybe she could climb to the balcony?
Maybe not.
“I’m going around back. The blueprint said there’s a door back there. Like a service entrance.”
Lark followed her to the edge of the building and around what looked like a turret inset with windows, but without the pointed roof. There was no place to sit.
“This feels really exposed.”
Shelby put her hands on her hips as she looked around. “You’ll have to sit on the ground, I guess.”
Lark sat and crossed her legs. “Exposed and uncomfortable. Got it.”
“Are you set?”
“Yeah. Be careful, Shel.”
“You, too.”
Shelby found the back door easily enough, and the SUV Trevor and Simon had driven away in. She gulped in air, relieved. She wouldn’t be alone in the museum with Max and however many of his thugs had ridden in those three SUVs.
The back door, too, had been locked.
Pressing her face to the glass with both hands shielding her from the setting sun, she verified no one stood on the other side of the door to conveniently let her in.
She couldn’t give up now. Trevor needed her, whether he knew it or not.
He was going to be livid.
Wait a minute. She bent at the waist, looking around for a rock. A brick. Something she could use to break the window, as Trevor had done in Lark’s car when they’d been attacked. The rifle swung forward and bumped her shoulder. She mentally smacked her head. Come on, Shelby Gibson. You’re smarter than this.
She wished there was a way to muffle the sound of glass breaking, but she had no idea how to do it. Unslinging the rifle, she reversed it, holding the stock up to the window. She pulled it back as far as she could, then slammed it into the glass. It cracked. She hit it again, and this time it broke. It made far less noise than she’d feared.
Huge shards stuck in all directions along the frame. She used the butt of the rifle again to clear the area above the door lock, then cautiously reached inside. Her fumbling fingers found a bolt. Pulling it free, she reached in farther and popped the lock in the doorknob.
She pushed it open by degrees, listening hard. Her heart pounded. No one came running to catch her, so she eased inside.
First hurdle passed.
She tiptoed to the long hallway. If anyone turned the corner, they would spot her instantly. Safer to go through the left door.
If she were a sociopathic egomaniac, where would she be?