Free Burn by Sarah Fine Page B

forehead to it as I begin to check the keys. I’ve just found my first likely candidate when Leo’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
    “Get away from here!”
    “What?”
    “They’re coming! I can hear them on the stairs!”
    I freeze, halting the jangling of my keys in time to hear the footsteps and voices echoing in the stairwell. For a moment, I’m paralyzed—Leo and Christina are still locked inside, and I’m out in the open.
    Then I realize what I have to do. My heart simultaneously pounding and aching, I slide the handcuff key under the door, knowing the two of them will be able to find a way to help each other out. And then I back a few steps down the hall, seeking partial cover against another closed office door, and aim. It’s a Glock 19, so assuming Graham is operating with a full magazine, I have fifteen shots plus the one in the chamber. If this is it, I’ll take as many out as I can and hope that Christina and Leo can take it from there.
    My finger closes over the trigger as my first target swings the door wide.
    Race Lavin, his face severe and cleanly shaven but bruised, his eyes bloodred, jerks to a stop when he sees me there. The corner of his mouth twitches. “I told you,” he calls over his shoulder.
    My mother appears behind him. “So did I,” she says to the man at her side.
    Congers frowns. “So you did.”

SEVEN
    I DON’T LOWER MY WEAPON AS MY MOM EMERGES from the stairwell, flanked by Congers and Race. I look her over for signs of injury. Her arm is in a sling and she’s streaked with soot and dirt, but she seems okay otherwise. Except she looks really unhappy.
    “There is research to show that physical abuse and torture is an ineffective means of interrogation,” she says, glaring at Congers.
    He doesn’t answer. He’s got something behind his back, maybe a weapon, and he starts to bring it out but freezes as soon as my finger tightens on the trigger. I’m sorely tempted to shoot him out of sheer aggravation and hatred.
    Race raises his hands. “We’ve come to negotiate.”
    I ignore him and look at my mom, waiting for a signal. Her gaze is steady on mine. “Tate, we have new information. Things have changed.”
    I’m still aiming at Congers’s head. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
    “We need to help one another,” Race says. “And if we don’t, the outcome will be catastrophic.”
    Congers’s nostrils flare. “You are, for the time being, no longer our prisoners. We need you as allies.” Each word seems to heighten the bad taste in his mouth. “If you’ll permit me to move, you’ll see I am holding the scanner, not a weapon.”
    “Show me.”
    Slowly, he brings his arm out to the side, revealing the sleek, black scanner, which he switches on. It reflects red off his leg, then blue as he angles it toward my mother, then red as the light crosses Race’s chest. I move my finger off the trigger.
    From behind me comes a muffled shout. Graham’s awake. Congers’s eyes flick toward the closed door where his son is shackled, and then back to me. He gestures toward the room where Leo and Christina are being kept. “I assume you’ll want to free your friends before we talk.”
    Leo pounds on the door. “Already done. Just let us out.”
    I lower the gun and pull the keys from my pocket. As I unlock the door, I say, “You might want to let your son out. He’s probably uncomfortable.”
    Race looks down the hallway, concern shadowing his features.
    “He deserves whatever you’ve done to him,” says Congers in a clipped voice, and for a minute, I feel bad for Graham. Then I remember how many times he punched me.
    As soon as I open the door, Christina flies into my arms, knocking me back against the wall. Her face is pressed to my neck as she says, “I didn’t know what they were going to do to you,” in a strained whisper.
    “I’m fine,” I say, trying to keep my focus on Race and Congers even as her scent fills me up. I wrap my arm around