Free Sinner by Ted Dekker

violently shook her head.
    Still no reaction from Smith. He was there, though. He had to have heard!
    Billy’s fingers searched her face, found the edge of the tape, and pulled it from her mouth. She was whispering frantically before it was fully removed.
    â€œHe’s here,” she whispered, “be quiet, quiet . . .”
    Breath.
    â€œGet my wrists!”
    Breath.
    â€œI’m chained to the sofa! Hurry, hurry!”
    Billy reached, found her wrists, elbows at her back, and sawed through the tape with his knife.
    â€œMy foot!” she whispered. “It’s chained, get them off.”
    He shouldered the couch and tried to slip the cuffs off, but they were latched to a metal bar that ran perpendicular to the frame.
    So close, they were so close to freedom! Darcy grabbed Billy by the collar with both hands and pulled him near so she could talk quietly. Came face-to-face with him.
    â€œBilly.”Her voice sounded panicked. She tried to calm herself. “Don’t leave me, Billy! Don’t let him do this to me! I need you, I’m sorry, I . . .”
    His eyes stared wide, six inches from hers. Whether it was the panic speaking or some deep-seated bond, she didn’t know, she didn’t care. But she’d never been so grateful to see, to touch, to have another human so close.
    â€œPromise me you’ll never leave me, Billy, please, please . . .”
    Her hands trembled on his collar.
    â€œI won’t leave you.”
    And then he went to work on the handcuffs.
    â€œHe’s in here,” Darcy whispered.
    Billy spun back. “Where?”
    â€œI don’t know . . .” She looked around.“He boarded up the house and he’s inside!”
    â€œWho? Muness? From Atlantic City—”
    â€œNo, no, from the Vatican! He’s after the survivors of the project back in Paradise. You have to get us out, Billy! He’s planning to kill me— us .”
    Billy looked into her eyes, frozen by her words. Survivors of Paradise. But there was more than fear behind his eyes, she thought.
    â€œI’m going to get you out of here, Darcy.” His voice was strung tight. He took her head in one arm and pulled her close. “I promise, I swear, I’m not going to let you go.”
    Something more than fear was driving them together, Darcy thought. She clung to him. And all she could think to say was, “Thank you.”
    â€œYes, thank you, Billy.”
    They both spun to Smith’s deep voice. Lights blazed to life.
    The bulky man from the Vatican stood by her bedroom door, legs spread, right arm cocked by his ear. In his left hand, he held a pistol and on his face he wore dark reflective glasses. Like desert goggles.
    â€œWhat took you so long?”
    Darcy screamed. She closed her eyes and screamed at the top of her lungs. A grunt from Billy stopped her.
    When she opened her eyes, he was slumped to his side and Smith stood over him, big hand balled into a fist like a brick. The man withdrew a roll of gray tape, ripped off a two-foot piece, and held it up to her.
    She tried to scramble out of the way, but his powerful grip pinned her to the floor. Agent Smith secured her hands behind her back again, then plastered another strip of tape over her lips.
    She managed to squirm into a half-seated position against the couch, and she watched him work; he bound Billy—tape and chain—and shackled his ankle to the sofa like hers.
    The boy she’d fallen in love with when she was barely a teen had grown into a man, but his hair still had the same red tones and his face didn’t look a day older. Perhaps she was reacting out of sheer relief to have company in her misery, but she’d never felt such a powerful affinity with Billy as she did in this moment.
    Why or how he’d found her and come at this precise moment was beyond her. But he had risked his life for her. He’d held her and sworn to save her.
    When Smith was done