Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 105921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
"Yeah, but I had almost unlimited time. And it took me a while." I glanced around, taking in the passing cars, the storefronts across the street, the motel office. "If we stand here for too long, someone is going to notice."
Tenn pushed the kit at me again. "Might as well try. If someone comes by, we'll hide the picks, say we lost our key or something."
"Tenn—"
He shoved the kit into my hand. "You can do this, Scarlett."
I took the kit with a shaking hand, tugging at the zipper. Tenn moved to stand behind me at an angle to the rest of the motel rooms, mostly blocking me from sight. He slouched into the door frame, his face a study in boredom. Under his breath, he said, "Relax, Scarlett. You've got this. And if you don't, we'll figure out something else."
His calm assurance steadied my nerves enough for me to focus on my task. I took another look at the lock, then at my set of picks. Grabbing the two I thought would do the trick, I crouched in front of the ancient lock and went to work.
Picking locks is mostly a function of sound and touch. I could do it without hearing the lock, but it was harder. For me, a lot harder. Between the cars on the road and the noise of construction from down the street, I couldn't hear the lock at all. Going by feel is a lot harder on a lock I'd never opened before. Most of my skills had been developed by picking the same few locks at home, not by trying a variety of locks. Like I said, not a master criminal.
I followed Tenn's suggestion and took a long, slow breath. His hand fell on my shoulder, anchoring me, a silent reminder that we were going to figure this out together. That I wasn't alone. It was enough to chase off my nerves, and I focused on the lock.
I slid the lower pick in to hold on to any pins I managed to move, and went to work, feeling my way through the lock. This one should have been easier than the newer, higher quality lock on the cottage at the Inn, but what this lock lacked in security, it made up for with stubborn age.
Twice I thought I had it and met complete resistance when I tried to turn the bolt. Each time, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried again. Above me, Tenn kept an eye out, occasionally murmuring, "You're okay. No one is watching. Take your time."
I have no idea how I could have done it without him. Despite his calm encouragement, I was painfully aware of every second slipping by. Even in this run-down part of town, at a motel no one seemed to care about, someone was going to notice me trying to pick the lock to one of the rooms. If I didn't get it soon, it wasn't going to happen.
On my fourth try, I almost had it, the lock turning so far I was sure it would open. It did not. I let out a gusty sigh. "One more time," I muttered.
"You're almost there." Tenn squeezed my shoulder.
I was. By now, I had a feel for the lock. The first two pins slid up easily. I had their number after four tries. The third was trickier. It pushed back at my pick, refusing to slide up until I jiggled it just right. The feel of it clicking into place had my heart racing all over again.
This was it. I was almost there.
Careful not to lose the progress I'd made, I went for the last pin, wiggling and pressing with the curved tip of the pick, raking at the pin gently but firmly. "Come on, baby, I know you're sticky, but slide up, just a little." I thought I had it and tried to turn the lock, almost losing my hold on the pins I'd already moved when the lock jammed.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, searching for calm. Shaking hands and a racing heart were not helping. Slowly, I turned the lock back to its original position and went for the last pin one more time. I tried to force it up. No dice. I tried raking again, sliding the pick back and forth and hoping it pushed the pin into place. Raking looks sloppy, but it works on a surprising number of locks. Not this one.
A car door slammed to my right and I jolted against Tenn's legs, my nerves strung too tight, every new sound starting a terrifying avalanche of what-ifs in my brain. What if it was the police, catching me in the act of breaking and entering? The motel manager? Another guest? What if—?
I gave it one last effort, jamming the pick up and in with such force I felt it bend. A click vibrated down its length, registering in a burst of relief and triumph. This time, the lock turned easily, the door popping free under the pressure of my hand.