Sparks

Chapter 12

Twelve

Well, that told me. Apparently, I was not sex-slave material. I didn't know whether to be flattered or annoyed. Anyway, there wasn't time to think about that now. I had to focus, because I had a busy evening ahead of me.

Jumping in the middle of James's big double bed, I did a series of rather painful contortionist moves to get my tied hands back in front of me. Thankfully, I was pretty fit. Whilst my arms would probably be sore tomorrow, the damage wouldn't last for long. When I'd got them under my backside and threaded my legs through them, the hard work was nearly over. Now I just had to worry the knot with my teeth and hope he hadn't been a Boy Scout.

After ten long minutes of chewing, I delivered a whole vocabulary of cuss words to James's Scoutmaster. He'd knotted the cotton cloth in several different places, and when I finally got free of the infernal thing, I could almost have offered myself up as a virgin sacrifice to any God that would have me. The fact that I wasn't actually a virgin would be a moot point, I was sure. Scowling darkly, I threw the swathe of black material on the floor. Deciding to keep the near death, or, and probably more accurately, actual death experiences for when I entered Alain's house, I had things to do, cars to break into, and an iPhone to hack. The night was not young, either, so I'd better get a move on.

At least the first task of the evening would be easy. Opening up my right palm to reveal the treasure hidden within, I grinned to myself. There, nestled inside my hand, was a set of car keys. Sporting the familiar three triangle emblem, they were the keys to a Mercedes saloon. When I landed on the floor, on my knees in front of him, I didn't actually think he'd shoot me, but it wasn't worth taking the risk. It also gave me ample opportunity to land heavily against him and whip his keys out of his pocket. I'd had a feeling I might need them, and my hunch had proved correct. Opening the car would be a cinch. Everything after that would be a bastard, but at least the car would be relatively painless.

Pressing my ear to the door, I listened for sounds of movement outside. I gave it a minute, but in that time, I heard nothing. Maybe James had decided I wasn't much of a threat with my arms tied and had finally gone to bed. It was time to find out.

Pulling the door lever down sharply, to minimise the resulting squeak, I paused and listened intently. It was still deathly quiet. Good. Then I pulled back and... nothing. What the hell? My jaw dropped. He'd locked me in! How had I missed that? Geez, I was slipping. No wonder there wasn't a sound to be heard. The man had nothing to worry about. I was locked in a room with my hands tied up. How much trouble could I be?

Urrghh. Next time I came on assignment, I was going to hide my lock picking kit in an internal cavity. Honestly. Biting my lip in frustration, I did a few deep yoga breaths to get some perspective on the situation. In through the nose and out through the mouth. In through the nose... fuck that. What was I thinking? Where did I need to be? Outside. Were there any other exits out of the room? Yes. There was a window. Was it locked? I ran over to check. No. Fan-bloody-tastic. This could still work.

Opening the window to its widest angle, I decided it was a good job I hadn't eaten much this week. The leaded windowpanes were narrow, but they left just about enough space for me to squeeze through. Thankfully, I was on the ground floor, so the drop was a small one. That was my only plus. On the minus side, I landed straight into a rosebush, several thorns diving straight through one foot, and the other foot landed ankle deep in mud. I sighed. It was going to be one of those days. Untangling my T-shirt from the blasted plant that wanted to eat me alive, I searched slowly from left to right, looking for a car. Nothing. As it was going to be difficult to hide, I figured there must be some kind of parking space around the back. Sprinting down the stone steps and over the gravel, I winced. Still, it was too late to worry about shoes. If my feet were going to be cut to ribbons, I might as well make sure it was for a good reason.