The woman dropped the radar gun, and Teddy moved with lightning speed to secure it. The woman sent Teddy an approving smile, transforming immediately out of scene. “Nice job, recruit. Your card is behind the door.” She tilted her head at the front of the warehouse.
Teddy thanked her and grabbed the card for Checkpoint #4. She walked into Charlie warehouse, which was filled floor to ceiling with boxes. Rows and rows of boxes, with doors every dozen feet or so. Now came the difficult part. Teddy needed Kate’s help to find the right key and the right exit.
Blocking out the noise and tumult surrounding her, Teddy took a series of deep breaths. She tried to replicate the metronomic quality of Kate’s mind. She imagined the walkie-talkie, turning the channel to seven.
Checkpoints three and four in hand.
Silence.
She calmly repeated, Checkpoints three and four in hand.
Waited.
Checkpoints three and four in—
Their energies slammed together like sound waves coming into tune: first the frequencies clashed, and Teddy almost recoiled from the mental screech.
Yes! Kate’s response came through loud, clear, and excited.
Key, Teddy said, a reminder that it wasn’t time to celebrate quite yet. Then: Time?
Key. Charlie warehouse, third door on left. A beat, then: Six minutes.
Teddy had six minutes to get through the maze of boxes, find the key, and open the door. She took off, half expecting to be tackled again, or hit by a truck, or washed away by a tsunami, or whatever real-world torture Boyd could devise. She’d made it over a giant wall and through a catwalk with multiple shooters, survived an attack from an overgrown grunt, and an empathic apprehension. What was one more crazy obstacle? But Teddy made it clear through Charlie warehouse without any trouble at all. She walked to the third door on the left.
Key should be near door, Kate said.
Teddy looked around, brushing her fingers against the door. She checked the mantel, the knob, the jam. No red key. She dropped to her hands and knees, sweeping her hands over the floor.
Four minutes, Kate said.
Teddy skimmed a row of cardboard boxes, then unceremoniously flipped one over and searched underneath. It wasn’t there.
Teddy heard a yell. She whipped around to see Molly, her face white, drenched in sweat, trembling.
Teddy’s first instinct was frustration—with Jeremy. What had he been thinking, sending Molly through the course? He should have been the one to run the obstacles, not her. It took a second for Teddy to direct her frustration into something more productive: helping her friend.
“We can look for our keys together,” Teddy said. Then she saw the red key clasped in Molly’s fist. “Molly?”
It was like she didn’t even hear Teddy. Her pupils were enormous, her eyes practically black instead of the normal green.
Three minutes, Kate said.
Teddy stared at Molly. She’d seen that look before. Teddy’s mind flashed back to Vegas, to Clint and Sergei and the casino. There was nothing behind her eyes; she was blank: mental influence. Had another recruit resorted to this to avoid getting cut? “Molly, this isn’t you. Give me the key.”
Instead, Molly reached for her baton.
Teddy didn’t want to fight Molly. But as her friend walked toward her, she didn’t see another choice. If she knocked Molly unconscious, maybe she’d also break the connection to whoever had influenced her. As Molly swung, Teddy lunged forward.
Molly stepped out of Teddy’s way. Her movement was almost robotic, mechanical. Teddy readjusted her stance, but Molly seemed to be two steps ahead.
Molly raised her arm again, and the last thing Teddy saw was the wooden baton before it connected with her temple.
* * *
Teddy. Teddy. Teddy. Two minutes. Teddy.
Kate’s voice, a deliberate, insistent knock, intruded on her consciousness. Teddy blinked blearily and brushed her fingers along her temple, wincing at the lump that was already beginning to form. Molly had attacked her. Molly had taken her key.
One minute.
Teddy scrambled to her feet. The ground swayed beneath her. Nausea churned in her stomach. No key, she said.
Find it!
Impossible. Molly was gone, and with her, the key. Her heart drumming, Teddy raced to the third door. Maybe Molly had unlocked it, or dropped the key beside it, or . . .
The door was bolted tight.
Forty-five seconds. Kate’s voice sounded thin and far away.
Teddy slammed her body against the door. Grabbed the handle and pulled hard. Kicked and slammed into it again. The door wouldn’t budge.
Thirty seconds. Teddy, do something! Open—
There was only one thing she could do. The question was, could she pull it off? A metal door was a hell of a lot heavier than a Ping-Pong ball. If she was going to do this, she needed all her psychic energy. In her mind, she turned off the walkie-talkie, severing her mental connection with Kate.
Teddy took a deep breath and imagined the electric current traveling from the tips of her fingers and up her arms, gathering strength as it circled her heart. She was so angry—at Molly, Kate, Boyd, Clint, everyone who had led her to a door that couldn’t be opened. She was so angry at herself for barreling toward an impossible task. Her whole body felt electrified, not just her wall but every cell of her being. It was only then, fueled by blinding fury at her predicament, that Teddy tried to imagine her astral body extending an arm to punch through the door. She hit it with every ounce of strength she possessed. Her limbs trembled with effort. She didn’t just want the door open. She wanted the goddamn thing obliterated. She pictured
