He pointed his heavy flashlight toward the back of the kitchen.

The beam of light cut through the dim room, illuminating the heavy oak door of my pantry.

The pantry was built like a safe room, with steel reinforcement and a heavy deadbolt.

“I don’t have the key,” I said.

“I don’t need a key,” Harris said.

He reached out and grabbed my arm.

His grip was cold and tight through my sweater.

“Show me where it is,” Harris said. “Now.”

“Let go of me,” I said.

I pulled back, but he was too heavy, his fingers digging into my muscle.

“If I don’t get that book, both of you are going to jail,” Harris whispered.

“Or worse,” he added, his eyes darting toward the window.

The smell of gas was making my head spin.

I looked at the cooktop.

The digital display was glowing red.

The electronic ignition was ready to spark.

I knew Julian was watching us through the security cameras.

He could see Harris holding my arm.

“The book is in the pantry,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.