“But there must be another exit someplace that isn’t locked. We have to try to find one.” Miranda won’t give up. She can’t. She focuses on that and not on how shaky she feels.

“Hold on,” Cole whispers. His fingers have been busy unwinding a paper clip, and now he holds it up. He must have taken it from the desk drawer. “I might be able to get the lock open with this.”

“You know how to pick the locks?” Javier asks.

“When you grow up on a farm, you learn how to make your own fun.” Cole puts one end of the now-straightened paper clip between his teeth and bites down, then bends it. When he takes it out, it’s bent at a ninety-degree angle. He pulls another paper clip out of his pocket and quickly unfurls it. “Spread out and keep watch.” He makes a series of tiny bends in the second piece of wire. “This is either going to work right away or it’s not going to work at all.”

Javier stays at the intersection with the corridor they came from. Amina, armed with her coin-filled sock, faces the new corridor. Miranda and Grace stand in between the two, with Miranda closer to Amina.

A few feet from Grace, Cole kneels in front of the lock. He has tucked the scissors into his waistband. He’s biting his lip. The ball cap hides most of his face, so Miranda doesn’t know if he’s worried his paper clip trick isn’t going to work or if he’s just absorbed by the puzzle.

His left hand is curled around the lock, and his left index finger holds the straightened paper clip inside the lock at about four o’clock. With his right hand, he’s plunging the bumpier wire in and out of the lock. His head is cocked as if he’s trying to hear the tumblers inside the lock falling into place.

A gasp makes her turn.

It’s Amina. Miranda can’t see what she’s staring at. But she hears footsteps.

Amina’s eyes go wide. Her face lights up as if she has just beheld a miracle. “Thank God! Ron! Please, please, Ron, help us get out of here.”

Behind her, Miranda hears Cole scramble to his feet and then it sounds like he’s running. But why?

It’s one of the security guards. A mall one, not a plainclothes one who works for the stores. Miranda’s seen him before. He’s got blond hair cut military short, and he wears a light-blue shirt and black pants, along with a black utility belt.

“Why, hello, Amina.” His right arm is crooked awkwardly behind his back. A tight smile is pasted on his face. He steps forward with his left arm outstretched, and for an absurd moment Miranda thinks he’s going to hug Amina.