Page 58 of Chain Reaction

“What are your other ideas?” Ty asked.

“I could try to jam the trigger mechanism. But I’d need to be able to see the bomb better in order to do that, which will be a problem.”

“That leaves us with weight displacement.” Colton’s expression tightened.

“We find something with the same weight as Raven, and we switch them out,” Jake spelled out. “Then we get far away from the bomb. Quickly.”

“That sounds precarious,” Ty said.

“The whole situation is precarious.” Jake raked a hand through his hair.

Raven pressed her eyes closed.

Of all the ways she’d seen herself potentially dying one day, this wasn’t one of them.

But any way she looked at this, the situation was too dangerous for comfort.

Jake hated that Raven was in this situation. But all he could do was safely get her out of it.

He wished he could touch her or hold her or dosomethingto offer comfort.

But any of those things could set the bomb off, so they were off-limits.

He had to focus on the tangible—replacing her weight on the bomb with something of equal weight.

“How much do you weigh, Raven?” Jake asked. “I wouldn’t ask unless I had to.”

She rattled off the number.

Jake turned to the guys around him. “What can we get to place on top of this that would weigh the same?”

They threw out some ideas before settling on some weights they used for working out. Each were approximately twenty pounds.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Jake said. “Ty and Colton, can you go get them?”

The men scrambled away without a word.

As they did, Jake turned back to Raven. Perspiration slid down her temples to her neck. Her skin still looked pale. Wisps of hair clung to her face.

“We’ll get you out of this soon,” he told her. “I just need you to stay focused.”

She nodded.

“You’re doing great,” he reassured her.

“Glad to hear that.” Her voice had turned almost gravelly.

“A friend of mine was in a similar situation as this once before, you know.”

She narrowed her gaze with surprise—and maybe skepticism. “Was he?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, it was a colleague of mine. We called him ‘Jittery Jim,’ and he found himself in your shoes—standing on a pressure plate in an abandoned factory.”

“Jittery Jim?” She raised her eyebrows. “Keep going. Now I’m intrigued.”

The story came easily. “While the bomb squad was figuring out how to disarm it, I kept him distracted by challenging him to increasingly ridiculous balancing contests.”

“Balancing tests while he was standing on a bomb?” She cast him a look.