by G. K. Parks
The sound of the lock scraping against the hatch alerted me of our captor’s return, and I brushed the bits of concrete and dust back into the crater and patted it down, hoping he wouldn’t notice. The floor was too filthy for the dust to be noticed, but the hole would be obvious.
When the unsub stepped inside, I could sense the shift in him. He had grown tired of torture. He stormed to the cage. His rage barely contained. Even if I couldn’t see his face, I knew he intended to slaughter Noah.
Noah must have realized the increased danger because he hunkered against the far back wall. He wasn’t bound. He could fight. He should fight. I told him as much when we were alone, but we both knew he didn’t stand a chance. Still, I urged him to run. To try to escape. All he had to do was make it past the man in black and up the steps. If he made it that far, he’d have a chance. Help was out there. But he was too afraid.
For a professional criminal, he should have been prepared for the worst. Hell, he talked a good game. Why couldn’t he talk his way out of this? But I knew the answer to that. He’d already spun a web of lies. Nothing he said at this point, even if true, would be believed.
The man didn’t even wait to get Noah out of the cage before he thrashed him. He wore brass knuckles over his black leather gloves, and the sight of Noah’s blood covering the cage and spraying the floor behind it was something I could never unsee. I didn’t have a choice. I had to break the pattern. If I didn’t, we’d both be dead.
“Hey, asshole,” I bellowed, “leave him alone. I’ll get you your fucking money.”
Slowly, the man turned. I imagined the glee on his face, even though it was concealed by the mask. He glanced back at Noah, who was unconscious, perhaps dead, and stepped out of the cage, kicking the door closed. He towered over me, waiting for cash to materialize out of thin air.
I stuck with my cover story. If he realized I was the same woman from the alleyway, that decision might be my death sentence. “My husband will give you whatever you want in exchange for my safe return.”
The man assessed me, as if trying to decide if he should believe me. Without a word, he went up the steps to the hatch. He left it open, and I wondered what this meant. Was he getting a chainsaw to hack us to bits? A shovel to dig a hole to bury our bodies? I cast a quick glance in Noah’s direction. He wasn’t moving. I couldn’t tell from this distance if he was breathing. It might have already been too late. I might have waited too long. I tried bargaining with our captor before, but he was never receptive to my pleas. But now that changed. He was unpredictable, and that made him dangerous.
A minute later, he returned. He left the hatch open and remained on the steps, not fully committed to entering the bomb shelter. He had a phone in his hand. “Number,” he barked.
I could give him any number. He was desperate enough to trust that I wouldn’t double-cross him, which was precisely what I planned, but everyone I knew in law enforcement was in the habit of identifying themselves when answering the phone. Even Cross and my fellow private eyes answered the same way. He’d have to call Martin. There was no other choice. I didn’t know what time it was or even what day. If Martin was at work, it might go to voicemail, and I’d be done. The only other option was the emergency burner Martin kept. I was the only one with the number. It was always charged, but he never carried it, unless he had reason to.
It was the safest bet since it didn’t have voicemail. I just didn’t know if he’d answer. Reluctantly, I gave the bastard the number, regretting it the moment it was done. I might have just signed Martin’s death sentence too. The man dialed, and I held my breath. Would Martin be smart enough to play along? I didn’t know what to expect, but I was out of time and options.
The man sat on the top step, staring down at me. “Mr. Scott, I have your wife.”
I cringed. How did he know my cover identity? How much did Noah tell him about me? I looked at the cage from the corner of my eye. The grifter hadn’t moved. I felt dizzy and sick.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand,” the abductor said. It was the most he’d spoken in my presence, and even now, he kept the conversation short. “I’ll send a location.” His cold eyes flicked to mine as he stood. I knew that look. “It’ll be worse if you don’t.”
He hung up, slamming the hatch closed before barreling down the steps. The call didn’t last long enough for a trace. It was twenty seconds at most. What did Martin say? Did he even speak to Martin? Or was this some kind of charade? A sadistic means of torture before he painted the floor with my blood too?
He stormed toward me, and I backed against the wall. There was no defensible position. He crouched down in front of me and toyed with a limp, greasy strand of my hair.
“You’ll get your money,” I said with complete certainty. “He’ll pay.” I swear I thought I saw him smile, despite the mask.
“So will you.”
He went for my throat, wrapping his hands around my neck. Despite being bound, I reacted the only way I knew how. I slid onto my left hip, bringing my right leg over to the left side, between us. With every ounce of strength I had, I drove the ball of my foot into his right side. It was enough to cause his grip around my neck to loosen, and I used the momentum of my kick to propel myself around him.
Hooking both of my feet around his upper thighs, I clung to his back. My arms were around his shoulders, and I wedged the excess chain into the bend of my right elbow. I pulled back on the right side with all my might. The heavy metal sunk into his neck, and I held on as he fought and bucked.
This wasn’t the best angle for choking someone out, but I couldn’t risk attempting to reposition. I wound the chain around my right hand, pulling harder. He jerked from side to side, hoping to throw me, but we were tangled together. Unexpectedly, he stood, lifting me entirely off the ground in the process. I clung to his back. My arm started to shake. My muscles burned under the weight of the chain and his continuous attempts to free himself.
My fingers went numb, my grip slipping. He threw his right elbow back, catching me beneath the ribs. My legs fell from his thighs, and he swiveled around. The chain skimmed against the back of his neck, but he didn’t care. He let out an inhuman snarl and slammed me against the wall.
The moment I hit the ground, he was on top of me. The first hit glanced off my cheek, but with the brass knuckles, it set my face on fire. After that, the rest of the hits seemed to land at once. His jabs felt like knives slicing into me, ripping me apart. He didn’t need me anymore, so he would kill me. But as quickly as it started, it stopped. My mind couldn’t process anything but the pain.
He rubbed his neck, glared down at me, and went up the steps. The hatch slammed, and the lock clicked into place. I needed to get up. To get out of here. I rolled onto my side, tried to boost myself off the floor with my hand, screamed in agony, and collapsed.
I didn’t know how much time passed. Reality was a fickle bitch. Death and destruction surrounded me. There was nothing but pain and misery.
* * *
A million tiny knives thrust into me, and I screamed. Freezing cold water tore into my flesh. I lifted my head, and the spray from the pressure hose nearly blinded me. Water shot into my mouth and nose, and I sputtered and choked. I turned my face away as the spray continued. There was no escaping it.
Eventually, it stopped, and I stared at the reddish brown puddles as they crept toward the drain in the center of the room, just to the right of the cage. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? I struggled to sit up, realizing my arms were no longer shackled. The asshole lugged the hose up the steps and closed the hatch.
Two bottles of water rested on top of the now soppy mattress. My head throbbed. Several of my teeth felt loose, and I forced my tongue away from them. I didn’t want to lose my teeth. It seemed like a stupid thing to worry about, but it was the only thing I could think about as I assessed the bleeding cuts, thick welts, and bruises that covered my body.
I reached for the water, seeing the stark contrast of the dark marks
against my pale arms. “I have to get out of here,” I murmured, my eyes drawn to the hatch. Apparently, after I assaulted that asshole, he got wise to the dangers of the lengthy chain and instead bound one of my ankles to the floor. The chain was barely six inches, just enough for me to stand.
I didn’t have time to wait around to be rescued. I had to get out of here now. Assuming the two bottles meant I’d been unconscious for two days, Martin must have negotiated a trade by now. It was probably why the man in black came in and hosed me off. Or he wanted to eliminate the evidence. It would take more than a little water to wash away his crimes.
The crumbles of concrete and dust that I refilled the hole with were now softer, like wet sand. I dug it out with my fingers, figuring the spoon must have washed out of reach. The high-pressure hose had penetrated pretty deep. Maybe the water loosened the concrete dust or whatever the hell the floor of the shelter was made of.
A few puddles remained, but most of the water had drained away. Visually, I searched the inside of the cage, but Noah’s body was gone. His remains were probably dumped somewhere, or he was being tortured in another location. I should have felt something — sorrow, remorse, sadness. But my mind was numb. I’d worry about Noah later.
After clearing away as much of the concrete as possible, I pressed my heel against the metal loop and put all of my weight on it. Did it give, even a little? I wasn’t sure, so I repeated the process over and over, scooting around to the other side and trying to move it in the other direction. The metal ring seemed to wobble, probably less than my teeth, but wobble nonetheless. I grabbed one of the precious bottles of water and poured some of it into the crevice. Maybe it would help. Maybe it wouldn’t, but I had to try. Then I drank the rest.
I heard a noise from above, and I froze. There was no way to cover the hole again. If that asshole saw what I was doing, he wouldn’t restrain himself from killing me this time. The noise sounded again. Were those car doors?
Thoughts of a possible exchange came to mind. What if Martin negotiated my release? What if he was outside? I wanted my freedom more than anything, but it wasn’t safe here. I didn’t want Martin anywhere near this psychopath. The asshole would kill him as soon as he got the money.
I kicked ferociously at the metal loop holding me captive. I had to get out. I had to get free. I climbed to my feet, pressing sideways against the metal that held the chain in place. Under my weight, it bent, and I nearly toppled to the floor. Unfortunately, it didn’t break. Now what was I going to do?
I studied the bent metal, finding a thin separation. It was narrow. Too narrow to be of much use in its current state, but it was a defect I could enlarge. I pressed against the top of the loop with all my might. My foot slipped, and I sliced the back of my calf open on the protruding metal. It stung, but I didn’t care. I tried again and again. Finally, the loop looked less like a solid circle and more like a cane.
Slipping the chain that bound my ankle free from the metal ring, I breathed a sigh of relief. The length of chain hung ineffectually from my ankle; the bulky lock remained fastened at the end. I wrapped the chain around my ankle a second time to limit its length, hoping to avoid tripping over it. I didn’t have time to do anything about the lock. I needed to move.
Impossibly quick, I checked the rest of the shelter, but the bastard was clever. He didn’t leave any weapons or tools inside. Even the flashlight Noah found was gone. With nothing but the dripping wet clothes on my back, I made my way up the steps, wondering how I’d get the hatch open.
Twenty-six
By some miracle, the asshole didn’t slide the lock into place. After a bit of cajoling and manipulation, I inched the weathered, wooden door upward. It opened into a wooden shed with a dirt floor. No one was in sight as I slipped out of the hole.
Remnants of improvised torture took up the rear of the building. A chair, chains, cables, and a car battery. That asshole liked the tried and true torture techniques. I shivered, hating to think what he had in store for me.
I found a hatchet. Clinging to it, I edged to the door and peered out. It was the middle of the afternoon, judging by the shadows and the sun’s position. The gravel path led to a makeshift driveway, but the red car was gone.
Opening the door wider, I studied my surroundings and realized I had no idea where I was. This wasn’t farmland, like Noah thought. This wasn’t a suburban neighborhood. This was a cabin in the middle of the fucking woods. Didn’t they make horror movies about such things?
The cabin was off to the side. It might contain weapons or a way to call for help. I had to check it out. Inching along, I swallowed the cry that threatened to burst from my lips when one of those nasty welts came into contact with a protruding nail. My desire to escape outmatched the pain and kept me moving, but it was an unpleasant reminder that I wasn’t okay. In fact, I was pretty far from it.
Scurrying toward the house, I made it to the front door, but it was locked. I maintained the death grip on the hatchet, knowing it was my only line of defense. I couldn’t get the door to budge, so I went to the nearest window. If he was inside, he’d hear me, but I had to risk it.
I broke the window and waited, poised to run. When no one came to investigate, I ran the hatchet along the jagged edges and hoisted myself inside. The cabin was sparse. I went to the phone on the wall, but it didn’t have a ringtone. I hung up the receiver and tried again, but it was dead.
I didn’t have time for a thorough search, but I did my best. I didn’t find a gun or a cell phone. The fridge contained bottles of water that I gulped down. And the couch had a blanket thrown over the back. Despite the hot summer day, I wrapped it around my soaking wet body. I couldn’t stay here. He’d be back any minute. With the hatchet in hand, I went out the front door.
The gravel road must lead to an actual road. If I followed it, it would lead to civilization. Unfortunately, when he returned, it would be via the gravel road. I couldn’t risk getting caught again. So I took to the woods.
It was slow going. I hated the outdoors. I was a city girl through and through. My only guide was the gravel road, and I’d periodically have to leave the cover of the trees to make sure I was still heading in the right direction. My body ached, and I shed the protection the blanket offered when I couldn’t carry it any longer. The sun burned my skin. I was so thirsty. And dizzy. I stumbled but kept going.
By the time the sun set, I wished for the blanket, food, water, and enough painkillers to put down a tyrannosaurus. Headlights caught my attention, and I froze. They were coming toward me. Was I deep enough in the woods not to be spotted? I dropped onto my stomach, wincing. The car continued on its path up the gravel road. As it passed, I recognized the red jalopy.
As soon as the psychopath got back to the cabin, he would know I escaped. And he’d come looking for me. I counted to ten and cautioned a glance behind me. The taillights disappeared from sight, and I struggled to get back on my feet.
Run, my mind screamed, and my body did its best to comply. The branches whipped at my hair and face. I ducked my head and continued running. I didn’t know where I was going. All I knew was I had to get as far away as possible. The dark made it impossible to see the path, and I tripped and stumbled. But I kept going.
The roar of an engine caught my attention. How the hell could he have backtracked this quickly? I dashed deeper into the woods. I propelled myself forward with everything I had.
In the distance, I heard dogs. Was he tracking me? From what I learned during basic survival classes at Quantico, it was hard to track in water. But where the hell was I going to find a lake or river? Maybe I should climb a tree. Or was that for bears?
Keep moving. Keep one step ahead, the voice in my head ordered.
My legs were shaking now. My muscles cramping. My pace slowed, and no matter how hard I pushed, my body didn’t have anything else to give. A sudden surge of pain erupted from beneath my ribcage, knocking the wind out of me. I staggered forward, the ground uneven, and I tripped over a b
ranch.
I couldn’t stop the scream that ripped through me as I rolled down an embankment, losing the hatchet somewhere in the process. I had to get up. I had to keep moving. The engine rumbled, as if idling. He must be right behind me. I didn’t turn around to look. Instead, I pulled myself against the trunk of the nearest tree and hoped he wouldn’t see me.
A car door slammed. I tried to camouflage myself in mud and leaves, but the ground was dry. There were no leaves. No cover. Steeling myself for the inevitable, I cautioned a glance around the tree.
Headlights shone straight ahead. They caught a reflector on the road. A real road, not that gravel and dirt bullshit. I heard a soft padding sound. Footsteps. A light shone in my direction, and I shielded my eyes. The light grew brighter. He was coming closer. He was right on top of me.
“Stay back,” I warned in a final act of defiance.
“Dammit, Parker. You’re going to give me a heart attack.” A sigh of relief was followed by a few more curses as Jablonsky lowered the flashlight. He held the radio to his lips. “I found her. Continue the search for the suspect.” He crouched beside me. “I thought you hated camping.”
I hugged him, hissing at the pain but refusing to let go. “You came looking for me.”
“I’ll always come looking for you.” His voice cracked, and he returned the hug. “Marty and I have been frantically searching for days. We put surveillance on the car. We needed him to take us to you.”
“Where’s Martin?”
“He’s waiting.” He pointed the light at me. “Let’s get out of here.” He noticed the bloodstains on my clothes. “Can you walk?”
“I’m not sure.”
He slipped underneath my arm and helped me stand. “It’s just a few steps. I’ve got you.”
