Count to Three

by T. R. Ragan

  Her breathing was erratic as she glanced around the room. Unfastening the collar from around her neck, she tossed it along with the leash to the ground. What now?

  She needed something heavy enough to break glass. Her gaze settled on a set of leather-bound books centered between marble bookends on top of the high dresser. She ran to the dresser, grabbed a heavy bookend, then rushed back to the window and threw the marble at the glass like it was a baseball and she was throwing it to home plate. Glass shattered.

  Heavy footfalls sounded in the hallway. He was coming this way.

  No. No. No.

  She needed more time, just a moment longer.

  She ran to the door, hoping to lock him out, but she was too late. He rushed for the door like a defensive linebacker, sending her tumbling backward to the floor. Blood oozed down his face, making it hard to tell how much damage she’d done earlier.

  He stood over her, his chest heaving.

  “They’re going to find you,” Ali growled. “There was a boy on a bike who saw everything.”

  “You’re a liar.”

  “You’ll see.”

  He gestured toward his injured face. “I should kill you for this.”

  “Go ahead,” she said. “We both know you’re going to kill me sooner or later. Do it!”

  He let out a low growl as he scooped up the collar from the floor. She scooted backward and was about to roll herself under the bed when he jumped on top of her, straddling her middle before she could make a move. He fastened the collar around her neck and pulled it tight. She grasped at the collar, trying to loosen it. She couldn’t breathe.

  A drop of blood fell from his face and hit her forehead. The veins in his forehead bulged as he pulled the collar tighter. “I’ve worked hard to find the perfect woman. You’re the one, Ali. The one I chose. The one I love. Someday you’ll love me too.”

  Light-headed, she felt herself being pulled into a dark tunnel. She welcomed death—anything but this—and that’s when he loosened the collar a notch before pushing himself to his feet.

  She rolled to her side, coughing and gasping for breath, her head pounding.

  He reached down, grabbed hold of her arm, and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. Off we go,” he said, ushering her out of the room and down the hallway. He stopped at the locked door and pulled out his keys.

  Too weak to fight him, she sagged against the wall, praying it would all be over soon.

  Her neck was sore. Her throat felt raw.

  It was over. He had won.

  He dragged her inside a room she hadn’t seen before. In the middle of the room was a type of dental chair with steel plates and straps for the arms and legs.

  Suddenly she shot back to life. “No! Please! I’m sorry. I won’t run again. I promise.”

  “It’s too late. I warned you.” He scooped her up, carried her to the chair, and plopped her down. By the time her fight-or-flight response hit her fully, he’d strapped her arms to the metal plates. She kicked her legs, screaming, doing whatever she could to stop him from buckling the straps around her thighs and calves.

  “Please. No.”

  “There’s no getting away, Ali. You were warned, but now you must be taught a lesson.”

  Placing his palm on her forehead, he buckled the final strap across her head.

  She couldn’t move.

  He disappeared from sight. She heard wheels rattle as he rolled a metal tray like the ones she’d seen at the dentist’s office across the floor. It was covered with shiny utensils: pliers and scissors, a dental drill, and an assortment of scalpels.

  He picked up the drill. “Now be a good girl and open your mouth.”

  She clamped her lips together.

  He set the drill back on the tray and crossed his arms over his chest. “You are a tough nut to crack. Set to graduate high school at the age of seventeen, highly intelligent, accepted into some of the best schools in the country, and loyal to those you love. Your little sister adores you and looks up to you. But there is one thing about you I failed to recognize: you, Ali Cross, are stubborn to a fault. No wonder you and your mother fight like cats and dogs.” He shook his head. “You can relax,” he said. “I’m not going to yank out a tooth or anything. I have another idea.”

  He pushed the tray back to the corner of the room. When he returned, he held up a cylindrical club made of wood. “This is a truncheon, also known as a baton. Police use them as a compliance tool and defensive weapon.” He swung it through the air a few times, even managed a couple of practiced twirls, and before it registered that he might use it on her, he swung downward, hard and fast, making contact with her ankle and foot.

  The sound of bones cracking competed only with her scream as a white, sparkling light filled her head, the pain so mind-numbingly intense she felt her body drifting far, far away, the monster’s words the last thing she heard before white light faded to black.

  “I warned you, Ali. I did, but it had to be done. You won’t be running away again.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When Dani arrived at the office on Monday morning, Ethan Grant was sitting on the bench in front of her agency. She was glad to see he wasn’t smoking and there weren’t any cigarette butts lying around.

  “Did you have a good weekend?” she asked as she unlocked the door.

  “It was okay.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “Here,” he said, trying to hand her the money. “I should have more in a few weeks.”

  “Keep it,” she said. She looked him over, noticed the wrinkled shirt and the holes in his shoes. “Come on inside. Quinn should be here soon.”

  He stood and followed her into the office.

  She flicked on the lights and shut the door behind him. “Why don’t you have a seat while I get the coffee going?”

  “I can make it,” he said. “I make coffee for my mom every morning.”

  “Okay. Great.” She gestured to the small room to the right where, even from here, she could see the Formica countertop, refrigerator, and sink. The counter had a few cracks and was yellowing from age, but the office and the kitchen served their purpose.

  While Ethan set about making coffee, Dani put her sweater on the hook behind her chair. She always wore layers. The mornings tended to be chilly, but the temperature would most likely hit the high eighties by noon. After taking a seat at her desk, she went through the mail, which was mostly junk. Although business tended to be slow overall, she always had enough workers’ comp claims to keep her busy. Corporations didn’t like to pay benefits if they didn’t have to. If a claimant followed their doctor’s orders and restrictions, there usually weren’t any problems. But it always surprised Dani how many claims were fraudulent and how easy it was to keep track of the claimants on social media.

  She picked up her landline phone and listened to the messages. She only gave her cell phone number to clients. New business came through the office.

  The first message was a telemarketer. Delete. The second message was from Cameron Bennington, a thirty-five-year-old lawyer who was convinced someone was entering her house at least once a week, rearranging pictures, sometimes taking personal items, and even eating leftovers in her refrigerator.

  This wasn’t the first time Cameron had contacted her. After going to the police and being told they couldn’t help her without some sort of proof, she had paid Dani a visit. Dani suggested she have digital cameras installed in and around her house. This was the first time Dani had heard from her since. Apparently Cameron’s living room furniture had been rearranged and yet nothing showed up on the video.

  Dani returned her call. It turned out Cameron had installed only one camera at the front of the house. They arranged to meet at six tonight after Cameron returned from work.

  Just as Dani finished with her call, the door opened. Expecting to see Quinn, she was surprised to see her ex-husband, Matthew, instead. He lived with his new wife in the house he and Dani had bought together in Poverty Ridge, a
nice quiet area with some of the stateliest historic homes in Midtown. When they divorced, he paid her half of the principal they had invested in their home, which she used to put a down payment on a two-bedroom, one bath in East Sacramento.

  Matthew’s face was flushed, making her wonder if something was wrong.

  Of course something was wrong. He rarely stopped by just to say hello. “Hello, Matthew.”

  He looked from left to right. “Where’s that girl you work with?”

  “She’s twenty-two. An adult. And her name is Quinn.” He knew all this, but obviously needed to be reminded. “She should be arriving soon.”

  A noise sounded in the kitchen, and he looked that way. “Who’s in there?”

  “Why all the questions? What’s going on?”

  Matthew had a newspaper tucked under his armpit. He tugged it free, unfolded the paper, and set it firmly on Dani’s desk in front of her. The headline read Five Years Later, Still Hope of Finding Tinsley Callahan.

  Below the headline was a picture of Tinsley and a smaller one of Quinn talking to the reporter with the agency’s signage in the background.

  “I hadn’t seen this,” Dani said. She clasped her hands together. “Are you angry about something?” Before he could answer she added, “You know as well as anyone that any and all attention brought to Tinsley’s case is a blessing.” She thought of the phone call and how adamant Matthew had been about taking down the website and moving on. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t care to know what happened to our daughter?”

  His shoulders sagged. “Of course I care. I loved Tinsley as much as you did. I would give my life to bring her back. But a known murderer confessed to her abduction, and yet you still can’t let it go. She’s not ever coming back, Dani.”

  She saw the tension visibly leave his body as he said, “I’ve got a little one on the way, and you know how much all of this upsets Carole. You said we would always be like family. You told me you cared about my happiness. If that’s true, please just stop this nonsense. Tell Quinn to stop spreading false news, so we can all move on with our lives. It’s not healthy to hang on to hope when there is none.”

  She’d had enough. He had no right to tell her what to do or how to live her life. She would never stop looking for Tinsley. Period. “Get out,” Dani said, her voice trembling.

  He looked confused. “What?”

  “You heard me. If your wife is too frail to handle my loss, then maybe both of you should stop reading the paper and watching the news. Why don’t you go home right now and tell her to bury her fucking head in the sand, and if and when I find proof that my only daughter is gone to me forever, I’ll let you know. Until then, I’m tired of playing nice.”

  “What’s wrong with you? In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never sworn.”

  “I’m just getting warmed up.”

  Instead of leaving, he jabbed a finger at the newspaper still on her desk. “If any of this is true, then please fill me in. What new clues have you and your bossy, out-of-control assistant unburied? Tell me. I have a right to know.”

  She lifted her chin, surprised when the lie easily slipped out of her mouth. “It’s too soon for me to share anything with you.”

  “Because you don’t have anything new, do you?” His eyes widened. “I knew it. I can see the answer in your eyes. You have nothing, and yet you’re spreading lies and giving false hope to my friends and family. Do you have any idea how many calls I’ve gotten about this already? This notion that you have a new lead has brought my mom to tears. She’s eighty years old, Dani. She can’t handle losing Tinsley twice.” He let out a long sigh. “And neither can I.”

  Dani scooped up the newspaper as she stood. Crumpling it in one hand as she walked around her desk, she shoved the wad of paper into his chest. “Get out, Matthew. Go take care of your new little family and leave me to find our daughter. And for the record, I’ll never stop looking.”

  “You’re being unreasonable.”

  “And you’re being an ass.”

  He grunted.

  She pointed at the door.

  It seemed like forever and a day before he was gone and she could take a breath.

  When Dani sat at her desk again, Ethan appeared with a mug filled with hot coffee. “Cream or sugar?” he asked as if it were just another day and he hadn’t overheard the whole thing, which would have been impossible.

  She smiled. “I like it black. Thank you.”

  “You were married to that man?”

  “I was,” Dani said. “Almost seven years.” She shook her head. “I used to think he was quite the catch.”

  Ethan pushed his hair to the side and said, “People change, I guess.”

  “Yes. I guess they do.”

  “Why doesn’t he like Quinn?”

  “Because he doesn’t like himself,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Seconds later, Quinn walked in. “Was that Tinsley’s dad I just saw leave?”

  Dani nodded. There was something about the way Quinn always talked about Tinsley as if she was alive and well that warmed her heart.

  “What did I miss?” Quinn asked when no one said anything.

  “Nothing,” Dani said, hoping to start her morning over fresh.

  “It had to do with me, didn’t it?” Quinn asked. “He was carrying a newspaper, and I bet it was today’s paper.” When Dani didn’t respond, she looked at Ethan. “Am I right?”

  He shrugged. “I was making coffee in the other room.”

  “You’re right,” Dani told Quinn before she worked herself into a tizzy. “He’s convinced that Kyle Harmon is responsible for Tinsley’s disappearance, and he thinks it’s time to move on.”

  “Seriously?” Quinn raked her fingers over the shaved section of her head. “Tinsley is his daughter too.”

  “Yes. She was . . . is.”

  “I hope you told him we’ll never stop looking for Tinsley.”

  “She pretty much told him to take a hike,” Ethan said with delight.

  Quinn looked at Ethan. “I thought you were in the other room?”

  “I was, but I overheard the last bit.”

  Quinn’s attention returned to Dani. “Did you really tell him off?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, good. He’s too bossy and always acts like he’s in charge.”

  Ethan and Dani exchanged a quick glance.

  Quinn plopped her hands on her hips. “What?”

  Dani smiled. “He said the same thing about you.”

  Quinn rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t like me because I tell it like it is.”

  “Okay,” Dani said. “Let’s forget about Matthew and get to work.”

  “Good idea,” Quinn said. As she walked toward her desk, she told Ethan to pull up a chair.

  Once Quinn had started making monthly updates to Tinsley’s website, it seemed she and Matthew were always butting heads. Mostly because Quinn had a tendency to be blunt and say whatever was on her mind.

  Dani stood, then took her mug to the kitchen, where she refilled her coffee.

  In the other room she heard Quinn get right to business, explaining to Ethan how she wanted to start from the beginning, pretend he’d only just witnessed Ali Cross’s abduction yesterday. Once Quinn began to ask him questions, it was clear she had spent a lot of time preparing. Her questions included “Tell me in detail what, exactly, you witnessed?” “What was the date and time of the incident, and how long did it last?” “Where did it happen?” “Who was involved?” and so on.

  Quinn wanted details, and Ethan did his best to oblige.

  An hour later, Quinn asked Dani if she wanted to take a drive with her and Ethan to check out the spot where Ethan had seen Ali Cross abducted. Dani wanted to go along, but she had to testify in court for a workers’ comp case at the end of the week and needed to get things in order.

  “You can give me an update later,” Dani told her. As she watched them go, she thought about what Detective Whitton’s
colleagues had said about Ethan Grant. She could tell the boy had a hardened edge to him, that much was clear, but he came across as genuinely concerned about Ali Cross’s well-being—a person he’d never met. Despite meeting resistance with the police and his own mother, he hadn’t given up on trying to find her.

  Once they drove off, Dani set about organizing her desk space and noticed Quinn had never returned her tape dispenser. As she made her way downstairs, she found herself thinking of Ali Cross. What if everything Ethan had told Quinn was true? Had Ali Cross been harmed in any way? Killed? Dumped in the woods somewhere, or buried in someone’s backyard? Or was the man driving the cargo van holding her captive?

  The questions running through her mind were all too familiar. Questions she’d asked herself over and over after Tinsley disappeared. There were other queries that had taken hold too: If Dani hadn’t had a flat tire, would she have made it to the school in time? Where had the roofing nail found lodged in her tire come from? What if Matthew had been home and she’d been able to take his car instead? What if, what if, what if? The questions came to her at night, hitting her like bullets, one after another, keeping her awake.

  But the questions were better than the alternative, which would be to believe Tinsley was buried somewhere off Bond Road, as Kyle Harmon had said. When Dani was a child, she’d had a bunny named Pee Wee who escaped from his cage and never returned. Her parents convinced her Pee Wee was alive and well, living with a loving family of bunnies in another county. She often imagined Tinsley in the same way . . . living with a nice family with other children, well fed, warm, and safe.

  All thoughts were pushed aside the moment Dani’s gaze fell on the wall covered with a giant collage of pictures—all of Tinsley. She walked over to get a closer view of a picture of Tinsley attempting to blow out the candles on her birthday cake. Her cheeks were round, her eyes bright with happiness and innocence.