dropped the book bag and unlatched the chain-link gate, running forward along the side of the house.
“Keiki, where are you, girl?” she cried. The next thing she saw was a shower of exploding white stars as her body flew forward, convulsing with electricity.
She came to slowly, waves of pain gathering into a pulsing point of agony at the back of her neck. She opened her eyes. Nothing but darkness. She swallowed, felt the rough dryness of cloth in her mouth. She tried to move and pain seared through her arms, as she realized they were cuffed behind her back. She moved her legs-they were tied too. She heard rumbling, felt vibrations beneath her: she was moving, and the metal ridges beneath her told her she was in the back of a pickup truck.
Terror surged through her. She couldn’t stop herself from flailing, thrashing until the searing pain in her arms and shoulders stopped the panicked frenzy of movement. She stilled herself, sucking wheezing breaths through her nostrils. The cloth bag on her head further restricted air supply.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. One-two-three in, one-two-three out, she counted to calm herself. As she got more oxygen into her lungs, she turned her attention to her hearing, noticing the grinding of the truck downshifting. It wasn’t her truck then, with its smooth, new transmission.
She berated herself-in her panic not recognizing the darkness on the side of the house for the danger it was, not realizing that of course he would take out her dog first. At that thought tears threatened. She blinked rapidly, keeping her breath steady as she turned her thoughts to escape.
She slid her hands up and down, testing the range of motion she had. The bed of the truck was the usual ridged metal. She caught her feet into one of the ridges and pushed herself forward until her head touched the side of the bed. She swung herself around again and pushed off to the other side. Her arms screamed with strain as she kept feeling for something, anything that might be useful. Nothing.
Despair washed over her. How likely was it that he’d left a weapon or the key rattling around in here? The best bet was probably to move to the back of the truck bed, try to get the tailgate down, shove out the back into the road.
Even as she began scooting herself toward the tailgate her mind screamed, No, no, no! There has to be some other way! She pictured falling into the road at high speed, the crunching of her bones as she hit the pavement, helpless to break her fall in any way, the possible collision with another car. Still, it was better than waiting for what he had planned. She’d die before she let him…
She reached the tailgate, rolled herself onto her knees and chin, reaching upward with her cuffed hands, fumbling along the metal at the top for the lever that opened the tailgate. The truck swayed around a corner and she fell sideways, feeling the crunch of her wrist against the truck bed.
She must have passed out or fainted, because she gasped as wetness hit her face. He was throwing water on her. Something was tied over her eyes now, and the gag was gone. She dragged in gulps of welcome air, stabbing needles of circulation coming back into her legs. She was lying sideways. Nausea hit her and she leaned forward, retching. Her wrist radiated a pulsing pain-probably broken.
“Goddamnit,” she heard. “Get up.”
A tenor voice. He sounded familiar. It was a good sign she had a blindfold on: maybe he wasn’t going to kill her.
She felt him grab her feet, swing them sideways off the tailgate.
“Get up. I’m not carrying you.”
She sat there, adjusting to being upright, her head swimming. She leaned forward, reaching with her feet for the ground, and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her by the arms. Her feet sank into boggy ground concealed by long grass.
“Move,” he said. She stumbled across the uneven ground, impeded by the grass and mud. He grabbed her head and ducked her under a branch, yanked her arms to get her between scratching bushes. She thought of wrenching away, of running, but he seemed to anticipate her every move, and with the blindfold on, getting away seemed impossible.
She heard the gurgle of water and suddenly the elements added up. She knew where they were: the Mohuli`i girls’ crime scene. She stopped, digging in her heels. He gave her a shove from behind and she fell to her knees. He grabbed her hair, yanking her up, forcing her to stumble forward.
“Get going, bitch. Guessed where we are by now, didn’t you? I have a lot more planned for you than those girls.”
He gave her hair another yank, this time a heave. She cried out as she flew forward, bouncing on carpet.
“Got my camp set back up,” he said. “They’ll never look for you here.”
That’s true, she thought, getting to her knees, coiling her strength inward.
She felt movement in front of her and hurled herself forward, her chin tucked in, head-butting. She hit a glancing blow to something, and heard the whoosh of exhaled breath, but kept flying forward and landed on the ground, solidly on her face. She didn’t have time to recover before her whole body convulsed, twitching, a thousand tiny stars lighting up behind her closed eyes as consciousness winked out.
She woke up in steps, her brain responding to thumping pain signals. She opened eyes gummy with dried tears. The light was dim. The blue tarp overhead flapped a little. She couldn’t hear anything but the tinkling of the nearby stream.
An icy calm settled over her. He’s going to kill me. I’ll just have to kill him first.
She was inside a cheap nylon sleeping bag, naked. Her hands were cuffed in front. Her feet were loose, but she felt the pinch of something on her ankle. She reached down to feel another handcuff, this one clipped around her ankle, attached to a steel tie-out cable threaded through the zipper of the sleeping bag, trailing out into the bushes.
She lay in the same dilapidated shelter she’d helped clear out. The crime techs had left it there, the landowner’s problem to deal with. Instead of pockmarked dirt, he’d covered the ground with a large musty-smelling carpet fragment. An ice chest was nearby and a battery-operated lantern hung from the supporting pole in the middle. Late afternoon sun slanted through the trees.
She’d been unconscious all day.
She sat up and took inventory of her injuries, feeling the welts where the Taser had hit her in the neck and back, her bruised face. Worst was the wrist, throbbing a protest with each beat of her heart.
She had to pee, and crawled out of the sleeping bag and relieved herself behind a bush. There was another welt on her thigh-probably an injection site. No other reason she would’ve been out all day.
Lei then explored the length of the cable tie-out. It ended looped around the sturdy trunk of a christmasberry bush. It was too short for her to move beyond the screening growth. Branches within her reach had been trimmed back with a machete so there were no dangling or handy branches, and the big pile of potentially useful trash was gone, removed in the search for evidence. There weren’t even any handy rocks. The site was isolated, an empty acreage at the end of a cul-de-sac on a large, undeveloped tract of land. It was pretty smart of him to use it again, no one would anticipate that.
Her clothes were folded next to the ice chest. There was no way to get her pants back on with the cable attached to her foot, and with hands cuffed she couldn’t put her bra or shirt back on either. He’s done this before, she thought. He knows he has to take the clothes off before putting restraints on or he can’t get them off later. The thought of Mary’s ordeal chilled her, somehow made worse by this final confirmation that her stalker was the killer they’d been searching for.
Lei flipped up the lid, looking for something to use as a weapon. Inside was a bag of ice and a six-pack of water bottles. She was parched, her throat scratchy from the gag. She picked up one of the water bottles, inspecting it. It had a tiny puncture mark in the neck. She looked at the rest of them. They all did. Maybe this was how he administered the Rohypnol.
He didn’t seem interested in fighting her, more in keeping her subdued.
A plan began forming. She took two of the water bottles and emptied the water out near a plant where it wouldn’t show. The bag of ice was closed with a large, crimped steel staple. She had to use both hands to pull it open-difficult with her broken wrist. The thick staple wire, unfolded, could make a weapon.
Lei popped several ice cubes into her mouth, crunching them-the coolness soothing on her raw throat-and unzipped the sleeping bag off the tie-out cable to increase her mobility. She rearranged the sleeping bag the way it had been, only now with the cable pulled tighter so it looked like it went into the bottom of the bag as before, but
