“Uh-uh-uh.” The man looming over her moved his right hand from behind his back, and her attention shifted from his face to the black hole of the barrel that was pointed at her. “Don’t be a bad girl, Detective Dillon. I don’t want to have to kill you just yet, but I will.”
He laughed.
“You’re quite a prize, you know. I thought you might try something, but getting out of the rope and getting those cuffs around in front? Impressive!”
He reached down and took hold of the chain that connected the two cuffs.
“Makes it easier for me to drag you out, too.”
He gave a yank, and the cuffs tightened and slid, abrading the skin of her wrists. He continued pulling, stepping back as he did, and she bit back a cry of pain as she felt the pressure on the bones where her wrists joined her hands. She tried to get some purchase with her feet, willing to climb out of the trunk voluntarily at this point, but he wouldn’t stop pulling. He could have ordered her to climb out at gunpoint, and she would have had no choice but to obey, but he wanted to hurt her. That was part of the fun for him.
Her upper body slid over the edge of the trunk, then her lower body. She managed to get one foot on the ground, but before she could steady herself, he yanked hard. She stumbled, and as she started to fall, he let go of the cuffs. Her forearms took the brunt of the impact as she fell onto gravel, and she heard him chuckle. She started to push herself up, but before she could get to her knees, he grabbed hold of the cuffs again, and started to pull. He was going to drag her wherever he wanted to take her, she knew—drag her across gravel to hurt her more.
Suddenly her anger boiled to the surface. Just as he raised a foot to take a step forward, she yanked back against the cuffs, ignoring the protests from her hands and wrists, and curled her legs under her. He hadn’t been expecting that, and the sudden movement caused him to stumble a step back toward her. She rose up on her knees and lunged forward, embedding her teeth in the meaty outer edge of the hand that held the cuffs. He yowled—a mixture of pain and anger, instinctively trying to pull away. She tasted his blood as she dug in deeper. He wanted to hurt her, did he? Well, she wouldn’t be the only one to get hurt.
She’d gotten one leg under her and started to push off from the ground, intending to tackle him, when he swung the gun hard against the left side of her head. Her vision clouded over, and her bite loosened. He yanked his hand out of her mouth and doubled it into a fist. It seemed to come at her face in slow motion.
Her last thought before the world went black was that he had seemed like such a nice man.
CHAPTER 55
It had been over three hours since Will had left the station. He’d called the number in the note and a robotic voice—the result of a voice changer he knew—had directed him to go to a nearby Walmart, buy three disposable phones, and leave his own on one of the shelves in the electronics section.
He’s counting on it being stolen, Will thought. He’s counting on it being tracked and leading the cops away from me.
He’d asked if he should call back on one of the disposable phones after he had them, but the voice had told him not to worry about it.
At the store, Will paid for three flip phones and asked the clerk if he could activate them for him.
“I won’t have Internet access for a while,” Will said, “and I need the phones.”
The clerk had just finished activating the phones when the phone on the counter rang. Will had turned and started walking away when the clerk called out to him.
“Hey, mister. Wait up.”
He turned back and saw the clerk hold up a finger to wait while he scribbled something on a notepad.
“Will do,” the clerk said. He hung up, tore the paper off the pad, and extended it to Will. “Your friend said he’s not going to be able to pick you up. Said to give him a call, and he’ll explain.”
Will had taken the paper and nodded his head, but based on the look on the clerk’s face, his feelings must have been written all over his. He’d gone to his car, chose one of the phones, and punched in the number. A new voice that sounded like its owner had sucked on a helium balloon instructed him to go to an address three blocks away and call the number again. When he got there, he found himself in a residential neighborhood. He pulled over to the curb in front of the address and punched in the number.
“Do you see the gray Chevy on the other side of the street?” a voice that sounded like a cartoon squirrel said.
Guess playing with the different voices is part of the fun for him, Will thought. He’s like a sick kid.
An older model, gray Malibu was parked two houses down facing the opposite direction. Other than his own, it was the only car parked on the street. Most driveways were empty, the cars either inside garages or driven to work by their owners. Artie had picked the neighborhood well.
“The keys are under the floor mat,” the squirrel said. “Leave your car where it is and take it. Stay on the phone.”
Will sat for a second and then opened the driver’s door. He wasn’t surprised that
