Her mouth was dry, and she tried to close her mouth. A sharp pain shot through her jaw as it wouldn’t budge, and she felt a moment of panic. She couldn’t close her mouth! Something was wrong—a whimper escaped from her cracked lips, but she fought down the panic. Maybe her jaw was broken or maybe it was just dislocated. Neither would kill her. She couldn’t afford to lose control now.
She tentatively tried to wiggle her lower jaw from side to side. The sharp pain was an incentive to stop, but she kept at it. After a minute or so, something gave and her jaw slid back into place. The pain was still there, but she could moisten her mouth. Since she couldn’t breathe well through her nose, she was going to have to keep her mouth open anyway, but somehow just knowing she could close it was enough.
She leaned against the wall for a minute or so, breathing deeply, while she took stock of her surroundings. A closed door was to her left. She listened for sounds beyond it but heard nothing. Had he gone out again, she wondered? She couldn’t picture him simply waiting on the other side of the door until he heard her move or cry out. He would want to watch as she regained consciousness so he could see her panic as she realized he was going to kill her. He must have gone out. She needed to take advantage of that while she could.
He’d tied her ankles again, and this time he’d made sure the rope was tight. Try as she might, she could only get the rope to move a fraction of an inch, and she wasn’t even sure the rope actually was moving. It might have just been her pants legs sliding under it.
First things first, she thought. She scooted around and lay down on her back. Pulling her knees toward her chest, she tried to slide her cuffed hands over her butt like she had in the trunk, but they would only go so far. She could extend her legs, so she wasn’t hogtied, but something was stopping her from moving her hands. She rolled to the side and pulled out and back from her body and felt the tug in her midsection. Looking down she saw a brown leather belt with a brass buckle around her waist. It was the belt he’d been wearing when he opened the trunk. A long piece of belt extended beyond the buckle, indicating he’d had to punch new holes in the belt to make it fit her. Then he’d run the chain connecting the cuff through the belt, ensuring she couldn’t work the cuffs around over her feet.
He’s smart, she thought, but not that smart. She twisted her hands around to the left, ignoring the pain caused by the cuffs ratcheting tighter around her wrists, and worked her fingers under the belt. He’d pulled it tight around her waist. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed it before she’d tried moving her hands to the front, but she supposed the pain in her face and head had taken precedence. She sucked in her gut as she tugged on the belt and felt it move a little. She kept at it, inching the belt around her body, ignoring the ache in her shoulders and her fingers growing numb. When the buckle had reached her left side, she stopped to rest.
Where was Will, she wondered? Did he or Al or Lonnie even know she was missing? More importantly, what had happened to Brandon? Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of her son, but she gritted her teeth and blinked them away. She had to believe he was okay. She had to. Because if she didn’t, she would have no reason to fight.
“That’s not true,” she said out loud. If he had hurt Brandon, she’d have plenty of reason to fight. She might not have any reason to live, but she’d have plenty of reason to make sure he didn’t either.
She hadn’t believed it was him. To tell the truth, she hadn’t been sure it was anyone they’d talked to, but if she’d had to guess, she would have picked Larry Adams. Bias because of his job dealing with the dead every day? Maybe, but more because of the look she’d seen at Trish’s crime scene. That look told her he was a slimy creep. Maybe he’d been glad Trish was dead, but he hadn’t done it. And now that she knew who had, she had to get loose to stop him.
She sucked in her belly and began working on the belt again. She was halfway there.
CHAPTER 57
“Police! Get your hands in the air! Now!”
Al leveled his gun at the back of the skinny man dressed in black jeans and a black tee. They were in an alley that ran between a secondhand store and a tattoo shop. When Al had stepped into the alley, he’d seen the man by a dumpster, hunched over something. When he’d shouted his order at him, the man had straightened, dropping something before raising his hands.
“Move over to the other side of the alley, and put your hands on the wall,” Al said, and the man obeyed. Before he moved, Al saw him give a little kick to whatever he’d dropped,
“I didn’t do nuthin’, officer. Just
