“What leads you to believe there was a second man?” Harker glanced around. “Nothing here supports that assumption.”
Randall tapped the light bulb base. “One side of the base is dented in while the opposite side has blood on it. If the bulb had been broken and the metal had cut someone at the same time, both the indentation and the blood would be on the same side.”
“She could’ve hit the same person twice.”
“Not likely.”
“Why not?”
Randall set the lamp down. “The glass from the bulb is on the floor here while,” he pointed at the floor three feet to his left, “the blood spray starts here and,” before extending an arm further left, “goes that way...which is consistent with a second man quickly turning away after being struck.”
Pursing his lips, Harker slowly nodded his head at the evidence.
“The gash must’ve been a bleeder, too, because,” the former DEA man pointed at the dresser, “there are t-shirts in the top drawer with blood on them. The wounded man grabbed one to stem the flow, dripping blood onto the other ones in the process.”
Harker laid hands on his hips. “That’s quite a tale you tell, Mr. Randall. My crime scene investigators haven’t even come close to anything that specific yet.”
Devlin recalled Randall telling her he had been trained by the CIA’s best, trained to notice the tiniest of details. She also remembered how he had pieced together observations about her and deduced she had been married for six months and had a child. “Yeah, but I’ll bet none of your investigators have,” she bobbed her forehead toward her partner, “his kind of experience.”
Randall removed a handkerchief from a pants pocket, dabbed his brow, and replaced the cloth. “This gives me hope, Jessica.”
She tilted her head to one side.
He saw the quizzical expression. “The attackers killed a man. If they had wanted to kill Faith, they had plenty of time, and a place, to do just that. But they kidnapped her instead. That means they need her alive...for something.”
Harker tossed a look at the agents. “Money? I’m not aware of any ransom demand having been made.”
Randall shrugged. “I don’t know. But my instincts are telling me she’s alive. We just have to get to her before the kidnappers actually get whatever the something is they want.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 5
Shank
Sitting on a toilet seat lid, barefoot, dressed in the same baggy shorts and skin-tight t-shirt she had been wearing when she had been abducted, Faith removed the toilet paper roll and spool from the wall fixture. Working quickly, while shooting glances at the closed bathroom door, she pulled apart the spool and took out the spring inside.
A fist pounded on the door.
She flinched.
“Hurry up!”
She stretched the spiral, “I haven’t,” straightening it as much as she could, “peed since you kidnapped me. The old tank is full.” She wound the metal around her right hand until three inches of straight material stuck out. Too long. It’ll bend.
Faith undid the wire, adjusted the starting point on her palm, and coiled it around her hand again, leaving a one-inch shank this time. She bobbed her brows once. It’s the best you can do. Go for the eyes.
More pounding.
She faced the door.
“You have ten seconds, and I’m coming in there!”
The prisoner put the spool and toilet paper roll back in their proper places, stood, and adjusted the homemade weapon to prepare for an overhand strike. Eyeing the metal shaft, she took a breath and exhaled, blowing a tuft of matted, stringy hair away from her face. You have one shot at this, my dear Faith. Make it a good one.
After flushing the toilet and running the faucet for a few seconds, she grabbed a towel and headed for the door which opened a half-beat later.
The man built like a linebacker, the man who had taken down Faith at her apartment and landed on her with all his weight, stood in the archway.
Using the towel to hide the weapon, while pretending to dry her hands, she remembered the crooked smile on his face when he had been on top of her, grinding his groin against her smarting pubic bone. Envisioning the makeshift weapon under the hand towel, she clenched her fist. You were so eager to stick something somewhere, she zeroed in on his left eyeball, let me show you how it’s done.
Linebacker glimpsed the cloth in her hands and thrust his chin at the sink. “Leave that.”
“Sure thing, sport.” Twirling left, she turned her back on him, pitched the towel, and continued her counterclockwise circle, speeding up the last ninety degrees and delivering a hammer strike.
Jerking to his right a quarter turn, bellowing, Linebacker clutched the left side of his face.
Faith grabbed his head with both hands and rammed his bleeding cheek against the edge of the door molding twice, punched him once in each kidney, and...
He arched his back at the searing pain.
...drove a heel into his right knee.
Dropping, he reached out to the wall for support.
Unsure of her bearings, since she had been blindfolded when brought to this location, Faith ran down the hall and stopped at what appeared to be a darkened living room. She pivoted her head left and right and spotted windows. Light came from the other side of closed curtains.
Weaving her way around furniture pieces, she hurried to a door, twisted a knob, and pulled.
Nothing happened.
She squinted at the barrier and saw screw heads around the door’s edges. She cursed under her breath. They screwed the damn door shut. Faith did a one-eighty and put her back and hands to the panel. Her eyes scanning the area, she tried to put together a layout of the structure.
A noise came from her right.
Faith whipped her head in that direction. He’s getting up again. She scampered across the living room, put her left shoulder to a wall, peeked around a corner, and saw a kitchen...and another door on the opposite side.
Glancing right, down the hallway, and seeing Linebacker staggering
