The truck rolled out of Hattie’s parking lot at turtle speed and bucked over the curb. He giggled at the oversight and righted the truck after it swerved into the oncoming lane. Trees angled over the curving road and extended their branches downward like the grasping claws of monsters. It took him a full minute before he worked up the courage to drive faster than fifteen mph. Driving too slow would attract the deputies, and there was no way he’d pass the sobriety test. The truck weaved over the centerline, and he jerked the wheel back.
As he rounded the bend, his headlights glistened off the tire spikes. There was no time to react.
He slammed the brakes. The tires issued a banshee’s shriek as the truck fishtailed. All four tires blew with sonic bangs when the spikes dug into the rubber.
The truck spun and careened onto the shoulder, missing the guardrail by inches. He sat with his heart jumping into his throat. Who would throw tire spikes in the middle of the road?
Climbing down from the cab, he moved from one tire to the next, assessing the damage. The tires sat flat against the paved shoulder. Well, this was the perfect end to his night. He cursed and kicked a rock into the guardrail.
Tillery couldn’t call the police in his drunken state, and he sure as hell wouldn’t call Suzanne. He wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.
A scenic overlook sat a quarter mile up the road. With nothing better to do, he stumbled along the shoulder toward the overlook. As he crossed through the grass, headlights seared the back of his neck. The vehicle stopped along the shoulder, the engine rumbling as the brights shone in Tillery’s eyes. He cupped a hand over his forehead. A door opened, and a shadow cut through the lights as he struggled to make out the approaching figure.
“Who’s that?”
Footsteps echoed through the night. The silhouette grew closer until the stranger stepped out of the shadows. A relieved grin softened his face.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said before the knife plunged into his belly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Saturday, July 18th
10:00 p.m.
The house creaked and issued a wretched groan. Like old bones awakening.
Raven’s eyelids flickered. Her head felt trapped between a vise, some madman wrenching on the handle and cracking her eggshell skull. Her body dragged her toward unconsciousness, a whirlpool pulling her into a watery grave. What happened?
At-once, her eyes popped open, chest heaving as she remembered. She’d entered the locker room inside Benson’s Barbells and washed up at the sink when someone struck her from behind. What happened next, she couldn’t recall, though she’d awoken later inside a cramped, blackened space, the thick scent or rubber and oil boxing her in. She’d been inside a trunk.
Had Damian Ramos kidnapped her?
The stabbing pain in her head made it difficult to think straight. And she needed to, if she wanted to figure out where she was and plan an escape. She sat inside an empty room with scuffed hardwood floors. Drapes hung over a window, and a slit of darkness spilling between the curtains told her it was nighttime. The door stood closed, the house silent except for her beating heart.
And something else. A whispering, breathing noise that sent a chill down her spine. Someone was behind her.
She jolted at the realization and rose. Ropes pulled her down. Until now, she’d been too groggy to notice the bindings clamping her wrists to the chair arms. A second rope snaked around her ankles. She assessed the ankle knot and noted the kidnapper hadn’t wrapped it around the chair or attached it to her wrists. Nor had the kidnapper gagged her. A sloppy job. Whoever her kidnapper was, she doubted he’d done this before. The lack of a gag suggested the kidnapper held her in the country. Someplace where nobody would hear her scream.
The breathing continued behind her. Raven twisted her neck. Couldn’t locate the source.
Maybe it was her kidnapper, stalking her, toying with her.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
No answer.
Angered, she nudged the chair sideways. A woman sat in a chair against the wall, bound as Raven was. Her head hung to her chest, a blonde ponytail dangled over her shoulder. Raven didn’t need to see the woman’s face to know it was Ellie Fisher.
“Ellie. Ellie Fisher. Wake up.”
The woman didn’t move. Had it not been for the rise and fall of Ellie’s shoulders as she breathed, Raven would have worried the woman was dead.
Before Raven raised her voice, a noise sounded inside the house. Footsteps.
She clamped her eyes shut and lowered her head until she realized the footsteps weren’t outside the door. They came from deep in the house. On a lower floor, she assumed. A door squealed open and closed with a hollow thump.
“Is the black girl awake?”
That voice, so gruff and arrogant. She recognized it from somewhere.
“Why the hell did you bring her into it? What good does she do us?”
Raven squinted her eyes and concentrated. The second man was Damian Ramos. And the first man had to be Mark Benson, the gymnasium owner. Benson must have attacked her in the locker room. Only Benson could unlock the rear entrance and enter unannounced.
“She was onto us. Why the hell do you suppose she signed up for a gym pass? It’s not a coincidence she ran into you in Syracuse. She’s following you.”
A hesitation, then—
“How did she figure out we kidnapped Ellie?”
“I told you. I caught her on camera taking photographs. You’re an idiot, Damian.”
“That makes zero sense. I didn’t grab Ellie until I left the gym.”
“Put two and two together. Someone hired a private investigator to follow you. Think. Who would want information on you?”
Damian sighed.
“Sadie,
