Chapter 41
Come find me!
Sarah’s eyes tried to open.
Something got in the way.
She reached up to wipe her eyes . . . something slick covered them.
Adrenaline rushed through her.
The arm holding her, the hand over her mouth and nose . . . the strange smell.
She tried to sit up . . . couldn’t do it.
Her heart thumped hard.
Fraud.
She ordered her mind to be quiet!
I’ve decided to trade a gossip for a fraud.
Polly Conner had sobbed through the statement. Someone else was going to take her place.
A fraud.
Sarah Newton . . . you’re a fraud.
The fight-or-flight instinct detonated inside her. Be still, she ordered. Assess the situation.
Pictures of mutilated bodies filed one after the other through her head like an out-of-control slide projector.
Her hands and feet were bound in front of her but separately.
There was tape over her mouth and eyes. She felt groggy .
. . there had been a cloth or pad in his hand.
It must have been loaded with some sort of inhalant.
How long had she been unconscious?
Focus. Get up. Get loose. Get the hell out of here.
She braced her right elbow on the hard ground. Pushed with all her might.
Her sluggish body eased upward. She maneuvered into a sitting position. Pulled her knees up to brace herself.
Her fingers touched the tape on her eyes. She found the edge and pulled.
A scream blasted into her mouth with the sting to her eyelids.
She blinked. Dark.
The tape on her mouth was next. She peeled it off. Grimaced. Looking around again, she still couldn’t see. She drew in a deep breath, but her olfactory senses weren’t in proper working order yet.
Wherever she was, she was cold as hell. Her body shivered.
She twisted her hands. Tape around her wrists.
And on her ankles.
Okay, think!
Listen carefully for sound while working on the tape around your ankles.
Her fingers went to work on the tape around her ankles.
It took forever, but finally her feet were free. She scrambled up to a standing position. Tried to run. Fell flat on her face.
The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.
Shit.
Busted lip.
She scooted up onto her knees, took it slow standing up. Waited a minute to find her equilibrium. One step at a time she felt her way around her prison.
Rock walls. Rock floor. Cold. Damp. She inhaled deeply. Musty or . . . water. It smelled like stagnant water.
Cave. She was in a cave.
Her brain urged her feet to run, but she resisted. She had to run the right way or risk getting completely lost or seriously injured, rendering her immobile.
She stumbled. Hit the ground, knees first. Her knees throbbed.
Calming herself, she felt around to see what she’d fallen over. Soft. Lumpy.
A bag.
She fumbled for an opening.
Her hands dove inside.
The familiar contents sent another adrenaline surge rushing through her veins.
Her bag.
She felt for the flashlight . . . found her cell phone.
Her pulse reacted, catapulted with hope.
Okay, okay, you need the light to get the hell out of here.
She found the light, clasped it as well as the phone in her hands. She pushed to her feet. Using her thumb, she turned on the flashlight.
Her eyes squinted against the light.
When her vision had adjusted, she looked around.
Something shiny on the ground.
She walked closer. Her breath stalled in her lungs.
Knife. Bloody.
An alarm roared in her head.
Don’t panic. Don’t touch the knife. Evidence.
But what if . . .
To hell with it.
Run.
Using the flashlight, she stumbled around until she could hear the surf. She followed the sound; it got louder and louder.
Suddenly she was outside . . . on the rocky shore. Water pooled around her ankles. The moon peeked from behind the clouds. She didn’t recognize the area . . . didn’t see any of the islands.
Don’t stand here like an idiot!
She started running. Didn’t matter which way.
Up the cliffs. There were trees up there. Probably a road somewhere. She climbed, letting the moonlight guide her. She fell repeatedly. Didn’t stop until she reached the tree line.
Use the phone.
Her cell phone and flashlight were still clutched in her bound hands. She dropped the light, worked the phone into position. The screen didn’t light up . . .
“Son of a bitch!”
The battery was dead.
She dropped it, picked up her flashlight, and headed into the woods.
There had to be a road or a house . . . or something.
She would find help.
On cue her body shuddered.
If she didn’t freeze to death first.