Chapter Twenty-Seven
Vanessa was going to kill Paul, and Bennett, and whoever had invented duct tape.
She’d thrashed around on the mattress for several minutes in an attempt to break free.
Every move she made twisted the tape tighter.
She’d ended up flushed and frustrated, huffing from exertion.
The irony of the situation irritated her.
She’d been dying to work up a sweat in Paul’s bed, but not like this.
After some careful maneuvering, she eased herself off the side of the mattress and into a standing position.
As soon as her feet touched the floor, she noticed another problem.
Paul had tied her ankles in a way that had felt comfortable when she was lying down.
Upright, it was difficult to balance. She couldn’t put both feet flat on the floor at the same time.
She hobbled away from the bed in an awkward, one-legged hop.
As it turned out, hopping on one leg with her hands tied behind her back was incredibly difficult.
She couldn’t afford to fall down, because she had no way to break her fall, and she wouldn’t be able to get back up.
The only alternative was to stay in this room and wait for someone else to rescue her, and that wasn’t an option.
Paul needed her. She knew it in her heart. Emergency scenarios whirred through her mind on an endless loop. She imagined Paul and Bennett wrestling over the gun. She imagined Bennett killing Paul in cold blood.
With grim determination, she inched toward the bedroom door. It was an arduous process. The tape across her mouth made it hard to breathe, and the bindings at her feet and wrists seemed to tighten with every passing moment. Tiny pinpricks of sensation warned her of blood loss to her extremities.
When she finally reached the door, she wilted with relief.
She spun around and turned the knob with numb hands.
Outside, the hallway stretched into infinity.
She continued on one foot, her calf muscle burning.
By the time she reached the living room, her legs were quaking and her arms ached.
She searched the kitchen countertops for a handy tool to free herself.
Paul had left a construction pencil on the surface.
Her foot felt like fire as she hopped toward the sink.
The only item available was dish soap, and far out of reach.
Damn.
She considered searching the drawers, but she figured they were empty. Even if she did find a knife, how would she use it? She couldn’t move her hands. With no other choice, she continued toward the screen door. Outside, she could get help. She could hobble toward her car and honk the horn.
When she arrived at the threshold, her strength gave out.
She lost her balance and fell through the screen door, which came off its hinges.
She landed on the porch with a terrific crash.
Somehow, she didn’t break an arm or knock herself unconscious.
She lay there like a flopped fish for several moments.
Panic pulsed at her temples, and a sob caught in her throat.
She hated Paul for tying her up, and for offering Bennett a ride to Mexico, but she understood why he’d done it.
He’d done it to protect her. Because he loved her.
And … she loved him, too.
Vanessa made a muffled sound of distress and focused on escape.
She searched the immediate area for a way out.
She couldn’t scream for help with duct tape over her mouth and she didn’t want to roll down the steps.
There was a bent nail on the back of the porch railing less than five feet away.
She scooted toward it on her backside and lined up her bound wrists flush with the bent head of the nail.
Then she twisted and writhed in an attempt to saw herself free.
The nail bit into the edge of the tape. She strained with all her might, pulling and grinding and grunting.
Finally, the tape broke away and her hands were free.
Blood returned to her numb fingers in a dizzying rush.
She wrenched her arms forward and sat there with her hands in her lap.
When she could move again, she removed the adhesive from her mouth.
Then she fumbled with the tape at her ankles.
Pins and needles danced in her feet as she scrambled upright.
She staggered toward her car, opened the door and climbed inside.
Her purse was sitting on the passenger seat.
She located her phone and called Jackson.
Emily’s excited chatter filled her ear. “Hi, Mommy! Uncle Jack is making chocolate chip pancakes with bananas and whip cream. He says I can’t eat the chocolate chips all by themselfs. Did you have another sleepover with Mr. Paul? I asked Penelope …”
Vanessa couldn’t process so many words at once, and she couldn’t believe it was still breakfast time. “Put Jackson on,” she said. “It’s an emergency.”
Emily didn’t argue, perhaps because she was more interested in the chocolate chips than whatever difficulty Vanessa was having. “Uncle Jack, come quick! Mommy says it’s a ’mergency.”
“Hello?”
Vanessa sagged against the bucket seat. “I need help,” she said, her voice breaking.
“You got it,” Jackson said. “What’s up?”