Chapter 44
Drew’s head slowly cleared except for a buzzing sound. He was in a straight chair. His arms ached and he tried to move them, but they were tied behind his back. He had a faint memory of being in the trunk of a car and a rough cloth rubbing against his face each time the car hit a pothole.
At least the cloth was gone and he could breathe. He inhaled and wished he hadn’t. Something had died in here. If his hands were free, he’d clap his hand over his nose and mouth to keep from throwing up.
Drew searched the room, his gaze landing on a dead rat covered in flies. That explained the buzzing. Nausea boiled up from his stomach again.
And his head—it was like a curtain over his mind.
A thought surfaced . . . walking, a rough cloth over his head, climbing into the trunk of a car, almost falling .
. . something pricking his arm. The person had been nervous.
Probably hadn’t given many shots. He took a deep breath through his mouth, trying not to inhale the scent of death again.
Why had he been kidnapped? What was it the kidnapper said? Something about Tori . . . a memory was just out of reach . . . the data drive. The kidnapper wanted it. Drew should’ve given it to Ben when he had the chance, and if he escaped from this mess, that was the first thing he’d do.
Escaping was the problem. He scanned the room, steering clear of the corner with the dead rat.
The dusty wooden floors didn’t look like they’d been swept in months, maybe years.
Cobwebs hung from the water-stained ceiling.
The water had dripped on the walls, leaving strips of wallpaper curled away from the Sheetrock.
No one had lived here in a while. An old, remote house. Around Logan Point that could be anywhere.
He tried to think how long they’d driven so he could calculate where he might be, but it was no use. The shot had quickly knocked him out. And it didn’t matter where he was if he couldn’t get free.
Drew’s mouth was so dry he could barely swallow. “Hey! Can I have some water?” he yelled.
The house was deathly quiet. Had the kidnapper left him alone?
He yelled again, his voice echoing through the empty house.
Was he going to die of starvation? Maybe that’s what happened to the rat.
Drew shook his head to clear it and turned toward the dingy window.
Even though the sun was low, it was still daylight, so probably no one had missed him yet.
Or was it the next day?
Drew flexed his muscles and wiggled his hands. The zip ties dug into his skin. Tight was good—it would make it easier to break them. And he wasn’t stiff enough for it to be the next day.
He braced his feet and stood. Those squats he’d been doing came in handy. At least he wasn’t tied to the chair.
Drew walked around, loosening his muscles. Through the dirty window all he could see were trees. They must be on the back side of nowhere. He backed up to the door and tried to open it. Locked.
He turned and faced the door. The wood looked old. If he were loose, he could easily break it down, but first he had to get his hands in front of him.
He crouched down and worked his hands over his hips, the plastic digging into his skin. He didn’t remember it being this hard when he and a bunch of his buddies had been goofing around one day and practiced getting out of zip ties.
Sweat ran down the side of his face. He’d gotten his hands to his thighs but no way could he get his legs through his arms, not in this position.
Drew took a breath and dropped to the floor, a cry escaping his lips as pain shot up his arms. He lay on the floor for a few minutes, getting his breath back.
What if the kidnapper returned? Drew renewed his efforts and worked his hands toward his feet.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get them over his shoes. They had to come off. Once he had his shoes off, he worked his hands over his feet.
With his hands in front of him, he took a minute to catch his breath and loosen his shoulders—he’d almost pulled them out of their sockets. Drew examined the ties. Good. They weren’t police zip ties, just everyday run-of-the-mill ones.
He untied his sneakers, his stiff fingers fumbling with the laces that he’d tied in a double knot this morning. When they were loose, he threaded one lace through the zip tie and tied it to the other shoelace. He slipped his feet back in his sneakers and pumped his legs, sawing the plastic.
The ties dug into his wrists, sending pain to his elbows, but he kept moving his feet. The zip ties popped apart. Drew wanted to dance, but instead he lightly massaged his wrists, trying to restore feeling in his fingers.
The hum of a motor caught his ear, and he cocked his head toward the window. Tires crunched on gravel, disturbing the dead silence.
No! His kidnapper was back.
Stay and fight, or escape? No-brainer. The gun the kidnapper had held on him was real.
But which way to go? A car door closed to his left, solving that problem.
He turned to the window and pushed against the bottom frame, moving it an inch.
The back door slammed and footsteps tromped through the house.
He slid his fingers under the opening. Using the last of his strength, he strained against the windowsill. With a screech, the dry wood broke free, and the window slid up. Drew climbed out and raced for the woods.