Double Take. Jenness Walker

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      Kenzie flexed her hands, pulling on the ropes. Her wrists ached. She worked them back and forth in an attempt to make the ropes give. No luck. But this was a work van—there must be something in here she could use to cut the ropes. Kenzie bit her lip, trying not to think about her brother’s knife, lying abandoned on the bus floor. It would have come in handy about now.

      Her fingers scrabbled around the floor. Nothing but dirt. Pushing off with her feet, she moved a couple inches and tried again, until finally her thumb scraped against a jagged scrap of metal. She sucked in a sharp breath at the sting as blood ran down her wrist.

      She’d found a way out.

      Maybe.

      Carefully, Kenzie sat up, adjusted her hands over the metal, brought her wrist down—

      A door opened, its hinges screeching out a warning. She took a quick breath, gingerly wrapped her fingers around the makeshift blade, then waited, not having to feign the fearful trembling that seized her limbs.

      “Well, pet.” The van rocked slightly as someone climbed into the driver’s seat. “Time for act one, scene two.” He had a slight accent, the hint of an island lilt softening his crisp pronunciation. The gentle inflections and soothing tones should have comforted her. Instead, it raised goose bumps on her arms.

      His door slammed, then another opened and closed. As they pulled back into light, she felt someone’s gaze on her, the heat of it scorching her skin. Kenzie hid her face between her knees. If they could just forget about her long enough for her to work on the ropes…

      The blood from her cut made the metal sticky. Sweat drenched her blindfold, the back of her black jeans. Fear dried out her mouth so much she couldn’t remember if they’d gagged her or if the cotton balls soaking up every drop of saliva were a figment of her dehydrated imagination.

      “She’s good,” the second guy from the bus said.

      “Mmm.”

      “I mean, look at her shaking.”

      Kenzie tried to still her tremors, but knowing he continued to watch made them grow stronger. What did they want? Why couldn’t they just let her go?

      “Is she someone I should know?”

      “Not yet,” the other man answered.

      The van slowed to a stop, the engine roughly idling. Heavy feet thudded against the floor. Kenzie refused to lift her head. Instead, she frantically worked the jagged metal against her bindings.

      Closer.

      Her fingers cramped. She passed the metal to the other hand and worked harder. The van started up again, and the man lurched, his foot hitting close enough beside her that she felt the vibration.

      “Hey, was she supposed to have a piece of metal?”

      “What?”

      Kenzie froze. The man leaned over her—she smelled his body odor. Foul, like his language. His fingers touched hers. Before she could react, her weapon became his.

      “Check this out.” A pause. “Was she supposed to have this?”

      “No.” The word was clipped.

      Kenzie braced her feet as they rounded a corner, kept her face down, expecting another blow at any moment. Almost welcoming it. If she was unconscious, she wouldn’t feel the intense pressure to come up with another escape plan…and fail.

      “She’s improvising,” the redneck said, a note of awe in his voice. Then, to the driver, “Can I keep this?”

      The piece of metal. Covered with her blood. A sob caught in her throat. She choked it back. Maybe his little souvenir would lead to his conviction.

      After they found her dead.

      FOUR

      Cole’s mouth was dry. He straightened his legs and looked up at the sky. The pages were getting hard to read as the sky turned gray and purple, with a tinge of orange on the horizon. It would be dark soon.

      “Cole!” A worried-looking John Brennan stood waving behind the police barricade. “You ready to go, man?”

      Cole stepped forward, then caught sight of the detective. The urgency rose up once again. Signaling for his cousin to wait, he called out, “Detective Parker.”

      His hands grew sweaty as the man changed directions. Too late to back out now.

      “Mr. Leighton. You have some more information?” The officer’s voice remained gruff, but Cole thought he heard a hint of hope. Or was it annoyance at being disturbed? Probably the former. The annoyance would come after Parker heard what he had to say.

      “Just a theory, sir.” Another deep breath. “I think the gunmen could be acting out the plot of a novel. Obsession by Warren Flint.” It sounded even more foolish out loud than it did in his head, and he had to force himself to maintain eye contact. “What if the robbery wasn’t their main purpose for being there—the girl was? I had just started reading the book when I got on the bus, and it was like Flint was there with us, writing down everything he saw.” Gray seats, two gunmen, one hostage from the front…who looked just like the cover model.

      “Maybe the bus scenario was just a coincidence—maybe that’s where the similarities will end,” Cole said. “But…I don’t believe in coincidences. So I read farther, and in the book the heroine was taken hostage and dumped in a boathouse. It’s just a crazy idea, but…what if that’s where they hid her?”

      Parker stared him down before saying, “Mr. Leighton, how about we talk more about this at the station. Do you need a ride?”

      He willed away the mental image of being driven, handcuffed, to some psychiatric ward. Wouldn’t that look good on his résumé…. “No. Thanks.” He gestured toward John. “My cousin just got here.”

      “Fine. I’m about to wrap up here. Why don’t you follow me in?”

      Cole gave a short nod.

      “I’ll be waiting. Hopefully this whole mess will be resolved soon.” Parker smiled, and in that smile was just a hint of wolf.

      Cole walked toward John under Parker’s gaze. Maybe they’d listen. Maybe they’d be so desperate for a lead—any lead—that they’d check it out, just in case.

      Or maybe they’d interview him for hours, check out everything, from his last job to his kindergarten report cards, and the hostage would die of hypothermia.

      Cole jabbed his fingers into his hair, squeezed, then let go. He could be off his rocker. He could be right on. Either way, those boathouses were going to be checked. Tonight. He’d make sure of it.

      Cold.

      Wet.

      Dark. So very dark.

      Kenzie forced her eyes open, but the darkness remained, taking her breath away. She was surrounded by murky blackness below—the water lapping СКАЧАТЬ