9

 

 

Sunny pressed her cheek to the cement. What she saw this time didn’t make sense. She’d peeked beneath her prison door earlier, after an explosion of glass, some shouting, and two gunshots. But then seven more gunshots made her roll away from the door, Sunny hoping Navy SEALs or a local police unit had located her.

Optimism was maybe one of her faults.

The cavalry turned out to be a single, five-foot-tall woman in a black bra, cutoff shorts, and a make-shift bandage around her upper arm. Maybe most of the missing blouse. She was alone but walked inside the aluminum barn carrying a semiautomatic pistol aimed down beside her thigh.

Was this the Jessie she heard mentioned when the glass broke, her name used in a way like she might have been responsible? One act of violence suggested another.

Hey, she didn’t care who freed her. The plastic strips around her ankles and wrists dug painfully into her swelling flesh, and her elbows and knees screamed from hours in their locked position. The kind of torture that worked.

But after glancing at the door hiding her, the woman—call her Jessie, who couldn’t have weighed a hundred pounds—strolled straight to the barn’s main attraction, the Air Force’s stolen autocannon. She acted as if she had no clue what it was.

Sunny needed to think. Jessie looked neither tough nor dangerous, though Sunny had only a distant half-profile of her face, and the thirty-something, frail-looking woman with the short brown hair had to be the winner of whatever gun battle took place. No men walked around. No engines had started up. Nor did Jessie appear worried about anyone sneaking up behind her. Her complete attention focused on a computer beside the cannon.

Instinctively, Sunny wanted to yell for help, take a chance Jessie would free her. But maybe Jessie was part of the gang who’d stolen the autocannon. Maybe she’d killed everybody else to take the biggest share and wouldn’t hesitate killing any witnesses.

Maybe she should keep quiet. Her pulse spiked, realizing any decision might be final.

If she kept quiet, she’d probably die of thirst. Maybe no one alive knew she was in the closet. All three of the men must at least be injured, maybe dead, and were all villains, anyway. How would she ever free herself from the plastic strips in time to save herself? Dehydration already stalked her. She’d fall unconscious, probably die in less than seventy-two hours.

She filled her lungs and gave the scream everything she had. “Help!”

Under the door, she watched Jessie duck her head as she approached the closet. The woman’s sandals clicked on the cement, but her face stayed hidden. Red welts marked both her shoulders, from armpit to bra strap. A third red mark discolored her belly. Someone had physically abused Jessie.

To avoid being bumped or stepped on, Sunny slid away from the door. She held her breath when the footsteps stopped, but the door didn’t open. Seemed like a bad development.

“Who needs help?” Jessie asked. The door muffled her voice.

“United States Air Force Special Agent S. Hicks. The man in the brown uniform kidnapped me. I really need water.”

“What’s the S stand for?”

Unbelievable. “Sunny.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding.”

“Are you wearing a blindfold?”

A seriously bad development. “Not anymore,” she said. “The guy in the brown uniform took off the smelly oil rag when he threw me in here. I need water.”

“Why did he kidnap you?”

That sounded better. “I found evidence pertaining to that stolen Air Force weapon, the automatic cannon on that trailer behind you. The man in the uniform was part of the gang who stole it.”

“He was watching when you found the evidence?”

“He must have been, yes,” she said. “If you shot him, you might get a reward.”

Silence.

“Did you shoot the whole gang?” Sunny said.

Silence.

“I’m not a cop,” she said. “Remember, I’m Air Force, hunting for that weapon.”

“I need to think a minute,” Jessie said. “I’ll get you some water.”

The beat of Jessie’s sandals clicking away sent cold arrows into her gut. Not untying her right away felt like major trouble, as did her asking about a blindfold. Jessie may or may not have been involved in the crime, but one thing she knew. Jessie was a killer. Nine gunshots and Jessie wounded only once.

 

 

Jessie’s footfalls resurfaced a few minutes later. Her pace measured and quick this time, not the hotel-lobby stroll from before. Determined. Busy. The clicking sandals came to a halt inches beyond Sunny’s door.

Sunny’s pulse picked up. To stay calm, she concentrated on her breathing, in through the nose, out through the lips. A technique Uncle Sal had taught her, Sal a friend of her father.

“First,” Jessie said, “before we talk about this water, I need you to promise you won’t run, or take off the blindfold I’m going to make you wear. If you do either, I’ll have to shoot you like I did my rat bastard husband and his friends.”

“You killed four men?”

“Three. Somebody left.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But a motorcycle was gone.”

“No,” she said. “I mean, why did you kill three men?”

“My husband abused me for six years, and I got scars and broken bones to prove it. The bastard was mad again today, about to punch me. This time I shot him.”

“And the other two?”

“His two friends came out of the barn, both carrying. They flanked me and drew on me. I had no choice.”

Sunny believed her. “Then all you have to do is call the police.”

Jessie scoffed.

She was so thirsty, talking scratched her throat. “You didn’t murder anybody. It was self-defense.”

“Maybe,” Jessie said. “Except I don’t think I’m done shooting people.”

She kept her mouth shut. Not an easy trick after Jessie asked her to turn her face away from the doorway. She half-figured she’d be shot in the head. But when the closet door opened, Jessie applied a Halloween blindfold or old-fashioned sleep aid to her skull, not a bullet. Rubber bands wrapped her ears and held the mask snugly in place.

She heard the light switch flip on. A stripe of brightness appeared on her cheeks.

“Can you see anything?” Jessie said.

She nodded. “A little light at the bottom edge of the mask. A thin strip.”

“That’s okay. If you were tied up like this all day, I probably don’t have to worry about you getting physical when I untie you, do I? At least right away?”

She shook her head. “Never.”

Jessie snickered. “Okay, then. Here we go.”

The plastic ties around her ankles came off first. Then her wrists. She rubbed her aching muscles and tried to push up. Pain stopped her, her elbows and knees both crashing as supports. The sensation of freedom was powerful and encouraging, but Jessie had good reason to kill her. She stayed wary.

“Push up onto both knees,” Jessie said. “I’ll help you stand.”

“Can I have that water first?”

“Sure.”

She worked up to her fiery knees. The pain traveled the length of her spine when Jessie pushed a plastic container into her hands. Thin, flexible plastic, like a large Dixie cup. She smelled nothing. She sipped, then gulped the freshest, best water she’d ever tasted. She needed only one break for air to empty the cup.

“Are you ready to stand?” Jessie said.

“I’ll try.”

Jessie gripped her elbows from behind. The water bringing her back to life.

“Let me help,” Jessie said.

Her hands and wrists easily pulled Sunny erect. Should she scream for help? She couldn’t make out other voices, and nine gunshots hadn’t brought a cop or even a neighbor.

Better shut up. No one would hear.

“I need to sit here a minute,” she said. “You mind?”

“Maybe a minute. But we have to leave. My husband has other friends who could show up. He liked to brag.”

“Can I have more water?”

“Soon as you can walk. The faucet is by the trailer. Ready to try again?”

“What trailer?”

“Never mind. You ready or not?”

“Not really,” she said.

“Try anyway.”

“Where are we going?”

“Outside to a truck. If you behave yourself, keep the blindfold on, I’ll drop you off where you can call for help.”

“Sounds good,” Sunny said. “But I still think you should call the police. I don’t see you’ve committed any crimes—yet.”

“Really? That’s what you think?”

“I’m no lawyer, but—”

“Man, that’s for sure.”

“Holding me, driving me somewhere is a big crime, though—kidnapping,” she said. “Plus, I told you the weapon was stolen Air Force property. Not reporting stolen items makes you an accessory, maybe receiving stolen property, too.”

Jessie grunted. “You and Snoopy with the five-cent advice. Come on, let’s get out of this closet. Watch yourself going through the doorway.”

She usually had more success at logical persuasion. She’d majored in communications at the academy. Written a lot of Air Force press releases over her two tours of duty. Taken several base commanders to the toolshed for a verbal whipping on media relations.

Jessie’s hand guided her forearm, steering her with pressure, or tugging to go forward. “You probably should stop mentioning my serious crimes,” Jessie said, “giving me reasons to shoot you. You seem smart otherwise.”

Good advice, and the two-minute, staggering hike across the barn floor brought fresher air to Sunny’s face. Also, the walk gave her time to worry about her mistake. Jessie said she’d drive her somewhere, but would she really leave a witness alive? She’d killed three men. Why not another woman?

She wondered when to make her move. She was determined to try something. She couldn’t take the chance Jessie would keep her word. Jessie was tiny, and despite her grip, couldn’t be that strong. She hadn’t practiced her martial arts much, but she knew how to strike hard, adding power by turning her hip, using her weight.

And she knew debilitating spots to strike.

The only snag might be her muscles. Would they work well enough—say enough to take Jessie’s weapon—after spending the day tied up?

“You’re moving better,” Jessie said. “I’ll have to tie you in the truck. I promise I won’t hurt you if you go along.”

“I promise.”

“Okay, we’re almost there,” Jessie said. “We’ll take Nolan’s truck.”

Shuffling beside her captor, Jessie’s hand still on her forearm, she realized her plans were total crap. Martial arts required training and rehearsal, working out with instructors three or more times a week. She no longer practiced.

Plus, no kick or punch was going to stop a bullet.

But despite her fears about disarming Jessie, she decided she didn’t have a choice. No matter what Jessie said, or how nice she acted, her intention could easily be to kill her, not drop her off. That meant a surprise move had to come soon.

Before Jessie wrapped Sunny’s hands again.

Jessie pulled her outside the barn, a hand on her forearm. Warmer but fresher air caressed her face. Through the slit at the bottom of her blindfold, she watched her sneakers land on reddish, grainy soil.

She lingered at the barn’s threshold, deeply inhaling the better air, encouraging Jessie to move ahead. She hoped Jessie would take the lead and reach back for her arm. Jessie’s tug would aid in shifting her weight and guiding her kick.

Her heart quickened. She knew what rumbled in her gut. But she stuck by her decision to fight, even wearing the blindfold. By slowing down and stopping in the doorway, she’d forced Jessie to yank on Sunny’s right arm.

She gripped Jessie’s wrist in return. Then tugged and kick—

What happened in class when you grabbed the target, the target naturally pulled away trying to free themselves. That’s when the aggressor—in this case, Sunny—would throw a strong sidekick into the target’s exposed ribs below the armpit, never letting go of the target’s arm. Broken ribs were pretty much guaranteed. Incapacitation. And the best part, the blindfold shouldn’t matter to the kick because she held Jessie’s wrist and knew where to aim.

Unfortunately, Jessie didn’t pull away.

Like an instructor demonstrating the perfect defense, Jessie stepped toward the tugging, crowding and blocking the launch of Sunny’s sidekick. For a split second, she hung awkwardly, off balance with all of her weight on one foot. One knee and leg in the air, all limbs helplessly contained by Jessie’s hip and elbow.

That’s the moment Jessie shoved her to the dirt.