Somewhere in Spain
The white light under the plywood was back. The room was an oven again. Another Spanish afternoon.
Which as far as Kira could tell meant it was Monday, the second full day since they’d taken her. Wasn’t there a show about this? The First 48? If the detectives can’t solve the case in forty-eight hours, they have no chance. Might as well burn the file.
But those were murders, right? And she was still alive. So good news.
Since the fight between Jacques and Rodrigo the house had been mostly quiet. A television played faintly downstairs, but they’d left her alone. She wondered if they’d made a ransom demand. If they thought Becks and Bri could pay millions of dollars they would be disappointed.
Anyway, how did they plan to escape with the money? Some untraceable cryptocurrency thing like Bitcoin? She wasn’t even sure how Bitcoin worked. Plain old cash or diamonds?
Not her problem. No doubt Jacques had an idea on how to take the money and run. Assuming he really did plan to ransom her and not sell her to the highest bidder—
Steps along the hall. Rodrigo again, based on the heavy tread.
The deadbolt popped back, the door swung open.
Yep, Rodrigo. A plastic bag in his hand. He stood in the doorway and tossed it at her. Inside the bag, a bottle of water and a granola bar.
She wondered why Jacques had sent Rodrigo to deliver the water. Probably just to prove he could. You go, and don’t touch her.
Rodrigo started to close the door.
“Wait, please. The toilet.” And another shot at the razors. Though, truly, she did have to pee. “Please.”
“She’s downstairs. She can take you.”
Kira had almost forgotten about Lilly. She hadn’t been up here once, as if she had decided Kira wasn’t worth her time. Let the boys fight over your skanky American ass.
“I don’t trust her.”
“You trust me?” But he waved his hand for her to get up.
She walked down the hall, looking for anything she might have missed the day before. Nothing.
Into the bathroom. “A shower would be nice.”
“You don’t want a shower.”
He closed the door, leaving her to work out why: Because it means we’re going to give you to someone who wants you clean all over.
“No razors,” he said through the door.
So much for that plan. She pushed aside the grimy shower curtain. A bottle of shampoo and one of conditioner, Spanish, generic. A bar of pink soap. Useless.
On the sink. The razors. The toothbrushes. A tube of Licor del Polo, squeezed haphazardly. Becks would hate that. Becks rolled up toothpaste tubes neatly—
Focus.
Kira eased open the cabinet mirror. Two shelves. On the top, two pill bottles, empty. On the bottom, a dozen bottles of nail polish. In case Rodrigo wanted to freshen up.
And scattered in with them: three travel-size bottles of polish remover.
Acetone.
As good as lighter fluid. Put a flame to the stuff and up it went.
She grabbed a bottle of polish remover, closed the cabinet door.
She sat on the toilet and peed as she considered the bottle. It still had the plastic ring around its cap. Would they notice it was gone? Probably not. There were still two others. And they’d all been mixed in with the polish.
But what now? Obviously she couldn’t carry it out.
“Vamos,” Rodrigo said.
“Just a second, please.”
One place she could hide it and be sure he wouldn’t see. Back in the closet she could take it out—
What if the cap came off?
It wouldn’t, it was sealed—
Fuel. She had to have it.
“I count ten,” Rodrigo said.
She stuffed the bottle inside her. It wasn’t huge but the shape was weird. She bit her lip so she wouldn’t yell, pushed harder.
She stood up from the toilet, smoothed her skirt as the door swung open, leaned over to wash her hands.
“Too long,” Rodrigo said.
“You’re keeping me hydrated.”
Rodrigo grabbed her shoulder as the bottle dug at her from the inside. Add nail polish remover to the long list of people and things that didn’t belong in her vagina.
She stared herself down, Don’t you make a noise, don’t even think about it. Rodrigo was next to her, all tattoos and body odor. He looked at her side-eyed, like he knew something was wrong but couldn’t figure out what.
Take a guess, big guy.
No, guess again.
“You can brush your teeth too.”
Was he messing with her? Or did he just want her breath to be minty fresh the next time he tried to rape her? Sorry, Rodrigo, the space you want is already occupied. She carefully squeezed the toothpaste—Becks would be proud—gave herself a thorough brush. Rodrigo closed the door to the bathroom.
“I shouldn’t say,” he said. “But tomorrow we move you again. I don’t know where.”
She should have been frightened but she wasn’t. Not with the lighter, not with the fuel.
“I want to see you.” Her only play. Could she make him believe? “Alone. Tonight.”
“What for?”
“Can you?”
Before she could reconsider, she put her hands to his face, kissed him. Not a peck this time, the real thing. If you’re gonna kiss him, make it good, make him like it. She hadn’t been this conscious of the mechanics of a kiss since her first kiss. His breath stank of weed but he wasn’t a bad kisser. He didn’t attack with his tongue, didn’t bite her lip or do anything fancy, just opened his mouth and inhaled her. He grunted, the sound of a boy who had closed his eyes and swung and somehow sent the ball over the fence.
Nothing else. Let his imagination do the rest. She pulled back.
“Take me back. Before they notice.”
Back in the dark she waited until his footsteps faded away. She lay on her back, eased out the bottle. She was tender but she didn’t think she’d done any permanent damage. Anyway, now she had it. For a moment she panicked, what if it was a non-acetone brand? She unscrewed the cap, sniffed the liquid inside. Acetone for sure, every woman knew the smell.
Had Rodrigo believed her? Men were so unbelievably stupid about sex.
She put the acetone on the shelf with the lighter and nail. Though she didn’t think she needed the nail anymore.
Now she had a weapon. Fire. The Daenerys Targaryen of kidnapped American chicks. Of course, it hadn’t ended so great for Daenerys.
She’d have one chance. If she failed he’d surely kill her. Even his fear of Jacques wouldn’t stop him. He’d strangle her, put his hands around her neck and choke her until her eyes bulged out—
No. She couldn’t let fear paralyze her. They thought they’d broken her already. She had to prove them wrong.
Footsteps. The door swung open.
Jacques.
The worst of them. Though they were all the worst.
“Time for mommy and daddy to hear your voice.”