layers.
If only he could get his hands in front
of him to see what he was doing. Short of dislocating his shoulder,
he couldn’t get his hips through his arms. Half an inch more. Might
as well be a yard.
He inched backward to the corner where
his tools lay spread on the floor. He closed his eyes, visualizing
the location of each tool. Again, his father’s voice broke in.
A place for everything, son. Time’s too
precious to waste in the looking.
His fingers located the utility knife.
He’d be as likely to slit his wrists as the duct tape binding them.
Stop. Think. He managed to extend the blade and work the handle
into the back pocket of his jeans. Slowly, carefully, he edged the
tape against the blade. Patience. Little cuts. Test the tape. More
cuts. Try again.
The sound of the tape ripping came a
split second before his hands flew apart. He grabbed the knife and
slit the tape around his ankles. He pulled himself to his feet and
stepped outside. A glance at his watch told him he’d been out for
nearly two hours. And, apparently Kelli had taken his truck. He set
out for the house. The storm had lightened to a gentle shower,
refreshing him as he wobbled along the path. A scream pierced the
air and he broke into a staggering run.
He slowed when he reached the foot of
the stairs. He strained his ears, trying to pick up sounds from
inside the house. After that one scream, there had been silence.
For a fleeting moment, he debated ignoring it. After all, she’d
drugged his coffee and pointed a gun at him. Trussed him like a
turkey. Stolen his truck.
He made a quick circuit of the house,
listening at windows, trying to stay out of sight. And trying to
ignore the pain in his head and the way the world kept going out of
focus. A throaty laugh—a man’s throaty laugh—came from her bedroom.
He rushed to the front porch. His head throbbed as he climbed the
stairs. The front door was ajar. Her bedroom door was closed. He
tiptoed over, tested the knob. Unlocked. The male voice growled
from inside. And a female voice, whimpering. The sound sent bile to
his throat. Much as he wanted to pay Kelli back for what she’d done
to him, this was not what he would wish on her.
He pressed his fingertips to the door
and it creaked open a few inches. He held his breath and peered
inside. A man, hands at his hips, hovered above the bed, his back
to the door. Blake leaned aside enough to reveal what the man’s
body blocked from view.
Blake thought the fear on Kelli’s face
would be forever etched in his mind. She was on the bed, cowering,
her eyes glued to her captor. The man shoved Kelli onto her back.
Why wasn’t she fighting? Resigned to her fate? Afraid he’d hurt her
more if she fought back? Even her whimpering had stopped. The man
reached for Kelli’s waist.
Had she passed out? Blake inched the
door open wide enough to admit his body and took half a step into
the room. The man’s boots and parka were by the bed. His hands
dropped to his waist. He heard a belt being unbuckled, a zipper
released.
“ Let her go, you
scumbag!” Blake barreled across the room, caught the man by the
shoulders, dragged him away from Kelli. Scumbag, tangled in his
dropped trousers, stumbled and fell backward, bringing them both
down. Blake ignored the pain that shot through his shoulder when he
hit the floor.
He tried to subdue the creep with a
forearm to his throat. The man squirmed away, kicking and flailing
and managed to reverse their positions. Blake’s head crashed back
onto the floor and stars shot across his field of vision. He shook
his head to clear it, realizing immediately it was a stupid idea.
When he focused, Scumbag had shaken free of his pants and was
leaning over him. The guy was wearing boxers with yellow happy
faces. Blake was not going down to a man who wore smilies on
his shorts.
He scissored his legs, caught Scumbag
around an ankle with one, and kicked out with the other. While the
man struggled to regain his balance,
If only he could get his hands in front
of him to see what he was doing. Short of dislocating his shoulder,
he couldn’t get his hips through his arms. Half an inch more. Might
as well be a yard.
He inched backward to the corner where
his tools lay spread on the floor. He closed his eyes, visualizing
the location of each tool. Again, his father’s voice broke in.
A place for everything, son. Time’s too
precious to waste in the looking.
His fingers located the utility knife.
He’d be as likely to slit his wrists as the duct tape binding them.
Stop. Think. He managed to extend the blade and work the handle
into the back pocket of his jeans. Slowly, carefully, he edged the
tape against the blade. Patience. Little cuts. Test the tape. More
cuts. Try again.
The sound of the tape ripping came a
split second before his hands flew apart. He grabbed the knife and
slit the tape around his ankles. He pulled himself to his feet and
stepped outside. A glance at his watch told him he’d been out for
nearly two hours. And, apparently Kelli had taken his truck. He set
out for the house. The storm had lightened to a gentle shower,
refreshing him as he wobbled along the path. A scream pierced the
air and he broke into a staggering run.
He slowed when he reached the foot of
the stairs. He strained his ears, trying to pick up sounds from
inside the house. After that one scream, there had been silence.
For a fleeting moment, he debated ignoring it. After all, she’d
drugged his coffee and pointed a gun at him. Trussed him like a
turkey. Stolen his truck.
He made a quick circuit of the house,
listening at windows, trying to stay out of sight. And trying to
ignore the pain in his head and the way the world kept going out of
focus. A throaty laugh—a man’s throaty laugh—came from her bedroom.
He rushed to the front porch. His head throbbed as he climbed the
stairs. The front door was ajar. Her bedroom door was closed. He
tiptoed over, tested the knob. Unlocked. The male voice growled
from inside. And a female voice, whimpering. The sound sent bile to
his throat. Much as he wanted to pay Kelli back for what she’d done
to him, this was not what he would wish on her.
He pressed his fingertips to the door
and it creaked open a few inches. He held his breath and peered
inside. A man, hands at his hips, hovered above the bed, his back
to the door. Blake leaned aside enough to reveal what the man’s
body blocked from view.
Blake thought the fear on Kelli’s face
would be forever etched in his mind. She was on the bed, cowering,
her eyes glued to her captor. The man shoved Kelli onto her back.
Why wasn’t she fighting? Resigned to her fate? Afraid he’d hurt her
more if she fought back? Even her whimpering had stopped. The man
reached for Kelli’s waist.
Had she passed out? Blake inched the
door open wide enough to admit his body and took half a step into
the room. The man’s boots and parka were by the bed. His hands
dropped to his waist. He heard a belt being unbuckled, a zipper
released.
“ Let her go, you
scumbag!” Blake barreled across the room, caught the man by the
shoulders, dragged him away from Kelli. Scumbag, tangled in his
dropped trousers, stumbled and fell backward, bringing them both
down. Blake ignored the pain that shot through his shoulder when he
hit the floor.
He tried to subdue the creep with a
forearm to his throat. The man squirmed away, kicking and flailing
and managed to reverse their positions. Blake’s head crashed back
onto the floor and stars shot across his field of vision. He shook
his head to clear it, realizing immediately it was a stupid idea.
When he focused, Scumbag had shaken free of his pants and was
leaning over him. The guy was wearing boxers with yellow happy
faces. Blake was not going down to a man who wore smilies on
his shorts.
He scissored his legs, caught Scumbag
around an ankle with one, and kicked out with the other. While the
man struggled to regain his balance,
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