Jeff Abbott - Trust Me

He worked steadily in the darkness, without panic. He unscrewed the first leg and worked the chain loose. Moved to the second. Now the back legs of the bed were both free. He started on the third leg. Then the fourth. His fingertips felt raw.

And with the last leg removed, he shivered in relief. He staggered to the far wall, the chains still on his ankles and wrists, but free from the bed.

The barest glimmer of light began to touch the edge of the curtains.

Flashlights?

Whoever was coming would hear him, running with the clinking shackles. He remembered Eric had taken the keys to unlock the shackles from underneath the flowerpot. God only knew if Eric or Aubrey had returned them.

If he went out the front door whoever was coming would see him. He opened the room’s door, shuffled toward the back door. He tested it. Locked. He undid the deadbolt, eased the door open, and waddled out, trying to keep the chains silent.

He closed the door behind him.

The night lay heavy and dark against the trees. The rain had stopped, and the wind hissed in the pines. Luke could hear voices and footsteps on gravel. A man. A woman. For a crazy moment he thought Eric and Aubrey had returned. But too much time had passed, and they had been far too anxious to escape and leave him to his fate.

‘Here’s the problem with blowing up casinos,’ the man said. A bit of complaint in his voice. ‘It’s mostly going to affect just one industry.’

‘No,’ the woman said. ‘It makes entertainment venues likely targets. There’s a trickle-down effect, to theme parks, movie houses, resorts…’

They clearly weren’t cops coming to rescue him. Blowing up casinos sounded like a plan hatched by one of his Night Road buddies. His heart boomed in his chest.

Luke heard another mumbled cursing – from the woman – and then the key working the lock, the front door opening.

Luke ran along the edge of the house, toward the front door, clutching the chains closer to him. He lay in the dirt close to the cabin. Risked a look around the corner. The front door was open and light came from the rectangle of the door. The flowerpot had been moved from its base.

Maybe the keys to the shackles were still there, waiting for Henry if he’d changed his mind about the ransom. He stood, slowly, trying to see if he could spot a silvery glint on the step.

‘We’re screwed,’ he heard the woman say. She had a low, raspy voice. ‘Or maybe he was never here.’

‘Someone was chained to that bed. He dismantled it. We better report in,’ the man answered in a heavy baritone.

‘He’s in chains, he can’t have gotten far,’ she said. Her tone was like an echo in a cave of wet stone.

‘Maybe someone came and collected him. Whoever grabbed him changed their mind, took him again.’

‘No, Mouser,’ he heard the woman say. ‘They would’ve just unlocked him or killed him on the bed. Luke pulled an escape trick.’ He heard a foot kick at the broken desk.

Mouser? And this woman knew Luke’s name.

Luke put his eye back to the cabin’s corner. It wouldn’t take them long to search the upstairs and the downstairs. Maybe just a couple of minutes. He’d have a few seconds alone with the keys, if they were still under the flowerpot. Then he could run like hell, vanish into the woods.

The woman stepped out onto the front step. She was tall, thin, wearing jeans. From the light inside the cabin, he could see a crown of dyed white hair and a thin tracery of scar along her jawline. She held a gun in her hand and a flashlight in the other. She walked toward the woods. Away from him.

Luke would wait for the trees to swallow the woman, and then he’d hurry and retrieve the keys to the chains if they were there. At least get his legs free. Then he could run.

She stepped into the heavy darkness of the trees.

He turtled toward the flowerpot, trying to move quietly enough where the crinkle of the chains sounded like the wind nuzzling the pines.

Luke knelt by the flowerpot. He heard the man call out from deep inside the house, ‘There’s food in the fridge.’

He tipped over the flowerpot. The keys to the shackles were gone.

Behind him the woman called, ‘You’re not very smart, are you?’

‘I guess not.’ Luke stood and faced her.

The woman wasn’t even bothering to point the gun at him. She walked close to him, and aimed the flashlight into his face. ‘Don’t take it the wrong way. I’m amazed you even got halfway free.’

So close, he thought. He noticed she wasn’t aiming the gun at him and wondered if she even considered him a threat. In a flash he thought: you’ve studied these people but you’ve never faced them. This is different than reading a book or a loudmouth posting on the web. You can’t analyze them, you just have to fight them. Because you know what they’re like. Single-minded. Brutal. Reasoning hadn’t worked with Eric; it wouldn’t work with these two.

Luke felt the quiet scholar in him easing backward, something new and primal emerging.

‘Mouser, he’s out here. Still in chains. Looks like he’s auditioning for A Christmas Carol.’ She laughed, a glassy sick giggle. ‘He looks like Jacob Marley. C’m’ere, schoolboy.’

Luke jumped at her, hammering into her before she could lift the gun, shoving the flashlight so it smacked her in the face. He fell to the grass with her and lassoed a length of the chain around her neck. She swung the gun at him, nailing him in the head, but he was tall and strong and desperate. He got her in front of him, the chain a choker across her throat. He knocked her down, pried the gun from her fingers as he yanked her back to her feet.

The man – Mouser – rushed into the doorway. He aimed his gun at Luke’s head. ‘Let her go.’

‘No. She comes with me.’ His voice broke, like a teenage boy’s. Luke put the gun on her head. The chain was a twisted braid in his left fist, the gun in his right hand. Don’t think, just do.

Mouser lowered the gun and Luke saw the gesture for what the woman’s laughter was – a sign of contempt. This couple weren’t remotely afraid of him, not even with him having a gun.

‘So you stay there,’ Luke said to him. ‘All right?’

‘Luke Dantry,’ Mouser said. ‘We’re here from your stepdad. Here to help you, find out who took you.’

‘You’re not the police,’ Luke said.

‘No, we’re better. Don’t be a stupid kid. Let her go and we’ll call him.’

But they were talking about bombing casinos and resorts. ‘I just want the keys to these shackles,’ Luke said.

‘You don’t know what a can of kick-ass you just opened up on yourself.’ Mouser sat on the porch step, with a sign of anticipation. Ready for the show to begin.

It was not what Luke expected. ‘Where are the keys?’ he yelled. The woman began to choke and he realized how tight the chain was across her throat. He eased his grip. But barely.

‘I’m going to… obliterate… you,’ the woman said.

‘Snow means what she says,’ Mouser added.

‘Where are the keys?’ Luke yelled again at Mouser. He tightened the chain again.

The woman pointed at Mouser. ‘His pocket.’

‘Toss the keys to her,’ Luke said.

Mouser didn’t stand. ‘Snow? How you want to go here?’

‘Give him the keys,’ Snow said.

‘Whatever you say,’ Mouser lumbered to his feet, dug in his pockets and tossed the keys. Snow caught them deftly.

‘Unlock me. The feet first.’

‘You think you’re smart because you escaped from a bed?’ She unlocked the chains binding his feet. Her skin was cool against his ankles. He pulled her back straight to him; she didn’t resist. He kicked the shackles free.

‘Be still and I’ll unlock your hands,’ she said. ‘Then we’ll play for real, schoolboy.’