Lisa Jackson - Malice

This madwoman Petrocelli, or whatever her name was, intended to kill her. Because she was married to Rick. That’s why the other women were dead; because they’d known her husband.

No. That wasn’t quite right. All of the dead women had known Jennifer, a woman Olivia had never met.

And they were killed. Murdered. Just like you will be if you don’t find a way out of this.

Her limbs were useless, her head spinning. Though she was awake, her eyes wide open, her body still wouldn’t do what she wanted. It was as if her brain were completely disengaged from her muscles, her nerve synapses misfiring.

Oh, God, how had she been so stupid to have trusted the woman? Why hadn’t she checked her ID more carefully? Surely her captor, this lunatic, wasn’t a real police officer with LAPD.

How do you know that? Cops can go crazy, and Petrocelli might just be the psycho.

It didn’t matter. Whoever her abductor was, she was deadly.

Earlier, as she’d been yanked from the car and slipped into the sleeping bag, Olivia had gotten a glimpse of a dark street and looming buildings in an area that smelled of the sea. She had heard her attacker grunting and puffing with exertion as she had lifted Olivia into what seemed to be a cart of some kind. A cart with at least one creaky wheel.

Olivia had tried to yell, to scream, to flail her arms and legs, hoping to either hit her assailant or to attract the attention of anyone who passed by.

But her brain hadn’t been able to force her body to move, hadn’t been able to issue any commands her muscles would obey. The stun gun’s jolt had knocked her senseless, rendered her useless. She’d thought of the baby inside her…Oh, dear God, had it survived the surge of voltage that had rendered her helpless? I’m sorry, she thought, Oh, I’m so, so sorry.

The cart bumped and jangled, her attacker breathing hard as she was rolled over a rough surface. Listening, she heard a jet rumble overhead and then the blast of a foghorn from a boat.

Trying to think, working to pull together her shattered thoughts, Olivia attempted to figure out her surroundings, but it was so dark, so claustrophobic, so damned hot in the sleeping bag, she was having trouble breathing.

Think, Olivia. Don’t give up. You’ve been in tight spots before and when the shock to your system wears off, you can use your hands; at least they’re cuffed in front of you. Don’t give up. Don’t let fear paralyze you. Think of the baby, of Rick. You can’t stop fighting.

Pull it together. There has to be a way!

The surface under the wheels changed, and the cart rolled more smoothly. Then she was hauled upward and, still in the sleeping bag, dropped to a hard surface before being dragged downstairs. It took all her willpower to curl slightly, protecting her abdomen with her flimsy arms. Protecting her baby…

“You could stand to lose a few pounds, you know,” her captor muttered.

At the bottom of the steps, Olivia was dragged for a short distance, then released onto the floor. Through the thick fibers of the sleeping bag she smelled something acrid and foul…urine?

“Welcome home,” the woman taunted with a smug tone in her voice. She was breathing hard from the exertion.

Olivia heard metal jangling. Keys? She strained to listen, all the while flailing wildly as she worked her way to the top of the sleeping bag. Her wrists were still bound, her mouth taped. Frantically, breathing with difficulty, she was able to reach upward in the bag, her fingers slowly and unwillingly tracing the trail of closed zipper teeth to the top, where she found the inside tab and started tugging downward. Time and time again her fingers slipped, her body still not responding to her brain’s commands, her nerves jangled and jumpy, closing in on a full blown panic.

Don’t stop. Work at it. The taser won’t last much longer.

Finally, she pulled hard, lowering her body, dragging the tab, forcing the clenched teeth of the zipper to part.

The woman laughed as she observed Olivia’s pathetic attempts at escape.

Tough!

Olivia wasn’t giving up without a fight.

She kept tugging, pulling on the tab until a rush of urine-tinged air stung her nostrils. The bag opened to reveal the hold of a boat. One lamp gave the room a weird yellow aura, showing Olivia that she was trapped inside a cage with steel bars from ceiling to floor. A cage for animals, judging from the smell and bits of straw wedged into the floorboards. An empty bucket was pushed into one corner near a jug of water. Obviously for her, she thought, her insides turning to ice.

A barred gate was the only access into the cage. As Olivia watched in dull horror the woman who had abducted her inserted a key and locked her inside.

Click!

To Olivia, it sounded like the very knell of death.

“Fool,” the woman said and pulled off a blond wig.

“Make yourself comfortable. You’re going to be here for a while.”

Good. Olivia would rather be alone to plot her escape.

As if reading her thoughts, her captor said, “Oh, and you can work like the devil to take off your gag so you can scream at the top of your lungs, but it doesn’t matter. No one will ever hear you down here.”

She smiled almost beatifically, and fear clamored in Olivia’s chest.

How long did the madwoman plan to keep her here? A day? Two? A week? Forever?

And what then? Surely this wasn’t an elaborate kidnapping. No. Olivia knew the harsh truth; her abductor planned to kill her. And her baby. Oh, dear Lord. It was only a matter of time.

“I wonder what your husband is doing, Olivia? If he’s figured out that you’re missing.” The woman seemed to extract a deep-rooted satisfaction from that thought.

Olivia wanted to rip her to shreds. Now, she forced herself to deal with the maniac.

“Oh, I see.” the nut case was saying, “You think he’s a hero. Made a name for himself in New Orleans as some kind of ace detective, didn’t he? Fooled everyone. Every-damned-one.” She was getting agitated now, her eyes glittering with hatred. “I don’t want to burst your bubble about that fantasy of living happily ever after with your hero. But the truth of the matter is that Rick Bentz is a prick. A has-been cop and not even a good one at that. He killed a kid, did he tell you that?” Her eyebrows lifted as she practically oozed satisfaction over the chance to rant about Bentz to a rapt, captive audience.

“Your husband is a loser, Olivia. And you? It’s just your dumb luck that you married him. Wanna know why? Because your husband is such a major fuck-up, you get to pay the price. You and the others.”

Then, glancing at her watch, she swore and seemed to panic. She searched the hull for a second, lifted a gas can from the rubble, and smiled. “A little no-no I had hidden.”

Olivia’s fear turned to sheer terror.

This maniac was going to set fire to the boat!

While she was trapped inside.

“No,” Olivia sputtered behind the tape. “No!” Angrily, she pulled her hands to her face, scratched at the duct tape until she’d lifted a corner. Then, willing her fingers to work, she yanked the tape off her mouth, peeling skin from her cheeks and lips. “No!” she cried again, but her captor ignored her pleas and hurried up the stairs, her footsteps ringing on the metal rungs.

Oh, God, oh, God, oh God!

“Don’t do this!” she cried.

At the top of the stairs, the woman hesitated for a second. Had she heard Olivia’s pleas? Was she considering giving in to them?

“Please!” Olivia screamed, desperate.

Then she heard the madwoman say, “Screw it!”

Oh, no! Sheer terror coursing through her veins, Olivia screamed and pulled on the gate, hoping to open it. But her hands slipped, her motor skills still affected by the shock. “No! Please.”