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“This here’s Heather. Our little sister,” Russo said. “A right pretty thing, ain’t she?”
Heather looked down at her lap. From the way her cheek flexed, she seemed to be grinding her teeth together.
“I’m going to get us some dinner,” Russo said. “You two wait here.”
He went around the back of my chair and before I realized what he was doing, he’d locked my left ankle around the leg of my chair. “Now you two be good and I’ll let you eat all the chicken you want.” He ambled off toward the galley kitchen.
“You okay?” I whispered.
Heather shook her head no, her gaze darting to the one-wall kitchen common in small spaces. Russo was currently occupied taking a bucket of fried chicken out of a bag. She whispered back to me. “I tried to get away last night and he hit me with his gun.” She touched her shoulder where the blood had soaked through her shirt with her right hand. “My arm’s broken. I’m a nurse so I know.”
I bit back a yelp of dismay and leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “We’ll get of here. Just stay calm.”
A nurse? Did she know how to set a broken arm herself? If we didn’t get help for her, she might have permanent damage. I would use this as a reason to let us go. How exactly, I wasn’t yet sure. Appeal to his sense of family?
“None of that,” Russo shouted, causing us both to jump. “There will be no secrets among us. We’re a family now. You can’t leave me out.”
Russo brought the chicken and several sides, as well as a bottle of Chianti, to the table. He sat on the opposite side of the table and smacked his lips as if we were just three friends sitting down for dinner.
“So, should we play one of those ‘get to know’ you games?” Russo asked, picking a piece of chicken out of the cardboard bucket and sliding it toward us.
I took a piece of chicken to appease him. I tried to convey through telepathy that Heather should take one too. My instincts told me he needed us to play along. If we did so, I didn’t think he’d hurt us.
She may have heard me, because she also put a piece of chicken on her own plate.
Russo poured three servings of wine into mason jars and placed them before us. Back in his chair, he lifted his for a toast. “To family. Reunited at last.”
I touched my glass to his, willing away the shudder that went up the back of my spine because of the close proximity to my kidnapper. I caught Heather’s eye and nodded, hoping she would understand that toasting him would keep him calm and well within his delusional state that we were a family. She got the hint, lifting her glass and clicking it against his and mine.
“How long have you been here?” I asked Heather.
“Two days,” Russo said, before she could answer. “She’s not much of a talker.”
“Because you had a gag on me.” Heather spoke through gritted teeth.
“Only because you wouldn’t stop screaming. We can’t have that, little sister.”
Play his game.I could almost hear Aunt Biddie advising me.See if you can get anything out of him that would help you escape.She had always been so good at reading people and drawing them out. As a teenager, it had been impossible to keep anything from her.
“How did you find us?” I asked him again.
“It wasn’t hard at all.” He scooped a heap of the runny mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Our father told me before he died that I had two sisters. He knew your mothers’ names and where they’d lived when he knew them. With that to go on, it was easy to find you. You two really should be more careful about what you post on social media. There were way too many photos with recognizable landmarks behind you. For example, Elliot—posting photos of the restaurant where you worked back in Seattle? Only an idiot wouldn’t be able to find you.”
Play to his ego.
“Maybe you’re just a great detective,” I said, infusing my words with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.
He beamed. “Thank you. I do what I can. Especially when it’s as important as family.”
“Where are you from?” I asked Heather.
“Boise.” Her voice sounded hoarse. She’d been screaming for help before he gagged her. “I’m a nurse at one of the local hospitals.”
“She isn’t married either. Isn’t that interesting?” Russo asked. “All three of us single?”
“We’re all still young,” I said, hoping they would share their ages with me. I needed to understand the timeline. “I’m thirty-one. How about you two?”
Russo answered first. “I’m a year older than you, and our pretty little sister here is two years younger than you. Our dad was a real tomcat, you know what I mean?” He winked one bulgy eye. “But we’re the only ones. That he knew of anyway.”
