His phone buzzed and jolted him to attention. He yanked it from his pocket. His thumb flew across the screen. His eyes darted back and forth as he read. Then, with a sharp exhale,he shoved the phone away like he was mad at it and laid it on his left thigh. He sat there for a few more minutes, angrily drumming his fingers on his other leg like he was thinking hard. Angry tension filled the air. Suddenly, he jumped up and went to the front door.
There was a backpack sitting next to his boots, and he crouched down by it, unzipping it as fast as he could. He paused and quickly glanced around the cabin like he was afraid of being watched, even though it was just us in this one-room prison. Except what if we weren’t alone? I’d never once stopped to consider that he might be working with somebody else. Were there cameras?
I wanted to get up and move. Shift from my position so that I could look for cameras, but I didn’t dare. I was invested in pretending to be nearly dead from my concussion for as long as possible. I thought about all the people who were looking for me by now. My parents would be terrified. They’d be calling all my relatives and organizing search parties. Also, fighting. There was a reason they got divorced when I was five, but this crisis would bring them together the same way we all came together on the holidays. Thankfully, Big Bear was only a two-hour drive from Los Angeles when there was no traffic. Somebody would find me soon. I just had to stay alive long enough until they did.
I barely breathed while he rifled through the backpack. He pulled out a thick folder. The corners were bent and frayed like the folder had been through a lot. It was stuffed with loose papers. He flipped it open, muttering to himself as he shuffled through the pages. Was he looking at numbers? Maps? I couldn’t make out anything on them from across the room, but I saw the way his lips moved. He was counting and reciting something like a student drilling himself for finals.
He pulled out another sheet and then stopped. He sat there, holding it out in front of him, and stared at it for a long time before crumpling it in his fist and tossing it on the ground.
“Never again,” he said, clenching his jaw. “They’re going to pay attention to me this time.”
He shoved the papers back in the folder and jammed the folder into the backpack, zipping it shut with a violent tug. He walked over to the table and pressed his fists against it while he stood there taking slow, rigid breaths. I wished he wasn’t wearing a mask so I could see his facial expression.
Was grabbing me connected to whatever was in those papers? My mind reeled, trying to imagine anything I might’ve done to make him want to hurt me, but I’d already been down that path before and found nothing. The only thing I knew for sure was that this wasn’t random. Was I at the end of his rage or just the beginning?
Chapter Six
The scrape of boots on the floor by my head snapped my eyes open even though I hadn’t been asleep.
“Get up,” Dawson ordered, kicking the mattress.
I’d been lying here straining for the sounds of anyone searching for me. For the thrum of a helicopter. People calling my name. The police. That’s what I really wanted—a police officer to show up at the door and rescue me from this nightmare. I was really hoping someone would’ve found me by now.
I didn’t want to talk to Dawson or even look at him, but I didn’t have any other choice. He hadn’t moved from his position above me. I stared at the floor while I tried to push myself up, but I couldn’t stand. Fear had turned all my muscles to mush.
“I said, get up!” He yanked me to my feet, making the world spin and move way too fast. His fingernails dug into my arm as he pulled me toward the door.
The gag around my mouth hung from my neck like a chain. I must’ve worked it off in my sleep. “Where are you taking me?” I asked.
He ignored me and kept dragging me across the cabin while I struggled against him. But I was weak and he quickly overpowered me, twisting my arms behind my back. Hewhipped open the door and shoved me outside. The cold air slapped my face. Pine trees surrounded us. He pulled me along in the direction of the truck.
“Where are we going? What are you doing?” I couldn’t hide the fear in my voice. I didn’t want to get back in that truck. But we weren’t going in there. He shoved me toward the back of the cabin.
It was hard to walk with my ankles tied together, and I tripped, sprawling onto my knees in the dirt. Dawson bent over to grab me, and that’s when I saw the gun. Something about the sight of it made everything focus, narrowing my vision to a pinpoint. I could barely see through the throbbing pain and fireworks popping off in my brain, but seeing the gun was like a shot of Narcan straight to my heart.
This man might actually kill me.
He steered me away from the truck—it was definitely an LA city worker’s truck. The yellow sticker a telltale sign on both doors. Did he work for the city or had he stolen the truck the same way he’d stolen me?
We reached a clearing behind the cabin, and that’s when I spotted an orange Home Depot bucket sitting there in the dirt. He walked me over to it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. Fully aware of what we were doing out here now and what he expected to happen.
His shoulders stiffened, and he tilted his masked face toward me. “Sorry.” His voice was quiet. Nothing like his angry voice. He sounded ... genuine. Almost apologetic. Like he knew exactly how humiliating this was and part of him wished he didn’t have to do it.
It threw me off balance.
I softened my eyes and tried to look kind as I looked up at him. “Why are you doing this?”
He just stared back at me and said nothing. The silence stretched out between us until I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, he spoke softly, and it was barely audible. “It’s not about you.”
My heart skittered.Not about me.The words were supposed to be a relief, but they weren’t. It was hard to believe it wasn’t when you were bound and gagged. I took a shaky breath. “Please don’t hurt me. I’m a good person. Really, I am. I have a dog. Oliver. That’s his name. He’s like my child, I swear, and I’m all he has. He probably misses me.” My throat tightened, but I forced the words out. “I just want to get back to him. Please.”
He shifted his weight. “Don’t—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make it personal.” He was back to sounding angry again.
