Page 143 of D for Dead

She glanced over at Boaz. There was still no sign of life and she couldn’t see him breathing.

God, I’ve got to get out of here.

The van turned a corner sharply, picking up speed, and Amy lost her balance, found herself rolling down the floor towards the doors. She managed to steady herself, started pummelling at the doors with her feet. It was stupid to think they would open, and they didn’t, but she had to try.

She glanced around the floor as her eyes readjusted to the dark, frantically looking for something she could use. The axe hadn’t worked and it had been her best shot.

Then she saw it. On the floor, partially hidden beneath Boaz’s foot, the blade of a hacksaw. Using her foot to nudge his away she pulled the blade towards her. It was broken in half and, like the axe, didn’t look sharp, but she might be able to get the teeth to cut into the rope.

With difficulty she managed to get back onto her knees, holding the blade between the heels of her boots and, pushing her hands down, began to saw at the rope. The van hit a bump in the road and the blade slipped, cutting flesh. Amy yelped, the noise muffled, and squeezed her eyes shut against the pain.

Keep going. Don’t give up.

This time she was more cautious as she started to saw.

Keep it steady. Don’t let the blade slip.

After a couple of minutes she sat up straight, attempted to roll her shoulders and twisted her neck, needing a moment of relief. She tested the rope, her heart skipping a beat when she realised it had loosened. Not enough to free herself, but it was a start. She forced herself to try again, managed to cut through another strand of rope before the van braked sharply and she took another nick to her wrist, dropping the blade.

The driver killed the engine and she heard the door open.

No, please, no. I need more time.

Frantically, Amy yanked at her wrists. There was more give in the rope, but she couldn’t quite get her hands free.

She heard footsteps, heard the sound of the lock and squinted against bright light as the doors opened and the beam of a flashlight was thrust in her face. As the man caught hold of her ankle, started to pull her out of the van, Amy used her free foot to kick out blindly. It connected with bone and she heard a grunt, as the hand briefly released her. She scrambled back, her fear bubbling over as she fought desperately against the knots. They were getting looser, but not enough.

The man set the flashlight down. It was still bright, but not blinding her, and she blinked hard trying to pull him into focus. Then he had hold of her ankles again, this time both of them, and was dragging her from the van. Amy squealed and struggled, determined to keep fighting even when he pulled her to him, banded an arm around her chest to hold her in place.

‘Shush,’ he whispered, his breath hot against her ear and the gesture sickly intimate.

In response she stamped the heel of her boot hard on his foot. He grunted, loosening his grip, then shoved her hard, and she found herself face down in the dirt. She groaned as pain shot through her, drew in a breath, and gingerly rolled over to face her attacker.

Troy Cunningham smiled down at her. ‘Hello, Amy. Ready to play?’

42

The Martin house appeared unoccupied. Weeds grew in the front yard and there was no car on the drive, no light coming from any of the windows. Benson said the place had been rented, but not in a while. If the owners wanted new tenants they would need to clean it up a bit first.

Although it seemed a futile lead, Jake was here now, so might as well take a quick look around. He clicked on the flashlight he had brought, and followed the trail of the beam as he walked around the property. The house was at the end of the row and set apart from the nearest neighbour by tall conifers offering plenty of seclusion. If someone wanted to hide out, it was the perfect place.

Dust was on the windows; the blackness of the interior revealing nothing.

This was a wasted trip. No one was here and his time would be better served elsewhere. Deciding to head over to the sheriff’s office, Jake made his way across the driveway, back to his car. The beam of the flashlight shone over the brickwork, picking up a dark patch.

He stopped, frowning. It looked like oil.

Dropping down he ran his finger over the patch. Definitely oil and it was fresh. Someone had been here, and recently. That thought on his mind, he headed over to the sheriff’s office.

* * *

Wagner was still at his desk, burning the midnight oil.

‘Any news?’

‘Not from Juniper.’ Jake dropped down into one of the two chairs facing Wagner’s desk. ‘They’re still looking.’

‘Guess you’d like to be back there helping with the search.’