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Jake lay unmoving, his jaw slack. She went rigid with fear. His chest’s erratic jerks up and down were the only signs of life.
Transformed into a wild woman, she clawed at her captor’s muscled arms. She slammed the back of her head against his sternum. He barely grunted.
The goon flipped Claire over his shoulder like a fifty-pound bag of dog food. Grasping the phone and flash drive in one hand, she beat her other fist against his back. She tugged up his black T-shirt and scraped her fingernails across his exposed flesh.
“Keep doing that, bitch, and I’ll kill you for fun.”
He lumbered out of the kitchen toward Harvest’s dining room.
She grabbed the doorframe and clung to the beveled wood, but his forward motion continued. Her fingernails scraped across the wood. Splinters embedded under her nails, making her scream out in pain.
But she refused to give up. He’d kill her no matter what she
did. Well, he’d have a hell of a fight on his hands.
She screamed for help. The dining room’s noise-reducing ceiling tiles absorbed her cries. Fighting against the panic threatening to render her immobile, she knew she had to escape.
Flailing, she knocked over table tents describing the week’s specials. Her hand dragged across a smooth tabletop. Desperate for any weapon, she grasped a set of silverware. Letting out a guttural yell, she lifted it above her head and with every ounce of power she had, she plunged the knife and fork into the goon’s lower back. They sank into his flesh like a knife gutting a suckling pig. Blood spurted from the wound.
“You bitch,” he roared.
He threw her down. Pain rocketed through her head as it bounced against the wood floor. Stunned, she couldn’t move. But it only took a moment for abject terror to motivate her muscles. Her head foggy, she lurched onto her feet and scurried back.
Reaching around with a meaty hand, he plucked the bloody utensils from his back and flung the knife and fork down. They clanked against the pine floor.
“You’ll pay for that.” He thundered after her.
Claire turned and ran as if the devil himself were at her heels. She weaved around tables, aiming for the panic alarm on the hostess stand. His footsteps pounded closer.
If she could just push the button, she and Jake would be safe. Hank would be there in a matter of minutes.
She stretched her arm forward, but went sailing backward.
Gripping her hair in his hand, he tossed her to the floor. He stood over her, his chest heaving and his face flushed. Veins bulged from what little neck he had. Quick as lightning, he leaned down and backhanded her across the face.
For one heartbeat she felt nothing except the certainty that this was going to hurt like hell. In the next moment, throbbing agony took over. Her teeth felt as if they’d been knocked loose.
“You’d better pray I don’t need stitches, bitch.”
Her survival instinct in control, Claire kicked him in the balls. She had enough time to get up to her feet and turn toward the kitchen. But not enough to take a step. He cuffed her again in the head. She staggered.
Looking into the goon’s eyes, she saw only death. He snarled at her. A strange sense of calm came over her, as if she had become an observer instead a participant in the melee. Everything around her came into greater focus. The colors became brighter and her thoughts registered faster.
There were only two things this thug wanted more than her head on a silver platter, the phone and the flash drive. But without them, investigators wouldn’t have a motive for Kendall’s murder. Darcy could walk away a free man.
“You ready to die?” He growled the words.
No. She wanted to live. For once, she wouldn’t just react. Too much was at stake. She’d play it smart, save Jake and avenge Kendall.
In a last ditch effort to survive, she threw the phone and flash drive in one direction then ran in the other. She didn’t stick around to see what he decided to go after. She had to get to the kitchen. Once there, she’d get Jake. They could escape out the delivery entrance.
Her bare feet slapped on the tile floor. A second set echoed her own.
Shit.
Claire dashed toward the kitchen. But he was faster. His hand locked around her wrist. He whirled her around. The malevolent gleam in his eye made her breath catch. She tried to pry his fingers off of her, the whole time hearing someone scream in the distance.
The goon popped her in the face, sending her sprawling to the floor. “I said shut up your screaming.”
