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you.”
“I’ve got plenty of that. I charge a lot in my line of business.”
I coughed. So this man wasn’t my enemy. He was simply a hired killer. Someone Rodney Cates had employed. But Rodney Cates was a college professor. He wasn’t a rich man. Gina had said her upbringing was modest. Hired guns didn’t come cheap, at least as far as I knew.
“Who hired you?” I gasped out, wincing at the pain in my ankle.
“I’ve had enough of your talking. Shut up, or I’ll duct-tape your fucking mouth!”
I pinched my lips together. No, he couldn’t take away my ability to scream. I needed that. It might be my only tool once this was underway.
He tied my ankles together with rope instead of duct tape, and I grimaced and groaned again at the pain.
“Hurts, huh? That’s your own damned fault.”
I wanted to scream at him, but I remembered his threat about the duct tape. I needed my voice.
“Funny thing. These days, with modern cars, it takes a damned long time to die this way. Newfangled catalytic converters reduce carbon monoxide emissions by quite a bit. This old thing, though… You won’t be so lucky.”
It was a big garage, and that was in my favor. I’d have to stay as high as I could, where the air would remain clearer. The room was bare but for some old metal shelving. I’d climb on the shelving if I could somehow get myself unbound. If my ankle would support me.
If I couldn’t get unbound, I still had my head. Surely my head was hard enough to break a window. But if I knocked myself out, I’d lose consciousness and die anyway.
The man finished binding my ankles. “Time’s running out, Doctor.”
“How long does it take?” I asked. “To die, I mean.” I knew the answer to that question, of course, being a doctor. But I needed to stall.
“Each case is different. How long do you think it took Gina Cates to die?”
Always the knife, every time someone mentioned Gina. Every damned time. “I don’t know.” And I didn’t, though I could surmise.
“Doesn’t really matter now. She’s dead. A fucking corpse because of you.”
“Did you know her?”
“Fuck, no, I didn’t know her.”
“Then why does this matter to you?” Of course I knew why. Money. But he was talking, and that was good.
“Not your concern.”
“Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it.”
“Sorry.”
“Are you saying you can’t be bought?”
That got a laugh out of him. “You know better than that. But I wouldn’t stay in business for long if I weaseled out of a job for more money. No one would trust me.”
A hired gun with ethics. Interesting.
“Besides,” he continued, “you don’t have any money. You’re bluffing.”
I was bluffing. I made a good living and had a good retirement account started, but I didn’t have the kind of money he wanted.
However, Jonah Steel did.
Would he give it to me to ensure my safety? He was obviously mad at me for running out on him, but he’d wanted me to stay.
