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“I’d like to believe you.” He still held firm on the gun.
“My life’s in your hands.” She blinked slowly, her mind, her body, her spirit wanting rest.
She remained still as he lowered the weapon and gripped her jaw. He put his face mere inches from hers and stared into her eyes for what felt like forever. Eventually, he got up and tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans. “I’ll let you live.”
All she could do was blink thank you.
“But if you don’t keep to your oath…” He pulled a photo from his shirt pocket and tossed it toward Amanda. It came to rest face-up. It was a picture of her parents’ house, her father in the driveway standing next to a gray four-door sedan. “Just know that I can get to your dear old daddy at any time.”
She shivered, suddenly freezing as she looked at her father. Despite the passing of the years, he hadn’t changed too much; he just had more gray around the temples. She nearly drowned in the rush of emotion that washed over her with the tenacity of a flash flood. It was as if all the time and distance between them had been amplified and she felt so incredibly heartbroken. “You stay the hell away from him!”
“Just keep your word or POP!” Rick mimicked a gunshot to the head. “But if his life isn’t enough motivation, there’s always this too.” He held up the baggie of pills and took Freddy’s card out of his front pocket. “I’m pretty sure the drugstore doesn’t package them this way, and I’m guessing this F guy is your dealer?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She couldn’t meet his eyes or speak above a whisper.
“I’m quite sure you do.” He let that sit, then added, “If you don’t find justice for Chad, I’ll also report your little drug habit, maybe even find a way to plant some in your desk and have your boss find them. Just the hint of suspicion will be enough to get you benched and investigated.”
Yesterday she had come to realize Freddy only held relative power—a case of he said/she said—but after her run-in with Hill and her storming out of the station, she couldn’t take the sort of hit Rick promised. He was capable of destroying everything.
He left the room, and not long after she heard the front door close behind him.
She sobbed until the tears ran dry and she passed out.
Twenty-Nine
Amanda’s eyelids fluttered open and it took her a while to orientate as to where she was while she assessed her surroundings and tried to make sense of them. But it was dark, and everything was in shadow. She strained to see and made out a nightstand, a lamp. She went to move her arms, but they were restricted behind her back. And there was thrumming in her skull that pulsed in a staccato rhythm. Then the recollection came to her and her eyes widened. She must have passed out.
Rick Jensen. Her house. Her bedroom.
Her heart sped up as she recalled she was bound at the wrists with her handcuffs around the leg of her bedframe. She could hardly feel her arms, and her shoulders and neck were tight and full of kinks.
But it had been da
ytime when she was restrained, and it was obviously now after sunset. She looked at the clock on her nightstand—7:03 PM. The same day? The next?
She had a vague memory that her cuff key was in her right front pocket. She spun on her ass and maneuvered her arms as far as she could, but she still couldn’t get anywhere close to reaching the pocket with the bed in the way. But she had to keep trying—she was on her own. Maybe if she could lift the bedframe and slip the chain of the cuffs under the leg and out… It was a Houdini move but what other choice did she have?
She angled herself so her legs, up to the knees, were under the bed. Now she just had to lift the bedframe.
She counted to three in her head and gave it a go. It turned out it was far easier to pull off in her head. She tried again and again, getting more frustrated with each failed attempt and in more pain. But she became more resolved to break free.
One more go.
Finally! She mustered enough strength to lift the frame the amount she needed and squirmed free. She was still cuffed behind her back, but she could handle that.
She sat and rolled back on her hips, tucked her legs up, and wriggled and wormed until she was able to pull her arms around them and through to the front.
“Gah!” she screamed as a ripple of pain fired up her back to the top of her skull. She took a few heaving breaths and contemplated her next act.
Her arms were still cuffed but now in front of her. She swung her arms to her right hip and worked her hand into the pocket, grasped the handcuff key, and silently coached herself that she had this, but, as her fingers came free of the pocket, they released, and the key tumbled out and across the floor.
Shit!
She traced the sound of the clattering in her head. It had traveled across a few laminate planks under the bed.
She flattened out on the floor and held her arms overhead and reached out. Her fingers danced over the key. She shimmied under the frame a little more and got a hold of her prize then inched back out. She held tightly to the key and worked her wrists until she found an angle that worked to insert it into the lock.
The click of the first cuff releasing might as well have been angels singing. She quickly freed her other wrist and alternated rubbing both. They throbbed, along with her entire body, but no wonder.
