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Nick moved the binoculars across the front of the building, past the three boarded up windows, and the nine other ones that had glass, some of it broken. His gaze snagged on something at the edge of the building, toward the back, and he moved the binoculars back in that direction, adjusting the focus as he tried to get a better view of what had caught his eye.
“See something?” Russell asked next to him.
“Yeah.” Nick handed Russell the binoculars. “I think there’s a light on the side of the building, toward the back. Tell me I’m not crazy.”
He tried to calm his racing heart as Russell held the binoculars to his eyes. Even if there was a light, itdidn’t necessarily mean anything, it didn’t mean Alexa was there.
“You’re right,” Russell said. “It’s hard to see from this angle, but there’s definitely a light.”
“It wasn’t there before was it?” Nick asked.
“Not that I saw.” Russell handed him the binoculars, his eyes wide with hope. “Should we go in? See if she’s there?”
Nick had to restrain himself to keep from jumping out of the car, racing into the building screaming Alexa’s name. “Not yet. If she’s in there — and there are a hundred other reasons a light could be on inside, squatters being the most likely — we don’t want to do anything to tip off whoever has her.”
Nick didn’t even dare leave the car to walk around the side of the building. If she was in there, if she was alive, the time between now and a rescue was the most dangerous of all. If Juska was tipped off that Nick was coming, he might just kill her and run.
“We can’t just sit here,” Russell protested.
Nick reached for his phone. “That’s not what we’re going to do.” He dialed Clay’s number and waited for the other man to pick up. “Do you still have that infrared drone?”
23
Alexa tried to grab the screw with the tips of her battered fingers. She’d stopped noticing the blood and would have been thankful for their numbness if not for the added difficulty of trying to turn the screw without being able to feel her fingers.
She’d gotten it about halfway out when it had stopped moving. She couldn’t tell if it was the screw itself or if her ruined fingers had become entirely ineffectual, but she had the sense that she needed to hurry, that she was running out of time.
She guessed it had been about six hours since Frederick Walker’s visit. She hadn’t had a meal since then, and she’d spent the time trying to remove the screw from the cabinet as she replayed Frederick’s words.
… we both know there’s no return from this… things have gone too far.
She knew Nick was out there, knew he wouldn’t stop looking until he found her. But she couldn’t rely on him finding her in time. She could be anywhere. She might not even be in Boston anymore.
She had to save herself.
She sat back, against the tub, staring at the half-revealed screw. She was so close. They would be bringing her food again soon — if she was lucky — and she needed to be ready. She didn’t know how many food drops she had left before they made her disappear.
Food…
She lunged for the trash can where she’d been disposing of her trash. Digging through the trash, she removed two of the paper bags, three foil wraps, and the empty cardboard from an order of fries.
She spread everything on the floor in front of her, flattening the paper bags and the foil. Then she deconstructed the french fry container until it was a flat piece of cardboard. She considered her options, reached for the cardboard, and tore off a strip.
She got back on her hands and knees and leaned toward the cabinet door. She wrapped the strip of cardboard around the screw head and turned.
The cardboard was a relief on her fingers after the hard metal screw, but it was coated in something waxy. She couldn’t get a solid grip on the screw through the cardboard, no matter how tightly she grasped it.
She set it aside and considered the foil and the paper bag. It was a tough call, and she decided to try the paper first, guessing that it might generate more friction with the screw than the metal foil.
She tore off a piece of the bag and crumbled it up a little, hoping the creases would give the screw more to hold onto.
Voices sounded somewhere outside the door and she froze, preparing to stuff everything back into the trash if the keys sounded in the locks. A minute later the rooms beyond the bathroom returned to quiet.
She exhaled the breath she’d been holding and approached the screw, covering the head with the crumbled piece of paper bag. She turned it a couple of times and wondered if it was her imagination that she felt it give, that the cabinet had released its hold on the screw just a little.
She removed the paper bag and looked at the screw. Was more of it out than had been out before? She couldn’t tell, and she covered it with the paper bag and turned again.
This time she was sure: the screw was coming loose, turning faster as it came closer to popping free of the cabinet.
