AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Adrenaline shot through me. “Hey!” was all I could get out. I saw a green van with an open cargo door right in front of me. She shoved me forward, and I sprawled into the van head first. My face slapped hard against the rubber floor liner. When I flipped myself right side up, the door was sliding shut.
My heart was beating so hard I could hear my pulse in my ears. This had to be a prank, or some terrible mistake. I kicked against the inside of the door, but my rubber soles didn’t even make a mark. A second later, I heard the passenger door open. There was a thick divider between the cargo section and the front seats. It was black metal at the bottom with thick, clear plastic across the top. I saw the woman slide into the driver’s seat. I pounded on the plastic with my fists. She ignored me and turned the key in the ignition. She cranked the wheel and pulled out onto the street. Then she floored the accelerator. I fell backward against the rear door. I didn’t bother trying to stand up. I crawled forward on my hands and knees.
“Hey! What are you doing??” I shouted. “Where are you taking me??”
My face was jammed right up against the plastic. The woman stared ahead, arms straight out on the steering wheel, weaving through the morning traffic like an Indy racer. We were heading north, out of Hyde Park. I turned to the side and started pounding on the sliding door. I twisted the door handle back and forth. It wasn’t just locked. It was unscrewed. Totally useless. I tried the rear door. Same thing. I put my face against the cold metal of the truck wall. “Help!” I shouted. “I needhelp!”
“No whining!”
It was her. She was shouting at me from the front seat. Her voice cut right through the divider.
I kept on yelling. Every true-crime show I’d ever watched flashed through my brain. Rule Number One: Never get into a stranger’s vehicle. Once you’re taken, your chances of survival go way down. Why hadn’t I put up a fight? Because it happened so fast, that’s why. In real life, you don’t get time to think about it. All I could do now was keep making noise and hope that we’d pull up next to a police car.Anycar. But when I looked out through the plastic, I could see that we were now on a deserted street, or maybe in an alley. There was nobody around.
I kept pounding and shouting for dear life anyway. Suddenly I felt the van pull over and skid to a stop. I flew forward and my shoulder banged hard against the partition. I was frantic, confused, terrified. My knuckles were bruised and bloody. As I got up from the floor, the cargo door slid open. The woman was outside, leaning in.
She had a no-bullshit look on her face. Her voice was low and even.
“I said, no whining.”
The punch came so fast I barely saw it. There was a sharp pain in my jaw and I felt my head snap back. I was out cold before I hit the floor.
CHAPTER 3
WHEN I CAME back to life, I was lying on my back inside some kind of bag. I could feel thick rubber against my glasses and forehead. It was hard to breathe. I was on top of a narrow cushion, and I was rolling forward. I could feel the vibration of wheels on a hard surface. My jaw ached and my head throbbed.
Everything was hazy, like coming out of anesthesia. The rolling stopped, then started again. I heard a door slide closed and felt a thump. I was in an elevator, going up. I heard the rattle of chains in the shaft. The elevator stopped with a lurch. I started to thrash around inside the bag, but I realized my hands and ankles were wrapped tight. I felt a hard slap on the side of my head.
“Quit moving.” It was her.
I was rolling forward again. A couple of turns. Then another stop. A series of beeps. The sound of a heavy door swinging open. Wheels rolling again. Different surface now. Stopped again. Boots on wood. I felt hands rustling the top of the bag. The sound of a zipper. Then a wide gap opened over my face.
The sudden light made me blink. I was looking up at an industrial ceiling—raw aluminum ductwork and beige pipes. The woman’s face appeared in the opening, leaning over me. She yanked the zipper down to my knees. I saw the flash of a blade. I felt tugs at my hands and feet and then I realized that I was loose.
“End of the line, Doctor,” the woman said. “Up you go.”
She crooked her arm under my neck and lifted me to a sitting position. I pulled my feet out of the bottom of the bag. There was gray duct tape clinging to my ankles and wrists. I sat on the edge of the cushion and then slid off and stood up, dizzy and disoriented. I rubbed my jaw where she’d clocked me. She reached out, tilted my chin up, and appraised the damage.
“First lesson,” she said. “When I tell you to stop doing something—stop doing it.”
“Who the hellareyou?” I asked. My brain was foggy and my jaw hurt when I talked.
“Wrong question,” she said. She rezipped the body bag and folded it on the cushion, which I could now see was the top of a hospital gurney. I swiveled my head to look around, looking for accomplices. I didn’t see anybody.
“It’s just us,” she said. “Go ahead. Take in the atmosphere.”
You’re a trained observer, I told myself. Soobserve. Like they say on a dig, everything is evidence. We were on a high floor. Brick walls. The wood planks had dark outlines and metal plates where heavy machinery had been bolted down. This was no modern high-rise. It was a high-priced renovation. I was pretty good at estimating spaces, and this place was big—over a thousand square feet, not counting whatever was behind the doors at the far end. My apartment would fit in here twice.
The space was wide open, with one area flowing into the other. Trendy. And expensive. There was an industrial-sized kitchen at one end. At the other end, I saw a classy seating area with a cushy leather sofa, a glass table, and a baby grand piano. In the middle of the space, on a black rubber surface, there was a bunch of high-tech workout machines with names like Precor and Cybex. Luxury loft meets CrossFit gym.
“This is yours?” I asked. “You live here?” Make a human connection, I was thinking. And maybe she won’t kill you.
“Yes,” she said, matter-of-factly. “And as of now, so do you.”
My gut turned. She sounded like a psycho. She unbuttoned her parka, took off her cap and scarf, and tossed everything onto a bench. Underneath, she was wearing black tights and a long-sleeved athletic jersey. I tried not to be obvious, but I studied every inch of her. I wanted to be able to give a good description to the cops, if I ever got the chance. Late twenties or early thirties. Tall. Probably five foot ten. Athletic build. Blue eyes. Pale skin. No visible piercings. And one really distinctive feature: long curly hair, the color of a bright copper penny.
I suddenly felt woozy, like I was about to pass out. I leaned back against the gurney.
“Hold still,” she said. “You need water.”
