“Damn it.”
For a minute, Rick didn’t think the man was going to let him go without an argument. “Look around. The answer is here.”
“Tell me,” Raskin demanded.
“I need fifteen minutes.”
Raskin glared.
“You married?” Rick asked.
Raskin let him go, nodded toward the door. “Get out of here, Evans. We’ll call you when we have something new.”
The short nod Rick offered would have to be enough. He lowered his head and walked out the door. Once clear, he jogged to the van that was idling and waiting.
Neil handed Rick a tactical weapon when he closed the door to the van. “They never left the building . . . not really.”
The ten-mile high-speed drive back to Westwood was the longest in Rick’s life.
“I need to pee.” The physical need outweighed the need for silence. The rats had lost interest after the flash of the camera scared them away.
It appeared she woke Mitch with her words. “Think prisoners of war tell their captors of their bodily functions?”
Judy did her best to keep a straight face. “There isn’t a war, Mitch. This is your idea of a good time. And I need to pee. Good news for you, a lack of food and water means I won’t have to again for a while.”
Mitch grinned, lifted a bottle of water to his lips.
Judy had long since lost the ability to salivate. Between the smoke from the building and the drugs still swimming in her system, she was as dry as they came.
It didn’t seem like her words were doing anything for him. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the need.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She kept her eyes closed. “Trying to go with an audience. Haven’t done that since I was three.”
He pushed against the wall, made his way to her side.
She refused to look at him when he reached for her left hand, undid the knot tying her down.
Biting her bottom lip, she refused to respond.
First order of business, get out of the ropes, second was to go. She couldn’t remember ever having the need quite as keen, but it was there now.
Mitch gripped her wrist before removing the rope on her right arm. Circulation made her arms tingle as he lowered them to her sides.
“Fight me,” he said, “and I’ll cut you.”
She felt a blade at her throat. He was going to cut her anyway . . . eventually.
“I just need to go to the bathroom, Mitch.”
Pulling both her arms, he shoved her to her feet, where she stumbled into him, felt his knife jab into her arm. The bite of the blade made her cry out and back away.
Mitch wrapped one of her hands to a bare pipe several feet away from where she’d been for the past several hours.
He took a step back, but never stopped watching her.
“Go.”
The need was so great, but his eyes never left her.
“You’re watching.”
He glared. “Get used to it. Mine is the last face you’ll see.”
She understood that . . . if he had his way.
Judy moved around the rusted old boiler and knelt in the corner. She thought of the trips up to the cabin . . . how camping and peeing in the forest were just a part of the experience.
She missed the cabin . . . her family. Rick would love it up there . . . in the mountains above her childhood home.
He was looking for her now. Probably beside himself trying to find her.
Her family was worried, fearful they’d failed her in some way.
She managed to empty her bladder and sat huddled in the corner long after she needed to.
If she was ever going to see Rick . . . her family . . . again, she needed to be smarter than her captor.
Mitch had a knife.
“Knives are easier to outrun than a bullet.” Rick’s words swam in her head.
Mitch was also crazy. Reasoning with crazy wouldn’t work. Observing the crazy’s actions, motivations, and intentions . . . that she could do.
“You’re done,” he said while he took the few steps toward her that separated them.
If she was going to act, do anything to save herself, it would have to be when her arms weren’t tied up. It would have to be when she wasn’t drugged . . . have to be before she was too weak to do anything.
It was going to have to be now.
She did her best to act resolved to him removing the tie on her arm and walking back to where she’d sat for the last twelve hours.
Just when she thought there might be an out, Mitch surprised her. “Grab that bar,” he demanded.
The bar he pointed to was above her head . . . nearly out of reach.
“Why?”
Mitch lost any patience he might have had. “Do it!” His voice boomed and echoed.
She jumped, not sure if she should comply or fight.
He moved closer and Judy grabbed for her tied-up hand. She had her cold fingers inside the rope but didn’t manage to do anything but scrape her fingers before Mitch was on her. Her kicks fell on air or his thick boots, which didn’t slow him down.
She stopped when his knife scraped a line up her neck. Every sucked-in breath met the blade.
“Grab the f**king bar, General.”
The desire to fold in and protect her body made it nearly impossible to comply.
He tilted the knife so only the tip sat at her neck. He pushed it in like a needle. His body pushed hers against the boiler, a valve shoved into her side.
“You’re testing me.” He moved the blade, cut deeper.
Judy closed her eyes and lifted her hand, gripping the bar.
He secured the rope dangling from her wrist, tied her to the bar above her head. The blood that had managed to make its way to her fingertips fled. He moved her other hand next to the first. She was nearly on her tiptoes, dangling. She wasn’t sure what was going to give first, her wrists or her shoulders.
Nothing Rick had taught her about protecting herself was going to work like this.
“Now isn’t that better?” Mitch’s voice upped an octave. She realized then that he used the higher voice when he was delivering packages. His assertive voice was so much harsher. Still, she’d curse herself for the rest of her short life for not recognizing it. For not knowing he was the man who attacked her in the garage.
Judy looked at her hands holding on to the bar. One slipped and she felt her muscles strain.
“You don’t like it.” Mitch cocked his head to the side. “And here I thought you wouldn’t mind standing for a while. That floor is cold.”
She was trying not to show her fear but knew she failed.
He stood back and looked at her like she was a painting on a wall. From his pocket, he removed his phone and focused it on her. “How about a smile.”