How long had she been unconscious? Was he here? If not, how much longer did she have before he came back and—
She broke off the horrible thought before it could form a debilitating image in her mind. The last thing she needed was that shit floating around her head. Every part of her needed to be focused on escape.
What would Liv do?
She snorted. Liv wouldn’t have allowed herself to be in this situation.
Think, Callie. Think!
Posters of beautiful women draped over muscle cars hung on each side of a large-screen TV and a set of true crime books lined a small bookshelf beneath an engraved cross that read, “God Loves You.”
Clumps of dirty clothes dotted the floor like heaps of cow poop in a pasture. To her right stood an oak dresser with a rectangular mirror above it. If she leaned forward a bit, she could see her entire reflection. She avoided looking at that bound girl’s eyes, not wanting to observe the desolation building in the back of her mind taking root.
Even though the bedroom was sparsely furnished, it appeared to be in great condition. No gouges, no stained carpet, no wet spots on the ceiling. Which likely meant the furniture would be of good quality. Aka unbreakable.
Only one way to find out.
Being careful not to make too much noise, she gave her body an experimental jiggle. The bed didn’t make a sound.
She tried again with a little more force. One tiny creak-creak.
Lifting her head, she sent a desperate glance around the room, looking for inspiration. That’s when she noticed the framed picture and keys sitting on the dresser. The silver keys looked small enough to fit inside her handcuffs.
A flurry of excitement built inside her before realization snuffed it out. Freedom was eight feet away, but it might as well have been on the other side of the continent for all the good it did her.
Instead of the keys, she focused on the picture. There was something familiar about it.
She leaned sideways, as far forward as her restraints would allow. Her breath caught as the image became clearer.
Brodie stood between his dad and first baseman Jimar Baker. A huge hero-worshipping smile split her nephew’s face. It was the last picture father and son would ever take together. A happy moment captured mere hours before a baseball changed the boy’s life forever.
White-hot fury blazed through Callie’s body, and she struggled in earnest. No way would her creepy kidnapper keep that photo. It belonged to Brodie. One day, when the wound wasn’t so raw, her nephew would cherish that four-by-six like nothing else he owned.
It took a moment for her to realize that the bed was rocking with her movements.
The tight duct tape couldn’t stop her smile from flourishing.
Old bed.
She could work with that.