She still had her cell phone, turned off and hidden in her bra. She’d managed to sneak it out of the pocket of these grotty sweatpants when he’d thought she was still knocked out from that awful-smelling stuff he’d used to subdue her and before he’d clicked on the handcuffs. But she worried that if she did reach for it, she might drop it. And, at this point, she hadn’t yet tried to retrieve it for fear that if she managed to turn it on, he might hear the sounds the phone emitted as it engaged. It was an old phone, didn’t have a GPS chip like the new ones.
But it had been risky to try to use it that night, so at first she’d decided to wait to save whatever little battery life it had left until her hands were uncuffed so that she wouldn’t fumble and drop the phone. She’d planned to use it only when she was absolutely certain she’d be alone for more than a few minutes.
At that point, she’d figured, she’d have only one shot at calling her dad.
As she’d sat in the truck, she’d craned her neck just a bit, glancing through the window to the isolated, sagging buildings. Even in the pale moonlight she’d seen that the paint on the farmhouse siding was cracked and peeling, rust running from hinges that were rotting. A screen door banged with the bit of wind that stole over the dry landscape. One corner of the roof had collapsed entirely.
What had once been a shed and pump house was a tumbled pile of bricks and a crumbled roof.
It was so quiet out here.
Aside from the thump of the screen door, Dani had heard nothing over the sound of her own breathing.
It was as if they’d stopped at the very ends of the earth. She shivered despite the heat and swallowed back the fear that had been rising in her throat. How long would she be here with him? she wondered while casting a worried look into the back of the van where the dark plastic bag still lay.
She had the unlikely urge to reach behind, untie the yellow ribbon holding it closed and open the damned thing.
What stopped her was the fear that she would open the sack to display a dead girl, eyes open, staring lifelessly up at her.
Her insides turned to water at the thought, but she was horrifically fascinated with the bag and its contents. The blood that was leaking from it had stopped and coagulated to stain the soiled carpet. Silently, using both hands, since they were locked together, she reached back for just a second and touched the plastic. It gave under her fingertips, so there had definitely been something squishy inside.
Her imagination ran wild.
She had to rein it in.
Don’t do this, she mutely reprimanded herself. Forget about the stupid bag and try to find a way out of here!
She let out her breath and turned her eyes away from the back of the van.
Don’t think about it…at least it doesn’t stink…not yet. Now, find a way to get out of here or get help. Not the phone, you could drop it, you’ll have to wait, but do something!
With her own admonition spurring her on, Dani worked fast.
Eyes trained on the windshield, she tried to open the glove compartment, to search for some kind of papers—like the vehicle registration or an insurance card or anything that would give her some kind of clue as to who he was or what he wanted. Her other hope was that she would unearth some kind of weapon or something that could be used as a weapon. If only she could find a jackknife or a screwdriver…but the glove box was firmly locked.
Time was her enemy. Sweating, feeling the seconds for her chance to escape ticking rapidly away, she frantically searched for some kind of tool in the darkened interior. A hammer, or wrench, or file—some object that she could hide and would give her an edge over the bastard. But there was nothing! Not even a damned fountain pen or pencil to use to poke him in the nose or eyes or throat or anyplace she could reach.
Damn!
Looking up, she spied him heading into the garage.
Go, Dani!
Fumbling with the hem of her shirt, she dug her fingers into her bra. Carefully, one eye on the windshield, she pushed the phone, which was pressing against the underside of her left breast, to the middle of her bra, then up and over the small piece of lace. But the phone, wet from her sweat, slithered into her hands and then slipped, tumbling toward the floor. No! Gasping, she caught the cell in her damp fingers.
Thank God. Her heart ham
mered wildly as she cradled the phone in one hand and flipped it open with the other. The digital display illuminated, music starting before she was able to mute it. Slowly, oh, God, so agonizingly slowly, the phone came to life.
Great! she’d thought, her heart leaping as she peered through the windshield and double-checked the whereabouts of her captor.
He was still in the garage.
She hoped she might have a few minutes free.
The LCD on the phone’s face showed that there was some battery life left. Not much, but some.
She expected to hear that she had a million messages from her dad, but the screen faded before ever coming to life. With mounting dread, she realized there were no bars—there was no cell tower nearby. Her phone wasn’t able to transmit or receive!