“Dad didn't go anywhere,” Emmy said.
“Nowhere?” Matthew repeated.
The girl shrugged. “Well work I guess while we were at school, but otherwise he was home with us.”
They all looked to Mac for confirmation, and the little boy gave a scared nod, clearly not understanding the implications of that.
“So, he was home with you the whole time,” Nate checked again.
“Uh huh. Why is that important?” Emmy looked confused.
Because it meant that Beau was keeping his victims somewhere on his property. That he had kept his children’s mother prisoner in his home at the same time his children were there. That Rylla was most likely there right now.
* * * * *
7:38 A.M.
It was time to make her move.
Rylla had been spending most of the time pretending to be passed out. Beau kept giving her pills, but she was just pretending to swallow them while hiding them in her mouth between her teeth and her cheeks and spitting them out as soon as he left the room.
He seemed to truly want to make her better and was genuinely contrite for shooting her in the first place. He was all over the map.
Right now, though, she didn't have time to figure out why he was doing what he was doing, her focus was getting out of here.
The downside to refusing to take the pills was that her leg was burning hot and raging with pain. She hadn’t taken any painkillers or antibiotics since that first lot he’d given her. She was sure the wound was infected, and it hurt so badly that it was hard to concentrate.
But she had to concentrate.
She had to get out of here.
She wanted to go home to Nate. She wanted to know that Naomi and the baby had survived. She wanted her life.
So, she had to fight.
Earlier while she had been alone, she had managed to work free the handcuff key that she had scooped up back at the cabin. When she’d attempted to knock him over and he’d shot her she had collapsed. By some fluke she had landed right on top of one of the handcuff keys, she had scooped it up and tucked it away into the sleeve of her shirt.
Again, luck had been on her side. When Beau had picked her up the pain in her leg had made her black out, but while she was unconscious and Beau had transported her here and tended to her he hadn’t found the key.
Ignoring the pain that still gripped her leg, she tried to wiggle herself up so she could reach the cuff on her left wrist.
With one twist of the key she was free.
While she wanted to go running straight for the door, she needed to take a moment to steady her swimming head.
Walking wasn't going to be easy, she wasn't even one hundred percent sure her leg could bear weight, but it wasn't like she had a choice. If she didn't get out of here, then Beau was going to kill her. She didn't know when, it could be hours, it could be days, it could even be weeks, but she knew it was inevitable.
After just a few precious moments of rest, Rylla shuffled to the edge of the bed and slowly stood.
Immediately her bad leg buckled, and she fell back against the mattress.
She didn't have time for this.
Gritting her teeth she climbed back to her feet, and by sheer force of will she remained standing. Hobbling—something she was getting used to doing since Beau injured her knee the other night—as quickly as she could to the door, she reached into her hair and began to pull it loose from the ties and pins she’d used to secure it in a messy bun. Thankfully it was summer, and her thick mass of red curls were too hot to leave hanging down her back so she always kept them pinned up and off her neck.
Using bobby pins she had the lock to the door picked in minutes.
Sagging in relief against the door, she had done it, she was free.