The mystery man went back to his car and took off.
“Who was that?” I asked, brows furrowing.
“An acquaintance.” Mr. Blythe didn’t elaborate beyond that. He rummaged around in the backpack for a minute, presumably checking out its contents. Then he picked up the strange black object, climbed into the back of the car, and leaned over me.
“What is that thing?” I asked, skin prickling with apprehension. “A taser?”
“No. Stay still.” He leaned down and held the object close to my left foot. There was a loud clicking sound as he pressed a button on the side, followed by an odd buzzing. The tiny yellow light on the side of my ankle monitor began to flash, and then it turned off entirely.
“The police can tell when you try to remove an ankle bracelet, you know,” I said, eyes narrowing. “So if you keep doing that, they’re going to send a squad car right over here, because they’ll assume I’m trying to skip town. Then you’ll be totally screwed.”
“I’m not removing it,” Mr. Blythe replied. “See? It’s still attached to your leg.”
“What are you doing to it, then?”
He held up the black device. “This neat little thing drains batteries almost instantly. That means your ankle bracelet is no longer sending out any signals. Ergo, your location is no longer visible to anyone.”
I let out a contemptuous snort. “The police will receive an alert about that too. When it was fitted, they told me I have to charge it every day, and they said they’d send a team out to look for me if I let it go dead. It’s a violation of my bail conditions.”
Mr. Blythe held up a hand. “I know. Just listen. Once the police become aware of the dead battery issue, their analysts will check your last pinged location, and they’ll see that it was right here at your home address at 12:19. From that, the police will assume you simply forgot to charge the bracelet before you went to bed. They won’t be particularly concerned about it because they’ll assume you’re here sleeping peacefully. So it’s very likely that they won’t start looking for you until tomorrow, when they realize the battery is still dead.”
My brows scrunched up. I could already think of several things wrong with Mr. Blythe’s plan. “Even if the police are actuallythatlazy, which I doubt, they’ll still show up here at some point tomorrow wanting to know why I haven’t charged the monitor. Plus Mom and Jax will report me missing as soon as they realize I’m gone.”
“We won’t be here by then, so it won’t matter,” Mr. Blythe said, smiling thinly. “The point is to establish your last known location at this exact address. Your home.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why do you keep saying that? Why can’t you just tell me what the hell is going on?”
“It’s a long story, and we really don’t have time for it. We need to get going.” Mr. Blythe moved back to the front of the car and yanked some things out of the backpack—a balled-up sock, a piece of rope, and a black pillowcase. “Open your mouth.”
I fervently shook my head and clamped my lips shut. Mr. Blythe sighed heavily and slapped me in the face. When I yelped in pain, he stuffed the sock in my mouth and put the rope on top, quickly tying it at the back of my head to keep the makeshift gag in place.
“Sorry about the slap,” he said. He didn’t look sorry at all. “It would be much easier if you cooperated with me, you know.”
I stared up at him, nostrils flaring. If looks could kill, he’d be obliterated by now. Smashed into a fine pink mist all over the car windows.
He lifted the pillowcase and opened it up. “This is going over your head now,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “You might feel like you can’t breathe, but you’ll be fine. It’s only for a few minutes.”
I frantically shook my head and tried to thrash around, but with all four limbs bound, I could barely move. Mr. Blythe’s hands descended, and the pillowcase slipped over my head. Everything went black. A moment later, a deep rumble filled the air as the car started again.
I lay motionless on the back seat, heart racing with terror. If I moved now, the pillowcase fabric might move with me and block my nose. Then I’d suffocate.
The car stopped again. Logically, I knew that only a few minutes had passed, but every fraught breath beneath the pillowcase made it feel like hours were crawling by.
I heard one of the car doors open. “I’m going to untie your legs now, Kinsey,” Mr. Blythe said. “Then I’m going to help you walk. Okay?”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even nod. I felt fingers working at the leather jacket sleeves that were wound around my shins, and then my legs were finally free.
“All right. We’re almost there.” Mr. Blythe pulled me out of the car and held onto my left arm as I wobbled on the hard ground. “Sorry about the gag. We just can’t risk you making any sound right now.”
That remark—along with the short duration of the drive—told me I was still in Crown Point. Most likely at someone’s house, where neighbors might hear my screams for help if the sock wasn’t stuffed in my mouth.
“Walk,” Mr. Blythe said. “The door is about twenty feet away. Straight line at first, and then it curves to the left. I’ll guide you.”
He held onto my right arm, keeping me steady as I took small, tentative steps down the path ahead of me.