Jamie was in a trunk. An unbearable, cooking-the-bones, hot trunk. At least it was late in the evening. Thank God she wasn’t being driven about with the sun beating directly on the metal above. This heat had to be radiating up from the hot blacktop and out of the underside of the car.
Her mouth was taped shut. Her hands were tied behind her, and her feet were bound together. She pounded on the side of the vehicle with both feet and kicked where she thought the taillight should be. The damned vehicle had a glowing handle above her head, labeled for emergency trunk openings. A safety feature for kids who locked themselves in their parents’ trunks.
It taunted her.
She continued kicking at the taillight area. A faint memory of reading a story about someone locked in a trunk, kicking the light out and signaling other drivers kept running through her brain. Fiction? Nonfiction? Didn’t matter. It was her best damned solution at the moment. The car sounded fast. There hadn’t been any turns or slowdowns since she’d come to consciousness a few minutes ago, so she suspected they were on a highway. Of course, ninety percent of Eastern Oregon’s roads were probably long stretches of empty highways.
She kept kicking. Her legs had saved her before. Kicking at the tattooed man had saved her ass, and maybe they’d save her again. Sweat ran into her eyes and stung like a bitch.
Fuck.
What was Michael thinking? Her eyes watered. When he’d returned to their hotel room, what did he do? Did he panic? Was he angry? He had to know she hadn’t left willingly.
And she wouldn’t ever willingly leave Michael Brody. He made her laugh and see the world in a different way. He’d shown her she didn’t always have to follow the rules. She’d simply done it for so long that she didn’t know how to do anything else. Michael had opened her eyes. And opened her heart. She’d seriously fallen head over heels for the man.
Was she going to get the chance to be with him?
Or was she going to be found in a dirt pit in five years?
I’m sorry I’m putting you through this, Michael.
He must be frantic. He knew exactly why she wasn’t waiting in their room. And that her odds of surviving were very slim.
Mr. Tattoo didn’t leave witnesses.
She rubbed her face into the rough carpet and spit her hair out of her mouth. Her hair was sticking to her neck and face like she’d been swimming. If only she could take a deep breath. Huffing though her nose without panicking took concentration. When she’d first woke, she’d felt like she was suffocating, unable to get the air her body needed. She’d seen stars in her vision in the dark trunk as she fought the panic and slowed her lungs. Thank God she wasn’t claustrophobic. She had enough issues at the moment.
She paused her kicking and concentrated on her breathing again. She was getting a raw spot on her hip from the leg movements and the rough carpet. Her hip hurt, her hands were numb, and she was lying in a pool of sweat. The temperature in the trunk was a hairline from unbearable. Kicking was simply making it worse.
But she was still above ground.
The tattooed man’s other victims were not. That poor old baker. And what about Chris? And Brian? Were they okay?
If he grabbed me, I suspect it’s because he can’t find Chris.
She prayed to God that was true.
When the phone in her room at the bed-and-breakfast had rung, she’d expected it to be Chuck. Instead, a man had whispered.
“Jamie? Are you okay?”
Jamie had sat up on the bed, phone pressed to her ear, because the voice was so faint. Chris?
“Chris? Is that you?”
“Shhh. I can’t talk here.” His whisper came from far away.
“Are you okay? Is Brian okay? You need to get to the police, Chris. Someone is trying to find you—”
“Shhh, I know. Look, I need you to take the boy for a few days. Can I leave him with you?”
Jamie’s heart leaped. Brian! “Yes, of course. But you really should—”
“I’ll meet you behind the bed-and-breakfast in two minutes. Back by the fence gate. He’ll be safe with you.” He disconnected.
Jamie slid her feet into her flip-flops and dashed out the door.
She hadn’t thought about the obvious question of how Chris had known she was at the little hotel.
In the trunk, Jamie shook her head in the dark. How had she been so foolish? But she’d wanted to see the boy so bad. She’d pulled the B-movie heroine bit. The too-stupid-to-live move. She might as well have gone alone, down into the dark basement, to see if the killer was in there.
Instead, she’d left the room without telling Michael. Or anyone.
At the gate, it’d been quiet. Chuck had a small seating area outside with tables and umbrellas that Jamie had eyed wistfully earlier that day. It was simply too hot to sit outside. The backyard of the house was surrounded by a tall hedge, providing a sense of privacy to the large yard. At the far end, someone had removed a section of hedge and installed a wood gate. As far as Jamie could see from her room’s window, the gate led to an alley that ran behind the row of houses. A one-truck-width alley where people kept their garbage cans.
She had darted out the rear door of the house and jogged the length of the yard to the gate. She’d pushed it open, stepped into the alley, and looked both ways. To her left was a sedan, facing her and blocking the alley, its engine running. She couldn’t see anyone in the driver’s seat. She took two steps in its direction.
That was all she remembered. Looking back, someone must have been to the right of the gate outside the hedge. When she pushed open the gate, she’d hidden him from her view. With the way her head was currently pounding and the painful spot behind her right ear, she had a good idea why she didn’t remember what had happened.
And she knew it wasn’t Chris who’d hit her over the head.
She was in Mr. Tattoo’s trunk. She had no doubt.
The big question was why had he grabbed her?
She didn’t know where Chris was. How would grabbing her help him find Chris?
The sheriff’s description of the tortured baker entered her mind.
Jamie moaned, hiding her wet face in the carpet. No. He can’t do that to me.
Detective Callahan had described some of the Polaroids. Those children…
Chris’s nightmares…What had been done to him?
Was she next? As he fished for information she didn’t have? Chris had always said it was best that she knew nothing.
Now she wasn’t so sure.
She tried to take a slow, deep breath through her nose, and failed. The air felt heavier than it had two minutes ago. She exhaled abruptly, trying to clear her nostrils. Moisture was clogging her nose. Her heart pounded over the sounds of the car. Calm down. She inhaled slowly again, struggling to get air. It wasn’t enough. Lights twinkled around the edge of her vision.
Oh shit.
Not enough oxygen. Sweat dripped from her back and chest as the sounds of the road started to fade in her ears.