Chapter 101
WHEN VAL STOOD up, she had to fight to keep her balance. She was feeling sick and in pain, but she was also experiencing a lot of clarity.
She understood that Olsen was protecting something more than a high-end matchmaking scheme and he was not kidding around. This was real. He could kill her and get away with it. And she understood that this was her best, last moment to regain his trust and save her life.
“I don’t even understand why you’re so mad,” she said. “Look, you’re right. I don’t work for the FBI. I don’t work for anyone.”
Olsen spun her around and shoved her hard against the wall. She felt the gun muzzle at the back of her neck.
“Your hands, Val. Put your hands behind you.”
He forced her right hand behind her, and she felt a zip tie go around her wrist.
“I could teach you about lying,” Olsen said. “See, an innocent person doesn’t go on the defensive. An innocent person goes on the attack. And here you are, pleading and defending.”
“Will you let me explain?”
“Give me your other hand, Val. Or whatever your name is. I don’t want to shoot you. That’s the truth, by the way.”
Val complied. She was shaking now, rummaging through her mind for anything she’d heard or read or seen, even in a movie, that might turn Lester around.
Lester cinched her wrists together, pulled the tie tight.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.
“That depends. What are you, Val? A cop?”
“I’m a freelance writer. I saw your ad online—”
“Here’s what we’re going to do, bitch. We’re going to walk quietly out of this room and you do what I tell you to do. Okay? Say okay.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to put my arm around your shoulders, and if you try to get anyone’s attention, I’m going to shoot you on the spot. And then I’m going to shoot the bystander. I will then walk away.”
“Whatever you say, I’ll do it. Just take it easy, okay?”
“Let’s go.”
Olsen marched her through the office, then through the storage room. He angled her so that he could open the rear exit, then put his free arm around her shoulder and dug the gun into her side.
They were behind the strip mall, in a narrow parking lot used by the shop owners, their names stenciled on the asphalt. There was no one around, just empty cars and a couple of Dumpsters.
Olsen pushed her toward a blue Ford Taurus parked outside the back door facing the road. He changed the position of the gun, screwed it hard into her back while leaning down to open the trunk.
“Get in, Val. Or I will shoot you and stuff your body inside. You’re a big girl, but maybe you’ve noticed, I spend time at the gym.”
Val could see the traffic on the road that ran perpendicular to the alley, only fifty yards away. She pictured herself running, getting help from a motorist. If she ran, she would have a better chance than if she got into the trunk. No. If she ran, he would shoot her. As long as she was alive in the trunk, she was…alive.
“I need help to do this,” she said.
He supported her as she put a leg into the trunk, then he applied pressure to her back, gave her a shove.
She fell in and curled up in the cramped space.
“Be right back,” he said. “And then we’ll go for a ride.”
“Wait,” said Val. “Look at me. I’m not lying. I’m a private investigator and our satellite is tracking me—”
Lester reached up and slammed the trunk closed.