Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6)(56)

Lance hesitated, looking back at Sharp. “Do you want me to stay here?”

“No. Go with Morgan.” Sharp waved away his offer. “Stella will call in a few hours. I’ll be fine.” He rose and picked up his soup bowl and mug. “As much as I don’t want to rest, I’ll be more useful if I sleep for a couple of hours. Maybe my brain will reboot and things will start to make sense.” He carried his dishes to the door. “Please go. I can’t be everywhere at once. I need you two to chase down leads in the city.”

Lance and Morgan collected their jackets and followed Sharp toward the kitchen, and all three left through the back door. The air outside was cold, damp, and cutting. Sharp armed the security system, locked up, and walked around the side of the duplex. Morgan buttoned her wool jacket and followed Lance to the Jeep. The police and arson investigators had finished with the porch, but it was still roped off for safety’s sake.

Lance slid behind the wheel and watched Sharp climb the wooden staircase on the outside of the house. A minute later, lights brightened the windows of his second-story apartment.

“Think he’ll be all right?” Lance drove away from the curb.

Morgan rubbed her hands together. “No. I don’t think so.”





Chapter Twenty-Four

Olivia wheezed. Drawing air in and out of her lungs felt like she was trying to breathe through a cocktail straw. Her inhalation caught in her throat. The coughing fit left her breathless. Again. Her chest and back ached.

On her hands and knees, she breathed shallowly, trying not to trigger another coughing spell. All of her concentration focused on inhaling and exhaling as slowly and steadily as possible. She had no time to worry about her claustrophobia or the pain in her foot and face.

For the next few minutes, sucking oxygen into her lungs was a full-time job. Her chest felt tight and her ribs hurt.

What was she going to do?

What could she do?

Nothing.

Suffocate.

Die, maybe.

She fought the panic that shook her. Fear would only make breathing harder. But the tightness of her lungs amplified her claustrophobia. She thought of Lincoln and imagined his voice in her head, calming her.

She shivered and continued searching through the dirt, crawling on all fours. The temperature was falling. It would be best to continue moving, keep her blood flowing. Lying down usually made her asthma worse. She was an asthmatic locked in a damp cellar. If she didn’t get medical help soon, her situation wasn’t going to end well. It couldn’t. He didn’t have to do anything to her for her to die. She could do that all on her own.

Her fingertip encountered a small rock. She wrapped her fist around it for a second. The cellar was old. A century of feet had packed the earthen floor. But underneath, there were rocks. Crawling back to her blanket, she added the rock to the few she’d accumulated, but none were large enough to use as a potential bludgeon.

She’d considered trying to remove the lid to the chemical toilet, but it was made of light plastic and wasn’t heavy enough to be used as a weapon. She could not think of a way to use empty plastic water bottles as weapons either. She had one more option, but it was a long shot. She’d reserve it as a last resort.

Footsteps sounded outside, startling her. Then she heard the rusty squeal of the door hinges. The door opened, and the beam of a flashlight shone down the steps. A minute later, he descended. Even though she expected to see the Halloween mask, the unnatural rubber face sent fear spiking through her.

Carrying a small white bag, he tromped down the steps. How long had it been since he was here last? A day? The sky through the door was gray, but again, she didn’t know if it was morning or evening twilight or just overcast.

He stared at her through the mask. “Are you going to be respectful today?”

Did that mean one day had passed?

Olivia nodded. Best to act submissive. It was what he seemed to want.

He held a white bag toward her. “Say please.”

She cleared her throat. “May I please have the food?”

“That’s better.” He put the bag in her hands.

Inside was a white take-out container. The unmistakable smell of chicken soup wafted to her. Instantly starving, she dug the plastic spoon out of the bottom and ate some. It was lukewarm, but the liquid soothed her throat.

She swallowed and paused for a breath. “Thank you.” Her voice was barely audible.

He nodded, and the arrogant incline of his head made it seem as if he was pleased with her obedience.

There was no way to escape. The only way she was getting out of this alive was if someone found her or if her captor decided to let her go. She should talk to him. Engage him. Try to make him see her as a person. If she could connect with him, she might foster some empathy.

If only she could talk and eat and breathe at the same time. Eating took priority. She’d eaten the second protein bar and gone through half the water originally stocked in the cellar. She needed the food for fuel in case she had an opportunity for escape.

Halfway through the soup, she gagged. The coughing started up again, and she feared she would vomit what she’d eaten. She set the spoon in the soup and waited for the spell to pass. She needed to pause every few mouthfuls, and it took her a long time to finish. Even though she couldn’t see his face, his posture became impatient. He shifted his weight and checked the time on his watch.