Cut and Run by Mary Burton
PROLOGUE
Exact Time Unknown
When the stairs leading down to the basement creaked, the young woman struggled to her feet. She pressed one hand to her very pregnant belly and gripped a metal pipe with the other as she listened to the steady, purposeful steps approaching the locked door. Keys rattled as mumbled curses echoed on the other side. She’d lost track of how many days she’d been waiting for him to return.
She took a step back, and her fingers tightened around the weapon, once a part of her cot’s frame. For days, she’d been working on the screws holding her bed together. She’d used her fingernails and a small bedspring, tearing and ripping her nails in the process of loosening the screws. Last night the final screw and the metal rod had fallen to the floor with a loud ping. She’d wept, clutching her new best friend to her chest as she rocked back and forth. Months in this windowless box could come to an end today, if she was very careful.
The first lock turned. More keys rattled.
He had visited her every few days for months, bringing her food, magazines, prenatal vitamins, and larger clothes as her belly had expanded. He rarely spoke to her, occasionally asking how the baby was faring. Did it kick? Did it move? She’d never been pregnant before, so she had no way of knowing what normal was or wasn’t.
A dead bolt turned, and the door swung open. He stood in the doorway, two bags of groceries in his hands. He vacantly gazed toward her and then to the small table by the kitchenette.
She smiled, her hand behind her back, her fingers gripping the metal so hard her knuckles ached. She had this one chance. One chance.
“Why are you standing?” he asked as he dumped the groceries on the table. “You should have your feet up. It’s a matter of days before the baby comes.”
“My belly has been cramping. Feels better to stand.” That was true. The muscles in her stomach had begun to contract and release. At first she thought it was the baby curling into a ball and then stretching out. But she then realized time was running out.
“Is the baby kicking?” he asked.
“All the time.” Also true. In the early weeks of her captivity, all she’d wanted to do was sleep and block out the baby and this room. Every kick to her bladder, cramp in her lower back, and bout of indigestion reminded her she’d been such a dumbass. And sometimes, when the loneliness overcame her, she wasn’t sure if the kid was on her side or not.
“I brought you a few more magazines.” He sounded proud, pleased with himself. “They’re the current issues this time.”
He carefully laid them on the small table in her room and fanned them into a neat arc. She studied the glossy covers and summoned a smile. He expected her to be pleased by this rare act of kindness. So she beamed, wanting him to believe she was docile and weak even as her mind buzzed with images of crushing in his skull. The bold magazine headlines skittered across her brain, barely registering. “Summer Beach Reads.” “Hot Makeup Colors.” “Short Shorts.” “A Glimpse into Fall Fashion.”
If anything, the magazines told her spring had given way to summer. “What day is it?” she asked.
He set the two plastic grocery bags beside the sink. “It’s Friday or maybe Saturday. No more than two weeks until the baby is born.”
The last time she’d seen the date displayed had been June 1, weeks after he’d locked her in this room. The paper had contained an article about her. In that piece she’d read the quote from her mother: “We don’t think she’s a runaway.”
Think. Even her mother doubted that she’d been taken.
He’d left the paper with her, knowing it would fuel her doubts and fears that the search for her was dwindling.
After that article, she’d known there would be no savior. No one was coming. If she was going to be rescued, she would have to save herself.
“And then you’ll let me go, right?” she asked.
“I told you I would.” He carefully unpacked apples, bananas, bread, and packets of noodles. There were also eggs, milk, and cheese—everything for a healthy baby. And if she wanted to heat up her food or cook the eggs, there was only the microwave. No metal or glass. Just paper plates and cups. No pens or pencils. Nothing dangerous.
“Too much at stake now. Can’t have you doing something careless,” he said.
But she had already done the stupidest thing in her life. She’d believed his beautiful lies that had promised rescue from a nasty breakup and parents who did not want her or her baby. He’d baited this unholy trap with smiles and sweet words, and she’d stepped right into it. Now she and her baby would pay a steep price if she didn’t make the first swing count.
“I also brought you more clothes,” he said. “Your belly is getting so big, girl. You’re straining at the edges of that extra-large T-shirt.”
She mirrored his smile, hoping it would lower his guard just a little. “Baby’s going to be a big one.”
“Healthy and strong, just like the Lord intended. You’ll thank me when it’s born.”
Thank him? For locking her in this room? “I haven’t always been grateful for what you’ve done for me. But each time my baby kicks, I say a prayer of thanks,” she lied.
“That’s good. Real good. Feisty is a good quality in a child.”