Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(78)

As she’d learned from her meeting with the prosecutor, criminals knew the law well enough to use it to their advantage. Once she called the police, Mick would clam up and demand a lawyer.

She opened her brother’s garage and scanned the walls of construction tools. She spied a coil of yellow nylon rope. Looping it over her shoulder, she spotted a come-along hand winch on a shelf. She read the label. The cable puller had a four-ton lifting capacity. That ought to do it. A short length of chain was coiled next to the hand winch. Perfect. Taking both, she jogged back to Mick.

Wrapping the chain around a nearby tree, she snapped the hook on one end of the come-along to two thick links. The nylon rope went around Mick’s ankles. Hannah looked up and located a sturdy tree limb about twelve feet overhead. A few tosses put the other end of the rope over the branch. She took up the slack in the rope, made a loop, and tied it off. Then she hooked the other end of the hand winch to the loop in the rope. She cranked the handle back and forth, ratcheting Mick’s feet off the ground. She worked the hoist until he was hanging upside down with his head about five feet off the ground. The blood rushing to his head would wake him up.

Her father’s survival drills had been crazy, but at that moment she was thankful for every brutal second.

He shook his head, his eyelids fluttering.

She smacked his cheek. “Wake up, Mick.”

He stirred and blinked at her. His eyes moved in wild arcs, and his body twisted like a worm on a hook. Hatred shone from his eyes, but there was also apprehension. Good.

“You and I need to have a conversation,” she said.

“You’re going to regret this.” He struggled, his body swaying. “Go fuck yourself.”

“I hardly think you’re in a position to make that sort of suggestion, Mick.” Hannah took his knife from her pocket and waved it in front of his nose. “Here’s how it works. The person who isn’t hanging upside down from a tree gets to ask the questions. You need to start talking.”

“I’m not telling you anything. You’re going to let me down, and you’re going to do what I say.” Spite, gleeful and malicious, pinched his face. “If you want to see your friend alive again.”

That must mean . . . She was alive! Hannah didn’t let her relief show on her face. She channeled her contract-negotiating expression—similar to emotional Botox. “Just tell me where she is.”

Mick’s body went still. “She?”

“The girl.”

“What girl?” His face reddened as the blood flowed into his head.

“Jewel.”

He laughed. “You’re hung up on that little whore? She’s long gone. I have no idea where she is.”

“What did you do with her?” Hannah asked. Then discomfort rode up her spine as she realized the full impact of his statement. “Who were you talking about?”

“Check your e-mail.” Glee lit his eyes.

What had he done?

Hannah took her phone from her pocket and opened her e-mail. She had fifty-seven new e-mails. She scanned the list, stopping on a message from [email protected]. Clicking on the attachment, she gasped. Staring back at her was a picture of Chet, bound, gagged with duct tape, and apparently unconscious. She studied the photo. The picture was zoomed in close. Where was he? She couldn’t see much of the background. Just grass and weeds under his head. A dark red wall of some sort behind him. He could be anywhere.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Like I’m going to tell you.” He sneered. “My brother is watching him. If I don’t call by eight o’clock, he’ll kill the old man. He’ll enjoy doing it.”

An icy ball formed behind Hannah’s ribs. She took his phone out of her pocket.

A lock screen appeared. “Pass code?”

“Like I’d give you that.” The arrogant bastard actually smirked. “Let me down and untie me. Then I’ll tell you.”

Right. Not. Hannah debated for a minute. She could call Brody. He’d bring the police. They’d start a formal search for Chet. But would Mick talk to the police? She doubted it. She had a feeling he knew the Miranda warnings by heart.

She waved the knife. “My father was an army ranger. He taught me how to do all sorts of interesting things, like rig snares and hunt game. By the time I was twelve, I could skin and field dress a deer.” She reached up and touched his solar plexus with her forefinger. “You make a cut from the deer’s sternum to its crotch. That’s the tricky part. The cut has to be deep enough to get through the hide and abdominal muscles, but you don’t want to puncture the intestines. You need to pull those out intact so their contents don’t taint the meat.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. The brief shimmer of fear in his eyes gave her hope that he’d tell her where his partner was keeping Chet.

A predatory, egotistic smile split his face. “Nice bluff, counselor. But you aren’t like me. You aren’t going to cut me. You have morals. You care about doing what’s right. And you’d go to prison for it.”

A small voice inside her wanted to make him pay. He was the worst example of humanity. He preyed on helpless young girls and old men. He wasn’t worth the air he breathed. Once he was arrested, the courts would take over. He’d be one more cog in an overcrowded wheel. He was a plea away from a short sentence.