Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(80)
“You did.”
She looked at him.
“You barely know me.”
She scoffed. “I’m armed.”
“So am I.”
“And I’m a black belt in tae kwon do. I could take you out in a heartbeat.”
He smiled. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
He shook his head. “My point is, I’m a cop, so you think you can trust me, but that’s all it takes to get you in my car.”
“What’s all it takes?”
“Some bullshit reason to trust someone.”
Talia looked across the street, disconcerted by the whole conversation. A giant slab of a man stood outside Sullivan’s Pub checking IDs.
“Is he the one?” Talia asked.
“No, the guy’s off tonight.”
“And Grace was standing on that corner there?”
“Yeah, right across the street. He remembers both the driver and Grace.”
“And this bouncer is sure it was her? You interviewed him?”
“Yeah, you know, I thought I might, since he’s a witness in my case and all.”
She ignored the sarcasm. “After we get our sketch tomorrow, I’ll send you a picture. You can run it past your guy and see if it matches the Tahoe driver he saw with Grace.”
“No need. We’ve already got a sketch.”
“You do?”
“Witness sat down with a forensic artist this afternoon and came up with a picture. It’s good, too. Lot of detail.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. Not kidding,” he said. “As of five o’clock today, we have a sketch of the unsub, and you’re welcome to it.”
CHAPTER 24
Grace was living on anger, raw and pure.
She sawed the twine, ignoring the warm ooze of blood sliding down her arm. Blood was good. It meant she was alive. Her heart was still beating, so she hadn’t died and started to decompose in this godforsaken pit.
Scritch scratch scratch.
Grace strained against the bindings.
Scritch scratch scratch.
She gritted her teeth and pulled.
Scritch scratch scratch.
She rested her cheek in the dirt, struggling not to cry as she grasped for the strength to keep going, to keep making little, tiny scratches. The effort left her exhausted. Worn-out. Drained of even the slightest drop of energy.
He can’t win.
She took a breath and tried to make her fingers move again, tiny cuts with the flake of rock, but she couldn’t seem to move. It felt like an eternity since she’d started scratching at this damn twine. It felt like even longer since she’d eaten. Or had a sip of water. Just the thought of food made her stomach clench. And then it filled with hot, churning rage.
Don’t let him win.
She gripped the flake of rock again.
Scritch scratch scratch.
No food, no water. Had he forgotten her here? Had he left her to suffer a slow, wasting death? The prospect filled her with panic. She imagined her skin rotting. She imagined ants and rats and dung beetles swarming over her and feeding on her flesh.
Scritch scratch—
Movement.
Grace pulled her wrists, straining against the twine.
Scritch scratch scratch.
She pulled again, and suddenly—whoosh!
Her hands were free. She pulled the twine away and moved her arms, flailing them in disbelief. She jerked the gag from her mouth and pulled it over her chin. Her mouth was bone-dry, but she spat angrily at the ground, desperate to be rid of the taste.
She was free.
Grace sat up and instantly fell back, conking her head on the hard ground. She felt dizzy. Breathless. Just that one effort seemed to sap her energy.
Rolling onto her side, she tried again, slowly pushing herself up onto her sore elbow.
She’d done it. She’d really done it. Her hands were free. Her arms were free. Her mouth was free.
Grace’s heart raced as she groped around the floor of the cave. Think. She’d had a plan. She’d had one. She tried to clear the cobwebs from her brain as she struggled to get it back.
Her hand encountered a torn gel packet, and she snatched it up, licking it desperately, even though she knew it was empty.
Nothing.
She flung the packet away, and her plan came back to her. She had to get out of here. That was the plan.
He always approached on her right side, so the entrance to this cave or pit or cavern, or whatever it was, was in that direction. She shifted her body and tried to stand, but her legs quivered, and pain shot up from her hip.
Crawling, then. She could crawl.
She forced herself to her hands and knees and managed a short lurch forward. And another. And another. She groped through the darkness, reaching her hand in front of her for any obstacles. After she shuffled along for a few feet, she encountered the cool wall of the cave. She brushed her fingertips over it, taking in the bumpy texture. She used it for a guide as she crawled along the floor. Rock bit into her knees, but it felt good. And terrifying. She was moving, finally, after days and days and days of being cemented in one place.
Something brushed her shoulder, and she jerked back.
A spiderweb? A spider?
She felt the wall and decided to try to stand again. Slowly, carefully, she got to her feet, leaning her hands against the wall for support. Her legs felt feeble, but they seemed to work. Nothing broken. Keeping her palm against the cool stone, she made her way through the blackness.