Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(52)



“Hurry,” Psycho said as she jumped to her feet. “Let’s get him out of sight.”

It took all three of them to drag him to the curb and get him into the van. Psycho jumped into the back with him. Malice shut the cargo doors, ran back to the front, and slipped in behind the wheel. Cleo hardly had time to shut the passenger door before Malice took off.

“We have a problem,” Psycho said. “Find an alleyway, any place dark, and stop the van.”

Cleo held tight to her right arm as she looked over her left shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Psycho growled. “He’s wearing a fucking ankle monitor.”

“Is he secure?” Before setting off earlier that evening, they had gone over their plan. Once Otto was inside the van, the first thing Psycho needed to do was use duct tape and rope to fasten his wrists to the metal bars under the two front seats. His legs would also be bound together, but there was nothing to secure his ankles to, which would leave Psycho susceptible to getting jabbed with a foot or knee if he had the strength. They would zap him multiple times with the Taser or stun gun if needed, but getting zapped too many times could kill him.

Malice glanced at Cleo. “Know anything about monitoring devices?”

“No.”

“Neither do I. Call the others and see if anyone knows how they work.”

Malice kept her eyes on the road and on the lookout for a decent spot to pull over.

“I have Bug on the line,” Cleo said. “She wants to know if the strap on the device has any hooks—small plastic hooks.”

“Yes,” Psycho said. “There are hooks.”

“You’ll need a tool, maybe a screwdriver, to spread the strap apart until it breaks free. Be careful, though, because it will need to be put back together.”

“Why?”

“If done fast enough, Bug says the base where the device is monitored will think it looked like a glitch, and it won’t get reported.”

“There’s a screwdriver in the toolbox,” Malice said.

“What else does she have?”

“If the strap around his ankle is loose, you might be able to use a lubricant like lotion to slide it off or use a lighter to heat the strap and make it expand.”

Psycho cursed. “Nope. Too tight.”

Malice drove into an old shopping center. The parking lot was empty. A couple of the buildings had sheets of plywood where windows used to be. She drove around to the back where a large metal dumpster overflowed with cardboard and trash. “You motherfucker!” Psycho shouted.

Malice put the van in park and looked behind her to see what was going on.

Otto had managed to knee Psycho in her side. Big mistake on his part. The ongoing electrical chatter coming from Psycho’s Taser made Malice wince. It was much louder in a confined place. A minute or so later, Otto lay semi-unconscious, and Psycho quickly grabbed the scissors from the box of tools they’d brought and cut off his monitor.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to toss this thing and be done with it.”

Cleo looked at Malice, the phone still at her ear. “Bug says she’s right about that.”

Malice got out of the van and opened the back doors to let Psycho out. Cleo and Malice watched as Psycho used her shirt to wipe prints off the monitor before shoving it into a dark crevice at the top of the dumpster. She then ran back and jumped into the cargo van.

Malice shut the back doors, slipped in behind the wheel, and resumed driving. “How’s your arm?” Malice asked Cleo.

“It could be broken. I’ll wait until morning to have it looked at.”

“Step on it,” Psycho told Malice. “The Taser hardly affects this guy, and we still need to drag him into the warehouse when we get there and make sure he’s fastened good and tight to the steel pipes. It’s not going to be easy with only two of us.”

Cleo put her phone away. “You’ll have plenty of help. Bug and Lily are going to meet us there.”





CHAPTER THIRTY

The thought of a dark shadow looming over her jolted Sawyer awake. Her mouth was dry, her throat sore. She slipped on her shoes, grabbed the pepper spray that had rolled to the other side of the bed, and stepped outside. Despite being fully dressed in the same jeans and T-shirt from yesterday, the morning air chilled her.

Brittle leaves crunched beneath the soles of her shoes as she made her way around the side of the cottage where a row of blooming rosebushes greeted her. Directly beneath the window, a good portion of a rosebush suffered broken branches. Pink rose petals were scattered about the ground. She followed footprints in the weed-covered dirt around the cottage until leaves and debris from the trees made it difficult to track. One trail of footprints led toward the woods. Another trail led to the house, but she could be looking at her own footprints from yesterday. It was hard to tell.

She checked the cottage door for any signs of attempted entry. Nothing. Even though she’d only be here for a few days, she wondered if she should pick up a lock and chain. Easy enough to install.

Groggy from lack of sleep, she returned to the cottage to get a change of clothes. The cottage bathroom consisted of a toilet and a sink. If she wanted to take a shower, she’d have to go inside the main house.

The side door to the kitchen was locked. She used the key Dad had left her to get inside. There was a note on the kitchen counter next to a bowl of fruit. “Be back later—Dad.”

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