First Girl Gone(58)

“Don’t think I’ll be leaving the spares for you to dig out, either.”

He scurried over to the door, surprisingly light on his feet for such a big piece of meat. Agile and quick.

“I’ll be back, so behave yourself,” he said over his shoulder.

He stepped through the doorway, his bulky form disappearing behind the steel. The last thing she heard was the telltale rattle and snick of the key turning the deadbolt before the room went silent.

She rushed to the door to try the handle. It was firmly locked, just as she knew it would be. She pounded on the door a few times with the heel of her hand, knowing it was useless. No one would hear it over the M?tley Crüe and Poison medley blaring out there.

She was trapped.





Chapter Forty-Five





Charlie stood motionless with her hands still pressed on the locked steel door. Now what? Think.

She wheeled around, eyes scanning the desk. No landline there.

No phone. No way out. She blinked, going still again, mind oddly blank.

“Don’t just stand there, dummy,” Allie said. “That blockhead just locked you in a room full of evidence, didn’t he? Make yourself useful.”

Allie was right. Charlie was trapped, yes, but not helpless. Who knew what information might be right here in this dingy office?

She lurched into action and began searching the room. The binders and boxes that filled the shelves along the wall were full of spreadsheets. Numbers. Dollars and cents.

“Paper copies of all of this?” Allie said. “Why? Someone tell these people about Excel and cloud storage already.”

Next she rifled through the desk drawers. Two staplers. Paper clips. A pile of pens and pencils. More sheets of financial reports, this time in manila folders. Nothing of use.

She closed this last drawer. Took a breath. What to do next? Her eyes remained on the desk. Fixed on the drawer handles. Some itch in her hand told her to open them again. To be thorough.

After the briefest hesitation, her fingers obeyed. Clasped around the bottom right drawer handle. Peeled it open.

Still nothing. The same pile of writing implements as last time. But something was off.

She looked at the face of the drawer and then inside again. It was too shallow.

She pulled everything out and threw it on the floor. Some of the pens skittered and rolled along the tile floor, a strange sound in the quiet.

Her fingers splayed along the wooden bottom of the drawer. Scrabbling over it. Searching. She felt it along the back seam—the minor indentation that she knew must be the fingerhold. Her suspicion had been correct.

She pulled up the false bottom, a thin veneer of wood. It let out a little cracking sound as it scraped out of the drawer.

At last the light revealed what lay beneath.

Several bundles wrapped in layers of clear plastic and sealed with packing tape. The package on top was open. Charlie picked one of the pencils off the floor and used the tip to drag out some of the contents without touching it, though she already had a pretty good idea of what was inside. Out came a tiny Ziploc baggie filled with white pills, each one stamped with a strange design. Just like the ones she’d found under the driver’s seat of the No Fat Chix SUV.





Chapter Forty-Six





By the time the heavy footsteps in the hall announced the bouncer’s return, the desk drawer was in order once more—untouched so far as he’d be able to tell. He fumbled at the door audibly, zipping that key ring out from his belt, the key twitching at the hole before finding its way and entering the lock, the doorknob squeaking as he turned it.

Charlie rushed back to her chair and fished a hand down into her boot, seeking the hard object nestled there. Her fingers clasped the one thing the bouncer hadn’t confiscated—the mini stun gun snugged against her ankle. She pulled the weapon free and had everything ready just as he barged into the room.

As soon as she could see his shadow falling over the floor, she moaned and pretended to pass out. Her back arched, her whole body going slack and sliding down the chair onto the floor, eyes closed.

The bouncer gasped. It was such a ridiculous sound coming out of the big brute that Charlie almost laughed, fighting to keep the twitch of a smile off her lips.

His feet pattered over the floor in an odd shuffle. She could hear the concern in his steps, some telltale worry conveyed in the staccato rhythm.

The footsteps drew right up on her. He stooped. Brought his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath on her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose. He reeked of sweat and some kind of musky aftershave.

No hesitation. Charlie jammed the stun gun into his neck. Heard the crackle as it sent a few thousand volts into the meat of him.

He stiffened. Spine going ramrod-straight as though the electricity were pulling taut all the strings of this meathead puppet. She searched his face, saw the light go out in his eyes.

And then he came crashing down on top of her, the dead weight of his bulky upper body draped over her face and most of her torso.

All of the breath heaved out of her on impact. His weight settled on her, hard and heavy. It felt like a tree trunk had just fallen onto her.

“Timber!” Allie shouted.

Charlie squirmed, legs kicking, hips bucking. Shifting his bulk was like trying to move a side of beef.

She worked her arms free and tried to push him off of her. She caught a glimpse of the office ceiling as his hulking form moved enough to unblock the light. Her fingers mashed into his wide and fleshy cheeks, and she lifted his slack face above hers. His head quivered before flopping back down when she lost her grip.