lowered his arm, his voice had deteriorated to a husky rasp. His face was getting redder with each call too. Only not from heat. While the interior of this dilapidated building was stuffy and fetid, it wasn’t all that hot.
Seriously, the guy needed to calm down or he was going to give himself a stroke. Of course, that might not be a bad thing.
Each call started with shouting and ended in breathlessness. Either her abductor was terribly out of shape, or he was ill. Not that either possibility mattered at this point. Not since he’d bound her wrists and ankles.
The minutes ticked past. Maybe another half an hour. And then he lifted his phone again and marched over to Sarah. “You don’t believe me, you bastard? Well here’s your pasty-faced, terrified bride herself.” He shoved the cell toward Sarah. “Say something.”
Caught off guard, Sarah cringed back from the fist-bound cellphone headed toward her face. “Uh, Mitch, it’s Sarah. It’s true. This guy abducted us from the Wedding Knot. He says he’s your business partner and that you owe him money. He says—”
When the guy jerked the cellphone back and spun to pace away, she caught the odor of perspiration and something subtler—something sickly sweet and nauseating.
What was her kidnapper going to do when he realized Mitch had no intention of answering any of his calls? Or that her callous fiancé had no interest in paying the ransom to get her back?
Mitch’s cold-hearted cruelty didn’t surprise her. Nothing about the bastard surprised her anymore. She should have told the kidnapper to abduct Mitch’s hopped up Toyota Tundra; he’d have better luck getting Mitch to pay up to get that back.
His breathing raspy and the unsteady cadence to his stride more noticeable than ever, her abductor stopped in front of the armchair beside the couch.
“Son of a bitch.” After raking a hand through his thinning brown hair, he dropped into the chair, unleashing a haze of dust.
Sarah held her breath until the cloud dissipated and tried to think past the terror crowding her mind. Would their kidnapper kill them once he realized Mitch wasn’t going to cough up the ransom? He wasn’t wearing a mask, which meant they could identify him…if they lived long enough to talk to the police. Was the lack of a mask an indication they wouldn’t be leaving this house alive?
Fear clouds the mind. An unfocused mind leads to mistakes. You’ll be afraid. Block the fear. Force yourself to focus.
From out of nowhere, Brett’s long-ago self-defense instructions whispered through her mind. She latched onto them, shook the fear aside and forced herself to think.
The chances that anyone would find them were nonexistent.
The abandoned house he’d forced Langley to drive to sat in the middle of an overgrown tract of land on the outskirts of town. There had been nobody on the street when they’d pulled into the driveway and there were no houses within eyesight. It didn’t help that the kidnapper’s hidey hole was a good mile into the acreage and concealed by scrubby brush and parched trees. Even if their abduction had been witnessed, nobody would have seen the car pull onto the property. Nor would anyone spot the car amid the dead shrubbery.
Which meant they couldn’t count on being rescued.
They were on their own.
She took several deep breaths to calm her racing heart and tried to think proactively. Brett had drilled tactical thinking into her when they’d been together.
If you find yourself in a dangerous situation, think strategically. Use materials at hand. Gather information. Assess your risks.
He’d even had an abbreviation for it—SMIR: strategy, materials, information, risks.
He’d taught her a lot during their time together. She knew how to snap zip ties. Brett had duct taped her wrists so the plastic wouldn’t cut into her flesh and had her practice the overhead swing and spread of her arms repeatedly, until she knew just the height and velocity needed to break the plastic. He’d had her practice with her arms tied behind her back as well as in front. Her ankles would be harder to release from their bindings, but once her hands were free, she could use the broken glass spread across the floor to cut the ties around her ankles.
If her abductor ever left the room.
She couldn’t do anything with him hanging around, watching her, gun in hand.
“God damn you, Mitch. I’m not blowing smoke up your dick. I will kill them.” He waved the gun back and forth in the air as though emphasizing