the doorframe, didn’t find a weakness. Wasn’t like she knew how to pick a lock anyway. She thought about trying to kick her way out. But Jacques had taken her shoes and the door felt sturdy. No give. Breaking her toes wouldn’t do her much good.
She turned, let her eyes adjust to the ribbon of light beneath the plywood. Because of Brian’s preference for a nightlight-free house, she was used to moving in the dark.
She went to the back wall, ran her fingers along the plywood, reached under its bottom lip and tugged—
A flare of pain exploded up her right index finger. A splinter lodged deep under the nail. She tugged out the shard of wood, bit her finger to stanch the bleeding. And keep from yelling. Screaming her lungs out felt like a last resort, and unlikely to do much good. Jacques had taken such care in setting this up. She couldn’t believe he’d brought her anyplace where someone might be close enough to hear.
The pain tamped down. Breathe. One step at a time. Tugging at plywood wasn’t the answer.
She ran her hands along the right-side wall. Hoping for an air vent, even a coat hook. Nope. But she did touch a wooden shelf above her head. For sweaters or whatever. She hadn’t noticed it before. Of course, she hadn’t had much time in here with the light on.
She pushed the shelf up. Tentatively at first, biting her lip against the pain in her finger. Then harder. It gave. A little. Like maybe she could tear the shelf off. A long wooden shelf wasn’t exactly the ideal weapon, but it was something. Especially if she could hide in the corner and bash Jacques over the head with it. A pleasant thought.
But she didn’t try to break it off yet. She didn’t have a plan. She didn’t want them to know she was probing for weaknesses. And maybe some part of her didn’t want to move too fast. She needed hope. The more slowly she explored the longer the hope would last. She reached up, slid her hand along the top of the shelf. Maybe they’d left something up there—
Footsteps.
In the hallway. Soft and swift.
Had she been so focused on the shelf that she’d missed the van coming back?
Or had someone been here all along, setting her up?
She scrabbled against the back wall as the deadbolt slid back.
Rodrigo stood in the doorway. He flicked on the light and she was blinded. She put her hands up, an involuntary gesture, submission. Luckily her finger had stopped bleeding.
“Buenos días, Cara.”
Kira, you prick.
He held a bottle of water in one hand, a ball in the other. He tossed her the ball and she grabbed at it.
An orange.
“Hungry.” It wasn’t a question.
“Where are the others?”
“You miss them?”
“I’m a people person.” She looked at the orange. He was right. Now that she had food, hunger flooded her. She peeled it slowly, piled the rind neatly on the floor, made herself eat one slice at a time, the sweetest fruit she’d ever tasted.
She had the insane idea of offering him a piece. He’s not your friend.
He seemed annoyed that she hadn’t, though. He sat down across from her, almost touching her. He hadn’t showered in a while. A sour scent came off his skin. His face was shiny with sweat. His eyes were twitchy. She thought maybe he was high. Coke? Adderall? Did people in Spain snort Adderall? Probably, why would they be different from anyone else?
“Did you like it?”
Mind your manners. “Yes. Thank you.”
“I mean in the club. The drug. You looked like you liked it. Wanted more.” He leered.
“Is that what you thought?” She couldn’t help herself.
He seemed disappointed. Like she was the criminal and he was the innocent.
He leaned close and raked her cheek with his grubby black-polished fingers, hard enough to hurt. No warning.
She was almost glad for the pain because it flipped reality right-side up.
He reached behind his back—
Came out with a hood.
“You want it.”
She shook her head, No.
“You do.” He looked at it like it was precious, a gold mask. Then he seemed to lose interest in it, tucked it behind his back again.
The closet door was open. She could see the hallway. Beyond it, the stairs, the front door. Freedom. Maybe she could jump him, overpower him long enough to run. But even if she landed a punch or kick, she wouldn’t keep him down. He was strong. Without a weapon she would need to put a thumb in