Change of Heart - By S.E. Edwards Page 0,26

pressing against my eyes. I try to blink them open, but it doesn’t help with the dark. Wait. I’m blindfolded!

Suddenly, the memory I’ve been trying to reach comes crashing back. Rich. The gas station. The Pepsi, and the Lincoln, and… oh God, I’ve been drugged!

Panic flares in my chest. I try to move my arms, but they’re locked in place behind my back. Tied to something. I kick my legs. They fare no better. I squirm and twist, jerking around. Nothing helps. I’m tied up. Bound. And blindfolded.

Nothing makes sense. Where am I? The panic builds, threatening to transform into full-blown hysteria. I thrash against my bonds, forcing my frozen body to fight against the restraints.

I might as well be trying to walk through a wall.

Nothing works. My breaths quicken, turning into sharp little gasps. I feel a tightness settle over my chest. I’m dizzy, I’m falling, I’m flailing—

Calm.

The thought comes out of nowhere and startles me.

Stay calm, Penelope. Think things through, you idiot!

I stop struggling. The thought seems to carry great gravitas. I take a steadying, deep breath through my mouth. The cold air stings my lips, burns my throat, but it’s not as bad as before.

Calm. That state of mind seems as far away as the sun right now. Still, I force myself into it. It takes a few minutes, but when it comes, the panic slips away. It’s replaced by a steely determination. I have to understand what the hell is going on.

One by one, I check on all my limbs. My arms are definitely behind my back. I feel something tight cutting into my wrists. My fingers are numb, but I can move them. I start making fists over and over to get the blood flow back.

My legs are beneath me at a sharp ninety-degree angle. I can wiggle my toes, but when I try to move a leg forward, it’s held in place by something wrapped around my shin. I am completely incapacitated. For a second, I feel that panic trying to break free. I stuff it down with a harsh vengeance.

So. Arms—tied. Legs—tied. Body—freezing cold. Not much to work with. Suddenly, I notice the sliver of light peeking through at the bridge of my nose. Hope flares in my chest. I shake my head back and forth, trying to slip the blindfold free. It starts to fall. Encouraged, I shake harder. The heavy cloth drops to my neck.

I blink a few times against the sudden brightness. Then, as my vision returns, I take stock of my surroundings.

I’m in some type of storage room. Metal shelves stocked with cardboard boxes surround me. I squint, trying to make out the labels on them. Mott’s Clamato. I frown, confused. My eyes move to another box. Grade-A Fresh Beef Patties.

Then it hits me. This isn’t a storage room. It’s a walk-in, commercial freezer.

How the hell did I end up here? I look down at myself. I’m seated on a dark wooden chair, like the type you’d find in a seedy bar. The straps holding my legs in place are those plastic handcuffs that are impossible to remove without a knife. My breath mists in front of my face as I try to turn my head around to get a look at my arms. But there’s a pipe behind me that prevents me from doing so. I try to scoot forward to get away from it, but the chair doesn’t move. Obviously. It’s tied to the pipe.

A noise in front of me jerks my head toward the door. The handle starts to turn downward. A sickening mix of apprehension and fear roil in my stomach.

The hinges groan as the heavy door swings inward. Two men walk in.

I recognize the first one immediately. He’s the same gaunt, skinny man who had looked at me through the window of the Lincoln. He’s wearing a crisp, beige suit with a black shirt underneath. The light casts a white crown on his bald head. His eyes are small, dark, and dangerous. They flicker over me. When he sees I’m awake, a slight smile forms on his lips. It’s a bloodless smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. It makes me want to recoil and look away, but I’m determined not to let him see my fear.

I meet his gaze and hold it instead, defiant to my very core. His brows raise in brief amusement, and if anything, that sickening smile deepens. Looking at his face is like viewing a walking corpse. He steps to