Left to Murder (Adele Sharp #5) - Blake Pierce Page 0,4

she began to move away quickly.

Fingerprints, she thought to herself. Such a strange thought. An odd thought, but one that struck her as true. He didn’t want to leave the glass behind, because it had his fingerprints on it. This thought only further propelled her into another bout of terror.

She needed to get out. But where could she go? Her car was parked in the same lot as his gray sedan. She would have to exit the back, circle the building, and he would see her through the glass. She would have to cross in front of the dumpsters to reach her car. He might be fast enough to reach her before she could. Especially with her twinged back. She would barely make it.

She needed help. Was Andre here? No, she hadn’t seen his car. She needed to call the police.

She walked stiffly, straight-backed, no longer caring about the sweat blotches against her uniform. She moved hastily toward one of the side rooms in the back of the wine-tasting studio. The room here was cold, where they would often chill some of the older vintages before serving them to richer clients. She pushed under the stray, dangling plastic barrier of rectangular strips, like the spinning rags at a car wash. She pushed at the cold plastic and stepped deeper into the cooling room.

With scrambling fingers, she groped for her pocket, hastily pulling out her phone. It took her a couple of tries to remember her own pass-code, as fearful as she was. Adrenaline was coursing through her, pulsing up and down her body.

“Come on,” she muttered darkly. “Come on.”

Then she heard a quiet click. A tap on the side of her neck. A patient, even tap from a gloved finger, the sensation of smooth leather.

A blossom of absolute horror pulsed through her.

She whirled around, and was struck in the side of the head, hard, with an open hand. A second blow followed, but not a wild, untrained punch. A strange shooting motion, straight into her throat.

She gurgled, gasping, and heard a quiet, soothing voice, as more pressure was applied to her neck. “It will all be over soon, dear Amelia. Don’t struggle, it might break your windpipe. I wouldn’t want that.”

Then she blacked out.

***

Twisting pain, pulsing needles in her eyes, her head.

She felt weak, sluggish, and her headache only increased. It was like a headache she’d once gotten when her nose had been congested, and she had breathed through a thin blanket at night. Not enough oxygen.

Her eyes fluttered sluggishly, and her eyelids felt heavy, weighted with lead. The insides of her eyeballs were scratchy, and hurt, and she blinked against a sudden glare.

She tried to look around, and found that though her head could move, her body was restrained. This filled her with an even greater terror. But the fear also moved like a steady prickle up her body, through her like seeping molasses across a floor.

She tried to rise, but found that her back was pressed against something cool. A second later, she realized she wasn’t wearing her shirt. For some reason, this sent an even greater bolt of fear through her.

Glancing down, she realized her bra straps had been lowered past her shoulders, and there were metal clamps against her arms, holding them in place. Her legs couldn’t move either; she tried to kick them. She glanced down, fearing the worst, but saw she was still wearing her pants; there was at least that.

Exposed like this, she looked around and realized she was in an unfamiliar room. Bright glows, like movie theater lights, were blazing down on her. She looked at her arm suddenly, and nearly screamed. A needle was gouged into her wrist, leading to an IV and a bag with rubber hosing.

For a moment, she wondered if they were pumping something into her body. But it became clear enough, after a moment of disoriented staring, that they were pumping something out.

Someone was taking her blood.

“Help,” she croaked in a weakened voice. The words barely managed to escape her lips before dying from their own frailty.

How much blood had she already lost?

She tried to look one way and then the other, but the blinding light still pulsed ahead of her. The cool metal pressed against the back of her half naked torso. And then, a blurring shadow.

It took her a moment to adjust, but she realized the shadow was that of the man.

He was still as handsome as she remembered. Still, not a single hair out