Identity Crisis (Sam McRae Mystery 1)

Another slap, harder this time. The lights were making my eyes hurt. My head throbbed.

“Where is Melanie Hayes?”

Again, I told him I didn’t know. I got a punch in the ribs. Then another.

“Where is she?”

I shook my head. It hurt to breathe now. Another hard slap followed by a punch in the gut. I gasped for air.

“Stop that,” the voice commanded. “Give her time.”

The muscle man stepped back. I got my time. Then the voice said, “What’s your business with Bruce Schaeffer?”

How the hell had Schaeffer gotten into this? “Wanted to ask him some questions.”

“About what? What sort of questions?”

“Thought maybe he might know where Melanie is.”

Pause. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

Hands pulled me from the chair and threw me to the floor. My head hit with a bang. A kick landed in the kidney region of my lower back. I howled as an electric current of pain shot through me.

“What did you talk about, Ms. McRae? Be specific, please. I want details.” The voice boomed relentlessly.

“I asked him if he knew where she was,” I gasped. “That’s all.”

“Why would he know?”

“It was a hunch.” I said it fast, trying to get it out before the next blow landed. “I’m trying to find her. The police are looking for her. That’s all.”

I braced myself, waiting for something worse to happen.

The voice was silent. Finally, the man said, “Did Melanie Hayes leave anything with you?”

“No.”

“Nothing? Are you sure?”

“No. She didn’t give me anything.”

“You lying bitch. Talk.” This from the muscle man, who kicked me again and again. He slammed me onto my back and with one arm pinned my shoulders down and sat astride my thighs, smashing my bound hands into the hard floor. He stared at me with eyes as devoid of warmth as a shark’s. A deep scar ran down his left cheek.

I heard a metallic snick and a switchblade moved into view above my face.

“Tell us, you filthy, lying cunt. Tell us or I’ll cut your fuckin’ eyes out.” The knife hovered over my left eye, then moved in closer.

I whimpered.

“Stop that, you idiot.” the voice ordered. “Get off her right now.”

I lay there, ready to piss my pants, thinking about spending the rest of my life mutilated or blind. I didn’t dare move or breathe. I wanted to pass out.

“I said get off her,” the voice commanded.

The muscle man finally withdrew the knife an

d got up. He seemed reluctant.