Sting - Page 17

He lowered his face closer to hers. “Because your skin is worth a hell of a lot more than Mickey settled for, and I haven’t negotiated my deal yet.”

Like everything he said, his words were candid and to the point. At least now she understood why she was still breathing.

He gave her a little shove that put space between them. “Besides, I gotta take a leak.”

He grasped her elbow and propelled her slightly ahead of him along the uneven gravel track which was pressed upon from both sides by dense woods. Beyond the dim glow provided by the car’s interior light, the surrounding darkness was impenetrable. She picked up the stench of stagnant water, sensed life-forms watching them from nests overhead and from hidey-holes in the underbrush, and felt the ghostly brush of insect wings against her arms and face.

Paralyzing fear encroached on her again, as did the teeming darkness. The darkness she could do nothing about, but she must keep the self-defeating fear at bay. Information, she reminded herself. Without information, she had no hope of escape.

“Your half doubled when you killed your partner.”

“If you remember me saying that, I must not have hit you very hard.”

“With your pistol?”

“It was a tap.”

“Hard enough to knock me out.”

“Your eyes rolled back, your knees gave out. I caught you on my shoulder as you slumped forward. Had to juggle you so I could get your and Mickey’s phones. But I managed to come away with both of them.”

While she tucked away the knowledge that he had her phone, he was saying, “I carried you to the car.”

“Where you tied me up.”

“No, I drove five or six miles before stopping to do that. When I stretched you out in the backseat, you groaned a couple of times but didn’t wake up. I used a bottle of water to wash off your face. That didn’t bring you around, either.”

She glanced down at her stained top. Her face would have been similarly spattered with… She didn’t want to think about the matter he had washed off her. Nor did she want to think about him washing her, touching her, handling her.

They were getting farther away from the car and the weak circle of light it provided. The ground had turned spongy. The heels of her sandals sank into it with each step, making walking difficult. Whenever she stumbled, his hand tightened around her elbow to help her regain her balance, but he never let go and continued to prod her forward.

Perhaps he’d only said that about negotiating a deal to put her at ease, to get her to cooperate, go peacefully, so he wouldn’t have to exert himself overly much to finish the job.

Keeping her voice as steady as possible, she said, “You’ll be caught, you know.”

“Not anytime soon. They don’t know what I’m driving.”

“They’ll get a description of the car from someone who saw you leave the parking lot.”

“No one did. I made sure of it. I went a full mile before turning on the headlights, and, anyway, I didn’t meet a single other vehicle on that backwoods road. When I stopped to tie you up, I also changed the license plates. That precaution was well worth the few minutes it took. I switched them from Louisiana to, uh, Arkansas, I think. Or was it Tennessee?”

“If you had states to choose from, you went prepared.”

“Credit goes to Mickey. Before we set out for Tobias he stashed a collection of extra plates in the trunk.”

“That doesn’t sound like someone who’d grown sloppy.”

“His ego was more bloated than his belly. Thought he couldn’t be caught. That kind of arrogance is a recipe for disaster. He drew attention to himself, made himself memorable. If you’re a hit man, those are bad habits.”

“Won’t executing him draw attention to you and make you memorable?”

He actually chuckled. “No doubt.”

“That doesn’t concern you?”

“No.”

“It should.”

Tags: Sandra Brown Mystery
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