“It doesn’t. Here.” Suddenly, he steered her off the uneven track and into tall weeds.
Her heart clutched. Despite her vituperative outburst of only a few minutes earlier, she was now in the grip of mortal fear and couldn’t hold back a whimper. Was he raising his pistol? Would she hear the click when he pulled the trigger? Would she experience pain? Or just…nothingness? Please God.
She would appeal to God for her life. She would not beg him to spare it.
When they drew even with a stout hardwood, he began unbuttoning the fly of his jeans with his free hand. She looked up at him, unable to conceal her dismay.
“What?” This time, there was a taunting quality to his voice which matched the tilt of one corner of his mouth. “I told you I had to take a leak. Wha’d you think?”
“You know what I thought, you son of a bitch.”
Her anger seemed to amuse him. He made a derisive sound and turned slightly toward the tree. “Unless you want an eyeful, better close them.”
She did and didn’t reopen them until he said, “Okay, it’s safe to look.”
He had buttoned up but was now digging into the front pocket of his jeans. Her heart tripped when he withdrew a knife. It was small, but a flick of his fingers released a wicked-looking blade. “Turn around.” She hesitated, causing him to frown. “You want your hands freed or not?”
She was still mistrustful, but the promise of having her hands loosed was too enticing to resist. She turned her back to him and wanted to weep with relief when the knife snapped through the plastic grip. As she came around, she shook feeling back into her hands. “Thank you.”
He slid the knife into his pocket. “You can go behind the tree.”
Realizing now why he had unbound her hands, she shook her head. “Absolutely not.”
“Scared of snakes? Bugs? Or are you just bashful? Too ladylike? What?”
“I’m not going.”
“I know you have to. You drank that wine.”
/> In truth, she’d been uncomfortable since she’d regained consciousness.
He waited for a ten count, and when she still hadn’t moved, he said, “I don’t want you peeing in the car.”
“I won’t.”
“That’s right, you won’t. Because you’re doing it here, and you’re doing it now.”
She shook her head again.
“We don’t have time for this, Jordie, so here’s the deal. You can step behind the tree or stay here, and I’ll watch. You can undo your jeans and pull them down, or I’ll do the honors. Doesn’t matter to me either way, although choice number two has its appeal, because then I’ll know something I’ve been wondering since I saw you atop that bar stool, and that’s whether or not there’s anything under that denim except you. I could find out anyway, but my mama raised me better, so I’ll let you decide, and you’ve got exactly two seconds to make up your mind. One.”
The indignity of relieving herself was preferable to wetting herself. And if he was worried about her doing it in the car, he didn’t plan on killing her right away.
“Two.”
The longer she stayed alive, the greater her chances of escaping or being rescued.
His knuckles pressed against her navel as he slid his fingers into her waistband to undo the top button.
She gasped. “All right.”
He withdrew his hand with less expedience than he’d shoved it in. She turned around and took a couple of steps away from him before he caught the hem of her shirttail and pulled her back.
“I trust you have better sense than to try and run,” he said. “Look around. What’s out there? Total darkness, swamp, marsh, sword grass, gators, razorbacks, wild dogs, panthers, water mocassins, insects, all sorts of critters that bite and suck blood.”
She yanked her shirttail free. “I might stand a chance of surviving all that. Do I have any chance of surviving you?”
He looked down at her, his eyes uncompromising, not a glimmer of warmth or compassion, nothing that gave her hope. After several seconds, he hitched his chin toward the other side of the tree. “Hurry up.”