When he came back inside, he was still buttoning up his fly. “Get in the backseat and lie down.”
“I’ll swelter inside that car.”
“You want me to take your clothes off?” At the look she gave him, he snickered. “I didn’t think so. Go lie down.”
“When are you going to call Panella back?”
“After he’s had time to think it over. Or, you could tell me how to contact Josh and we could be done here.”
“I can’t.”
“Then get in the car.”
“If you wait too long, Panella may—”
“Stop stalling. I’m tired.”
Unprepared to engage in another wrestling match, this time with her hands tied behind her, she went to the car, got in, and lay down on her right side. “My arm goes to sleep in this position.”
“When it does, roll over.”
“I’ll chatter, sing, keep you awake.”
“I’ll put a gag in your mouth.”
He went to the trunk and rummaged among the things in it. She listened to the clank of license plates, the thump of the tire iron, the rattle of empty plastic bottles and sacks of canned goods, trying to think of ways in which one or the other could be used to debilitate him, at least long enough for her to get off a 911 call.
The tire iron would be ideal, but even though he left the trunk open, what good was having access to its contents with her hands bound behind her?
When he came back into her range of vision through the open backseat door, he was carrying a folded bright blue tarpaulin, which he dropped to the floor. He turned to her and, as though he’d been following the track of her thoughts, addressed the helplessness she felt.
“I’ll leave your feet free. There’s not much you could do without the use of your hands. I guess you could try running to the main road before I chased you down, but whatever you tried, you’d fail.”
“If I’m going to die anyway, I had just as well try to escape.”
“I admire that fighting spirit, Jordie. Truly I do. The thing is, I don’t wake up in a cheerful mood on the best of days. If you woke me up trying some doomed-to-fail stunt, I’d be so pissed off I’d likely tie your feet together, gag you, shut the car doors, and then it really would be sweltering in there. Or I could always put you in the trunk.”
As he turned away, she said under her breath, “You’re not all that nice.”
He came back around. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
He gave her a hard look, then his eyes tracked down the length of her body and all the way back up, pausing in places that grew warm under his scrutiny. “I’m not all that restrained, either.”
He always had the last word, disallowing her to enjoy even a small triumph. Resentfully she watched him unfold the tarp. “I suppose you use that to wrap bloody bodies in.”
“It comes in handy.” He spread the tarp over the grimy floor a few yards away from the car, then popped open the first two snaps on his shirt and pulled it over his head.
She quickly looked away to avoid the sight of his bare chest.
“Jordie.” He came to stand just beyond the open backseat door. “Jordie.”
Feeling foolish and cowardly, she jerked her head back toward him. “What?”
“Pistol.” He touched the holster at his hip. “Cell phone.” He patted his right jeans pocket. “Cell phone battery.” He patted his left jeans pocket. “You might manage to get one away from me, but not all three.”
His hands remained flat against his pockets, bracketing the frayed fly of his jeans, which she was relieved to see he’d finished buttoning. The waistband was low and loose, curled slightly forward away from his torso where skin and hair were sweat-damp.