As if reading her mind, he clicked open the door and stepped into the dark room. A wedge of light illuminated her austere quarters and she caught a glimpse of her own clothing, folded neatly by the fire. Was her weapon there, too? What about her phone? All she could see were her jeans, sweater, jacket, and shoes.
“What?” he mocked.
Trying to make out the contours of his face, she squinted up at him, holding the blanket over her body. The fire had nearly died, the temperature in the room was not a lot of degrees above freezing, and the light was so weak, only brightening the area just skirting the stove, that she was thwarted. And those hideous goggles and ridiculous beard. He kicked the door shut. It closed with a solid thud that jarred Pescoli, put her even more on edge. Don’t let him get to you, it’s all part of his game. Play it cool. But the door closing seemed the knell of death, reinforcing the fact that there was no escape, that she was locked in here, prey to whatever vile fantasies his sick mind concocted.
“So, Detective . . .” His voice was a raspy whisper that crawled across her skin. “Your escape plan isn’t working.”
Her pulse jumped. He knows about that? Has he been secretly watching me? Filming me? Laughing at my impotent attempts to free myself ?
“You may as well give up. Whatever you’ve decided to do, it won’t work.” He was stepping closer to her
, standing tall, trying to intimidate her as she was forced to lie or sit, naked on the cot.
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He had a ski hat on with blond hair poking from it, but she thought even his hair might be fake. He was going to a lot of trouble not to be recognized.
“Hungry?” he asked.
As if he cared. The truth was her stomach was turned inside out with fear; she wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite.
“No?”
She didn’t respond and he cocked his head, studying her like a bird eyeing an interesting insect scuttling on the ground. “You know, Red, I expected more from you.” Mock disappointment was audible in his raspy voice. “A little bit of fire. This passive-aggressive act isn’t really working.”
“I’m not acting.”
“Ah. She speaks. At last.” He seemed pleased and Pescoli mentally kicked herself for saying anything. But you have to engage him, draw him out, make him say something that will trip him up or give you some clue as to his plans. Is there cell service up here, wher- ever this place is? An access road? Is it visible from the air? How far from town are you?
“You don’t know me,” she stated flatly.
“Don’t I?”
He was so smug, she felt a needle of doubt pierce her heart. Was he someone close to her? Who?
“Then why don’t you let me see your face?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“This is fun?” she asked.
“Of course it is.” Jesus, he was enjoying himself.
“Oh, sure. A riot,” she mocked and moved to a sitting position, keeping the blanket covering her, her handcuffed right wrist holding her hand down by the cot’s leg. Her left wrist, linked by the chain to her right, lay against her right thigh. 274
Lisa Jackson
“You’re modest,” he said, obviously enjoying himself. “That surprises me. I thought you wouldn’t be so shy.”
You don’t know the half of it, jerk-off. He scratched at the back of his neck. Maybe his fake hair was itching. If she could just pull off his hat, wig, and goggles, get a good look at his eyes, she was certain she’d be able to place him. What good will that do if you can’t get free? Pescoli wanted to deck the jerk-wad, to knock him flat and peel off his disguise. “Like I said, you don’t know me at all.”
“Really?” He placed a finger against his chin like a bad stage actor trying to portray being lost in thought. “I know that you’ve been married twice, to losers both of them. They both cheated on you, right? But you got Joe, your college sweetheart, back by sleeping with someone else.”
Her blood was boiling, but she bit her tongue. Let him rant. Maybe if he gave up some bit of information he considered useless, she might glean something about him, something that would ultimately give her a clue to his identity.
“That’s right . . . you were separated from Joe at the time, so that made it okay for you to act like the slut you really are.”