Whiplash (FBI Thriller 14)

Was that a guillotine set on the floor, its wicked blade pulled up, ready to whack through a neck with a pull of the rope? That made her shudder. She managed to get herself up into a sitting position. At her back was a-tree? She twisted to look at it. Yep, a fake tree that didn't look very real at all up close and personal.

A ruff ?

She knew then where she was. In the storage room of a theater, probably the Belson summer stock theater where Mick had played Petruchio in Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew.

They'd stashed her here until they figured out what to do with her.

She could feel her Lady Colt in its ankle holster. She was very glad they weren't pros or they'd have found it in a matter of minutes. She'd have to get free before it would be of use to her.

Sherlock saw a weapons array-guns, muskets, fake Uzis, a butcher knife, an axe, and a stiletto-all of them fastened to a board set against a wall twelve feet away from her.

She tried to stand up and promptly fell on her side. She tried several more times, but always ended up on the floor. Okay, then-she wriggled over to the weapons board. She stared up at the stiletto, leaned her back against the board and slowly pushed herself up. She felt the weapons digging in her back, but she just kept pushing, pushing, until she was standing straight up. She turned slowly, leaning heavily against the board. The stiletto was still way too high up for her to pull it off with her hands bound behind her back. She went up on her tiptoes and clamped the steel blade between her teeth. It tasted cold and metallic. Since it was a stage knife, it had to be retractable. She'd have to be careful how she used it.

She pushed her back against the board again and slowly sank down to the floor. She dropped the stiletto and twisted around until she managed to grab the handle in her hand. Her first try at poking through the duct tape made the blade retract instantly. Okay, she'd have to saw the tape, not try to punch through it. She was clumsy at first, but she kept at it, sawed away. She cut her fingers, and her hands cramped. The stiletto kept slipping but she forced herself to be patient and repositioned it, aware of the precious minutes marching inexorably forward, bringing Jane Ann and Mick back to her. She couldn't hurry because when she did, the stiletto slipped and she had to start over again.

She stopped counting the times the stiletto cut her. There was slick blood now, making the task all that more difficult. Keep going, just keep going. Focus now, whine later.

Sherlock couldn't believe it when the duct tape suddenly split apart. She was free. She sat perfectly still for an instant, not really believing it. Forever, she thought, it had taken nearly forever, but she'd gotten the duct tape off. She stared down at her bloody hands-just like Lady Macbeth's. She drew a deep breath and shook her hands to get the feeling back, rubbed her hands on her pants. It hurt, but who cared?

She picked up the stiletto and went to work on the tape around her ankles. She cut through it in an instant. She was in business.

She stood and stamped her feet until she felt the pins and needles go away. Then she leaned up and pulled a butcher knife off its hooks. It was blunt, but nice and heavy. Best of all, it wasn't retractable. Evidently the actors had to remember not to hack anyone with it in the plays they performed. She held the butcher knife in her left hand and her Lady Colt in her right. She was good to go. She walked quickly through the shadows to the door of the storage room. It was locked, of course. Okay, now what? She had two bullets in her Lady Colt, she could shoot off the lock and-

She heard footsteps coming. Heavy footsteps. It was a man, and he was coming here.

Her heart stopped. They were back, to deal with her, probably to kill her. At least she wasn't lying on the floor, helpless. No, she wasn't helpless at all.

Sherlock eased behind the closely packed clothes racks, and waited. She heard him fiddling with the lock, and then the door was pushed inward.

56

Bowie shook his cell phone, as if it would give him more information. "It was Sherlock. Something's happened, I can't get her."

Erin took the cell phone from him, hit some buttons, listened. "It's still open on the other end, but no one's there. You're right, someone's got her, Bowie. Do you know where she was going?"

"I think she was going to see Jane Ann Royal, but there are loads of crime scene techs over there. I sent Kel and Joel over there to help work the house since you were with me. I know Sherlock asked them to check on the Royal telephone records. She's not there, she can't be."

"Call them, see what they say."

He took back his cell and speed-dialed Agent Kel Lewis's cell.