Will stood away from the wall. “What car?”

“Some car in the driveway,” Leo answered. “Mike wanted to know how long it had been there. She tells him five, maybe ten minutes, then he just walks away, doesn’t even say thank you.”

“Then what?”

“The neighbor got inside her house, gets her grocery list and heads back out.” Leo took another drag. “Only she notices that now the car in the driveway is facing the other direction. It’s backed up to the garage now. She sees Mike standing there, closing the garage door.”

“Shit.”

“He throws her a wave, closes the trunk, gets in and drives off.”

Closes the trunk, Will echoed in his head. Michael had put something in the trunk.

Will asked, “Did she say what kind of car it was?”

“Black. She don’t know models.”

His heart wasn’t beating anymore. “Leo, is the cop still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Gina’s car is still backed into the driveway?”

“Yeah.”

“I need you to go into the driveway and look under the back of her car. Tell me if there’s fresh oil on the concrete.”

“You want me to get my dick shot off?”

“You’ve got to do this,” Will insisted, his throat hurting from the effort it took to speak. “Tell me if there are any fresh oil stains.”

“Jesus,” Leo muttered. Will heard him blow out a stream of smoke. “All right, hold on.”

Will squeezed his eyes closed, picturing Leo walking across the street into Michael’s driveway. There was a man’s voice, probably the cop named Barkley, then a few groans as Leo must have struggled to get down on the ground. More yelling from the local cop, Leo yelling back. Finally, he got back on the phone. “Yeah, there’s fresh oil. Can’t be from Gina’s car because she backed into the drive—”

Will snapped the phone closed, tucking it into his pocket as he slammed into the interrogation room.

John saw him and backed up, saying, “What the—”

Will twisted the man’s arm around behind his back and smashed his face into the wall. He put his mouth an inch from John’s ear to make sure the bastard heard every word.

“Tell me where he is.”

John screamed in pain, going up on his toes.

“Tell me where he is,” Will repeated, pushing the arm higher, feeling the shoulder start to give.

“I don’t—”

“He’s got Angie, you asshole.” Will twisted the arm harder. “Tell me where he is.”

“Tennessee,” John whispered. “He’s got a place in Tennessee.”

Will let go and John dropped to the floor.

“Where in Tennessee?”

John shook his head, tried to stand. “Take me with you.”

“Tell me the address.”

He pushed himself up, wincing from the pain in his shoulder. “Take me with you.”

“I’m only going to ask you one more time.” When he didn’t answer, Will took a step toward him.

“All right!” John screamed, holding up the only arm he could move. “Twenty-nine Elton Road. Ducktown, Tennessee.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Angie had vomited at some point, but the gag had kept most of it in her mouth. Judging by the acrid smell in the trunk she had managed to urinate on herself as well. Her head was pounding, and her body ached so badly she couldn’t move without moaning in pain. Her hands and feet were hogtied behind her. Even if she had been able to move, she had nowhere to go, no way of helping herself. She was completely powerless.

She tried to concentrate on breathing, keeping herself oriented so that she wasn’t sick again. This was hardly her first concussion, nor was it the worst, but the darkness in the trunk made it difficult to keep from panicking, and every time the car stopped for a traffic light or stop sign, she could not calm the fear that burned in her chest like acid.

The car slowed again, and she tensed, listening to the tires crunching against a gravel road. They were off the pavement now. Angie had no idea how long she’d been in the trunk. She hadn’t seen who had hit her on the back of the head, but she knew it was Michael. His laughter still rang in her ears. It was the same laugh he’d given the night of Ken’s party when he’d shoved her into the backseat of her car.

The girl.

There had been a girl tied to the pool table. Blood and bruises had riddled her small body. Jasmine. It had to be Jasmine.

The car rolled to a slow stop. Angie counted the seconds. At twelve, a door opened. The car shifted as weight lifted from the front seat. The door slammed. Footsteps crunched against gravel. The passenger side door opened, then closed hard as if it had been kicked shut.

Twenty seconds. Fifty. A hundred. Angie had given up counting by the time she heard the key scrape in the lock of the trunk.

She was blinded by sunlight. Angie squeezed her eyes tight against the pain. The fresh air was like heaven, and she opened her mouth wide around the gag, flared her nostrils, desperate to breathe it in.

A shadow blocked the sun. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Michael was smiling down at her, the ragged scratch Jasmine had made down his cheek three days before looking like war paint.

“Have a nice nap?”

She strained against the ropes.

“Settle down,” he cautioned.

Angie barked out a “fuck you,” around the gag.

He unsheathed a long hunting knife, warning her, “Don’t try anything,” as he sliced through the ropes behind her back.

She moaned with relief as she stretched her legs as much as she could. Her hands were still tied behind her back, but at least she could move.

“Get out of the car.”

Angie struggled to sit up. Michael slid the knife back into the sheath and pulled out his service weapon. He pointed it at her head and she stopped moving.

“Slowly,” he ordered. “Don’t think for a minute I won’t shoot you.”

The rope bit into her wrists as she pressed her palms flat against the floor of the trunk. After several attempts, she managed to push herself up. She threw her legs over the side of the open trunk. Groaning, she forced herself out, tottering as her feet hit the ground, but somehow keeping her balance.

She stood up straight, looking around, trying to get her bearings.

“That was pretty impressive,” he said. “I’d forgotten how limber you are.”

She wanted to rip his eyes out with her bare hands.

“Look around,” he told her. She saw rolling hills and snow-capped mountains looming behind a rustic-looking cabin. “You can scream all you want, but no one is going to hear you.”

He pulled down the gag and she gulped for air. Her nose felt broken, and when she spit on the ground, a clot of blood mixed with chunks of food from breakfast.

She screamed like a banshee.

Michael just stood there as she doubled over from the exertion, her lungs rattling in her chest. She yelled until there was no air left in her lungs, nothing in her mind except the sound of her own screams.

He asked, “Finished?”

She lunged for him and he brought up his knee smack into her chest. She buckled to the ground, gravel shooting sharp pains through her legs.

Tags: Karin Slaughter Will Trent Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net