Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [39]
Tina was pretty sure she was in a vehicle. She could feel movement, but it confused her that she couldn’t see. Maybe the crate was in the back of a covered pickup bed, or a blacked-out van. She didn’t think it was night, though without being able to glance at her watch she had no idea how much time had passed. She’d slept for a long while, she thought. The drugs, then the fear, having taken their toll.
She felt isolated. The pitch black was too sterile, devoid of even the soft whisper of someone else’s breath, let alone whimpers of fear. Whatever else was back here, she was pretty sure she was the only living thing. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe she was the only person he’d kidnapped then. He’d taken just her.
But somehow, she doubted that and it made her want to weep.
She didn’t know why he was doing this. Was he a pervert who kidnapped college girls to take them to his sick hideaway, where he would do unspeakable things? She was still fully clothed, however. Down to her three-inch sandals. He’d also left her her purse. She didn’t think a pervert would do such a thing.
Maybe he was a slave trader. She’d heard stories. A white girl could fetch a lot of money overseas. Maybe she’d end up in a harem, or working in some sleazy bar in Bangkok. Well, wouldn’t they be in for a big surprise when their pretty young thing suddenly grew big and fat. That would teach them to snatch first and talk later.
Her child born into slavery, prostitution, porn . . .
The bile rose up in her throat again. She grimly fought it back.
I can’t be sick, she tried telling her tummy. You have to give me a break. We’re in this together. I’ll figure out a way to get out of the crate. You have to hold down all food and water. We don’t have much to work with here, you know. We have to make these calories count.
Which was very important actually, because as perverse as it sounded, the less Tina had to eat, the worse her nausea became. Basically, food made her sick and lack of food made her sicker.
Belatedly, Tina was aware that the motion was decelerating. She strained her ears and detected the slight squeak of brakes. The vehicle had stopped.
Immediately her body tensed. Her hands fumbled behind her. They found her black shoulder bag, gripping it tight like a weapon. Not that it would do her any good with her hands bound behind her back. But she had to do something. Anything was better than simply waiting for what would happen next. . . .
A door suddenly rolled back. Bright sunlight penetrated the vehicle, making her blink owlishly, and in the next instant, she was aware of an intense wall of heat. Oh God, it was boiling outside. She shrank back, but couldn’t avoid the scorching air.
A man stood in the open doorway. His features were a black shroud haloed by the sunlight behind him. His arm came up and a cellophane package fell between the plastic bars. Then another and another.
“Do you have water?” he asked.
She tried to speak, then remembered the tape over her mouth. She did have water, but she wanted more, so she shook her head.
“You should ration your supplies more carefully,” the man scolded.
She wanted to spit at him. She shrugged instead.
“I’ll give you another jug. But that’s it. Understood?”
What did he mean by “that’s it”? That’s it before he set her free? Or that’s it before he raped her, killed her, or sold her to a bunch of sick twisted men?
Her stomach was roiling again. She closed her eyes to savagely fight it back.
Next thing she felt was a prick on the arm. A damn needle. The drugs, oh no . . .
Her muscles melted as if trained. She slumped against the side of the dog crate, the world already fading away. The kennel door opened. A jug of water materialized in her crate. A hand casually ripped the tape from her mouth. Her lips stung. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
“Eat, drink,” the man said quietly. “By nightfall, you’re going to need your strength.”
The kennel door snapped