WILL TIME WAIT: Boxed set of 3 bestselling 'ticking clock' thrillers (37 page)

Unknown
hands hooked my waist and whisked me off my feet. 

I
screamed.

M
y raging
heartbeat was the only sound not drowned out by the car engine and booming rock
music.  I felt thumps inside my chest as strong as the bumps on the road,
which threw me back and forth like a loose football in the boot.  My head
reeled in murky darkness, wondering what had happened to Dylan, to John...

The
car took a sharp right, bashing the top of my skull against the side of the
boot.  I clamped my teeth and tensed through the pain. 

The
car sped over another bump, tossing me again.  I thudded back down. 
My ribs ached.  I could barely breathe.  And in the darkness, my
orientation was slipping beyond reach.  Screaming proved pointless. 
The tape on my lips saw to that. 

The
car began to slow, but my pulse quickened.  Then the annoying rock music
cut out at the same time as the car stopped.  I curled my legs near my chest,
waiting in a quivering zigzag.

“Take
her straight up,” a man said.  “And don’t forget to use the bag.”

Doors
squeaked open, then slammed shut.  The car rocked a touch, or maybe it was
just me.  Footsteps tapped their way to the back of the car.  All my
limbs tensed as I lay in the blackness, awaiting the unknown.  After a
single metallic click, the boot popped open.  Rain dripped in, thunder
boomed, and a floodlight cast its glow down on my face. 

A
chunky man towered over me.  He forced a fabric bag over my head, then
pulled its cord tight below the hollow of my throat.  I tried to scream,
but my cries were just muffles trapped behind tape.  The man must have
sliced through the ties around my ankles because the pressure released and my
legs sprang apart. 

“On
your feet.”  Firm hands grabbed my upper arms and hauled me out of the
boot. 

I
kicked in protest.  Tears itched my cheeks, and blood pounded in my ears.

Another
pair of hands clamped on, restricting my legs.  “She’s a live wire.” 
It was a male voice.

They
dragged me across hard ground in the rain.  I succumbed and walked,
although the stubborn part of me didn’t want to.  A moment later, they
stopped.  A key scraped into a lock and clicked. 

“There
are stairs here,” one of the men said.  “Up you go.”

I
wanted to feel every step so as not to fall, but someone kicked me from behind.
 I slammed down onto my bound hands, scared I would smack my face on
something or trip and slide downstairs.  Pain radiated through my
arms.  Not wanting to get kicked in the bottom again, I lifted my
throbbing hands onto the next step, then a knee, and crawled up a flight of
stairs on all fours, while crying. 

One
of the guys then picked me up.  “I don’t have all day,” he said in a raspy
voice.  He slung me over his shoulder and carried me up about two more
flights.  Once at the top, he dropped me down onto my feet.  Someone
tugged my belt as I fell sideways, and then whisked me around.  Head
spinning, I concentrated on staying on my feet, but knew I was swaying. 
One person marched me across a wooden floor, controlling me from behind by my
elbows.  The air smelled thick with cigarette smoke and body odour. 
In the background, I heard chatter and the sharp clink of what I recognised to
be pool balls slamming into one another.

“Well,
looky what totty we have here,” a husky-voiced man said from somewhere
nearby.  On hearing a wolf-whistle, I cringed, suddenly feeling exposed,
naked.  They pushed me forward.  My arm banged the edge of a door to
another room.

“Tie
her to the middle one.”  The voice echoed around me.

Big
hands clapped onto my shoulders, pressed me down onto my bottom.  The
floor was smooth and cold.  Someone parted my feet around a small
pole.  “Keep still,” he said, binding my ankles.

“And
when the other one arrives,” the second man said from behind.  “Stick him
over there.  Make sure they’re apart.”

He
finished tying me up.  “Don’t go anywhere.  I’ll be back soon.”
 The man’s voice was a wave of warmth across my collar bone.  He
laughed.  The sound faded as he moved away. 

My
body was rigid, like my bones had frozen through fear and shock.  From the
gentle trickle of water nearby, the constant clink of pool balls and the
disgusting stench of soap mixed with urine, I guessed I was in a
restroom.  A filthy bar somewhere?  Wind howled outside, and rain
pecked at glass to my right.  From the banter, I figured there to be three
or four guys in the building, drinking and shooting pool.

The
fabric bag, now sodden with tears, had stuck to my cheeks.  I couldn’t
slow my breathing, and wasn’t sure if I dared take the bag off my head.  

I
thought my life was complex enough before this weekend.  Who had I been
kidding? 

The
ties on my ankles and wrists wouldn’t give.  Reaching forward, I felt
around with my fingers, needing something... a sharp edge to saw through the
straps.  In front stood an upright board, less than a foot in width,
supported by the pole to which they’d shackled my ankles.  The edges of
the board were smooth and gave way to a hollow on the left side.  I
stretched further.  My finger touched another board which swung
inwards.  A door? 

I’m
bound to a bloody toilet cubicle?
 

I
slumped backwards, sickened, and cried again for what seemed like an
eternity. 

Then
the thump of heavy footsteps snapped me back to the stinking toilets that was
now my prison.

“Hey! 
Watch it,” a man said.  The dry-as-dust voice sounded familiar.

I
turned my head to the left.  Was that John?  My heart hammered
against my chest as I held my breath and listened for his voice again. 
Why wasn’t his mouth taped shut like mine?

From
the raspy zip-type sound, I guessed they were also strapping him to a toilet
cubicle.

“Scream
all you want,” a man said.  “We don’t have neighbours out here.” 

Once
I heard footsteps tapping out of the room, I dared to loosen the cord below my
chin, then pushed the bag up until it rested on my eyebrows.  I ripped the
tape off my lips.  The sting brought tears to my eyes again.
 “John.  Is that you?”  I squinted into the dim light.

John,
sitting on the floor with his ankles tied to a toilet cubicle, pushed the black
fabric bag up his head until it revealed his eyes.  Duct tape hung off the
corner of his mouth.  “Jenna?” he squawked, whipping the tape off
completely.  “What are
you
doing here?  Where’s Kerry?”

“Under
the bathtub,” I whispered.

“But
I thought—.”

“There
was no time to swap.”  I leaned back to check no one would enter. 
Pool balls continued to clink in the next room.  I spotted a guy sitting
with his back to me, puffing a column of smoke into the air.  His beefy
shoulders spread out over the back of a chair, and thankfully, he didn’t turn
to check on me. 

I
brought my gaze back to the toilets.  They looked as disgusting as their
stench suggested.  Grimy, once-white walls, and dirty floors spanned the
length of six cubicles.  A few toilet rolls lay like grotty streamers on
the floor near an overflowing waste bin below the sinks.  Among other
rubbish, crushed cigarette packets and gum wrappers littered the floor, but
nothing sharp that would help me escape.  John sat tied at the far end
behind the entrance door.  I was three cubicles away, in the middle. 
My feet rested inches from a puddle of pee near the pedestal of a toilet. 
“We need to get out of here.”

One
side of John’s mouth twitched a smile.  “No shit!”  

I
stretched forward and tried tugging the plastic tie straps off my ankles. 

“It’s
no good,” John said.  “We need a knife, a lighter or something.”

“Huh. 
The only time in my life I wished that I smoked.  There’s nothing
here.  Just grotty tissue and litter.”

“Keep
looking, but while we do—”  He paused.  “We need to get our stories
straight.”

I
met his gaze.

“If
they realise you’re not Kerry, they’ll go back and hunt for her.”

“I
know.”  My heart ached. 
And probably find Dylan, too. 
Please, please, let him be safe.  
“Oh, crap, they’re gonna work out
that—“

“Don’t
get your knickers in a twist.”  John rolled sideways and rested on an
elbow.  “Chill a second.  I’ll fill you in.”

My
wrists were sore and about to bleed.  I gave up the battle with the
plastic binders and listened.  The need to escape kept my eyes scanning
the floor for something sharp while we talked. 

“Your
name is Kerry Dutton,” John informed me.  “We’ve lived together for over
six years.  Shitty council flat.  I lost my job a while back, and
Kerry’s a stay at home mum.”

“Elliot,”
I said softly. 
Poor kid.

“Yeah. 
How did...” 

I
broke in, “Does he look like you?  I guess I’d know what my own child
looks like, right?”

“I’ve
got a photo.  Kerry’s mum gave it to me yesterday.  I was meant to
put it in my wallet, but... well... you know.” 

I
held my hand out.

He
leaned across the tiles and passed me a photo from his back pocket. 

“He
looks kind of familiar.”  Apart from the brown hair, Elliot looked cute
enough to be the milky-bar kid in a TV advert.  That must have been
why.  He was waving his hands in the air and pulling a funny face.  I
smiled, and then passed it back.

John
continued.  “Where was I?  Ah, yes.  We lost all our money to
some computer hackers.”

“I
know,” I butted in.  “Kerry told me.  It’s terrible.”

“Kerry’s
livid.  She wants to know who it is.  Once she gets a bee in her
bonnet, there’s no stopping her.  Anyway, I stupidly borrowed some money from
our—”

“Neighbour. 
He forced you to do the drug run.”

“Exactly. 
And I’m not kidding when I say he’s a nasty piece of work.  Kerry can’t
forgive me for borrowing that money off him.  We argue every day.  I
hate to say it, but I think this could be the end of the line for the two of
us.”  He paused to pat his pockets.  “Hell!  Kerry’s got the
goddamn key.”

I
winked, then pointed to my bra.  “No she doesn’t.  I have it right
here.  She dropped it in the bathroom, so I picked it up.”

John
blew out a long breath.  “Smart lady.”

I
leaned back and peered through the door again.  Still safe to talk. 
“So where’s this money?  And where’s the exchange taking place?  I
guess I’m meant to know all this, right?”

“That
key opens a locker in the bus station.  That’s where the money is stashed,
or at least it will be.  The security guards are in on it.  Locker
number 125. “

I
repeated the number, branding it to memory.

“There’s
another locker key in the cash bag.  We’ll switch the merchandise in the
locker next to it.”

“How
will that work?”

“The
locker has a removable back.  It’s just a way to do it off camera, and
being a public place... well, it minimises any double-cross.”

“I
see.  So, these people want to buy the drugs with your money?”

“Seeing
as it’s not their cash to begin with, they’ll make a killer profit.”

“Okay,”
I said.  “Hey!  What’s your full name?”

“John
Cooper.  I’m twenty-six.  Kerry’s twenty-three.”

After
filling me in on basic details about their house, lives, and little Elliot –
although of course we’d not mention him - I licked the skin around my wrists
and tried slipping my hands out of the plastic ties, while committing things to
memory.  Taking on Kerry’s persona felt like marrying an illegal and
cramming for a Green card exam with merely hours to spare.  I focused on
the basics, hoping toothbrush colour would not come into play.

“So,”
John began.  “Seems as we’re stuck here, what’s the story with you and
Dylan?”

I
knew he was trying to take my mind off things, but I went with it.  I told
John a little about my own life.  About my husband screwing around, and
how grief mixed with work stress caused him to flip without warning. 
“He’s so secretive.  I’m sure he’s up to no good trying to chase his
million.  Alan thinks he loves me.  But he has a warped understanding
of the word ‘love.’  I should have left him sooner.”  

“Why
didn’t you?”

I
shrugged.  “Because he didn’t use to be that way.  Besides, I was
scared.  And I’d forgotten that life can be good.”

“So
you’re skipping from one relationship to the next?”

 I
shook my head sternly.  “It just... happened.  My best friend Kate is
dating Dylan’s brother, that’s how we met.  I didn’t go out looking for
it.”  Dylan’s face flashed into my mind.  No.  He wasn’t a rebound
relationship.  To me, he was everything I wanted.  He had his faults
- but then so did I.  Without him, my heart had a missing piece. 

“I
spent far too long feeling like I was living in a box, John, you know?”  I
looked at him.  “Alan hated me spending time with other people.  In
the end, most of my friends deserted me.”