As Ali attempted to assemble the pieces, her heart filled with dread: They were on a less traveled road to some deserted corner of the desert. It might be night. She was being driven there by someone evil who, for reasons she didn’t understand, had locked her in a trunk. When they got wherever they were going, she was going to die, because she remembered that much. That was what had happened to the other woman, the one in the trunk, and this was the same thing. The person driving the car had killed that other woman-what was her name? Jan. Gina. Jill. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t dredge it up.
This time, much as she wanted to, Ali didn’t allow herself to fall back asleep. She willed herself to fight through the mental fog-to remember whatever it was that she didn’t want to forget. She twisted her cramping body and managed to free the arm that had been trapped. As circulation returned to her aching limb, Ali used the painful waves of needles and pins as a reminder that she was alive.
The car turned sharply to the right, thumping off the pavement and onto something much rougher. A dirt track, maybe? If that was the case, they were probably getting closer to stopping, getting closer to the end-of everything she held dear.
Her mind was filled with an endless parade of folks she’d never see again if she were dead. These were the beloved people she had left behind that day, or even the day before, without holding them close and saying a proper goodbye. B., of course, and then her parents; Chris and Athena; Colin and Colleen. It pained her to think that her grandchildren most likely wouldn’t remember anything at all about her except that she had been hauled off in a trunk and murdered. And then there was Leland Brooks. What would happen to him?
It was remembering all those people that did the trick, that made her want to go on living. That made her refuse to give up.
“I may die,” Ali Reynolds said aloud in the moving darkness, “but I sure as hell won’t go out without a fight!”
32
When the car lurched to a hard stop, the load of luggage behind Ali shifted, slamming her forward and mashing her face into the carpet-covered wall in front of her. The abrupt change of position sent a whole new agony of needles and pins powering through her legs and feet and a new awareness through her brain.
She had been at Doris Ralston’s house. A man had come into the room unannounced, a man who had to be Molly Handraker’s husband. Those were the only connections she had managed to make when she heard shouting from somewhere outside the vehicle-two voices, a man and a woman’s, screaming.
“What’s wrong?”
“The damned thing just stopped!”
“Can’t you start it again?” Ali recognized Molly’s voice.
“No, I can’t start it again. Since when am I a damned mechanic?”
“What are we going to do?” Molly sounded desperate and close to tears.
“We’re going to finish this thing once and for all.”
“Why did we have to bring her all the way out here? Why couldn’t we just-”
“Because I said so,” he told her. “Now shut up.”
For all the bluster in the man’s voice, Ali detected what she hoped was a hint of panic. The car’s breakdown wasn’t part of his plan, whatever that plan might be. While they figured out how to cope with the crisis, there was a chance they’d make a mistake of some kind, one that might give Ali an opportunity to escape.
Waiting for the trunk to open, she tried to steel herself for whatever would come. She had a pretty good idea what it would be. As her brain cleared, she remembered more of what had gone on. That other woman had been stabbed before she was dumped out in the desert and left to die.
If that was what was going on here, what was Ali’s best tactic? Would the element of surprise help if she shot up and out the moment the trunk lid opened, like some kind of enraged jack-in-the-box? Even though that idea was initially appealing, she concluded that there were far too many unknowns. The worst of those was whether she would be able to trust her own body. Yes, circulation had returned to her trapped extremities, but they had been held immobile for so long, would they work as she commanded them? Ali had some faith in her ability as a sprinter, but what if her legs didn’t respond and she fell to the ground and flopped there, helpless as a landed fish?
By the time the trunk lid thumped open and the greenish glow disappeared, Ali had made a decision: She would lie perfectly still and wait. Staring at the carpet directly in front of her, she was amazed to see that she could make out individual fibers. She had spent hours confined in the blackness of her moving prison. Over time her eyes had adjusted to the almost total darkness. Now the mere presence of starlight seemed close to daylight for her light-starved vision. If her opponent’s eyes were coping with the loss of the car’s headlights, that might give Ali a small advantage.
Maybe.
“While you get your crap out of the car, I’ll check on the plane,” the man continued. “With the car broken down, I’ll have to see if they can send someone out to pick us up.”
“Are you kidding? Out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“Depends on how much we’re willing to pay,” the man muttered. “So like I said, get that junk out of the trunk. We need to get rid of her.”
Ali had known all along that would be the most likely endgame. Still, hearing the words said aloud almost took her breath away. She listened as his heavy footsteps crunched away from the vehicle. When he stopped moving, she heard the indistinct mumbling of him talking on the phone. Moments later, the pressure on Ali’s back eased a little as Molly began unpacking the trunk, as she’d been ordered to do, and removing the obstacles that had kept Ali confined to the front of the trunk.
When the last item was removed, it took an act of will on Ali’s part to keep her hand from straying to the holster in search of her Glock. She didn’t dare risk it. Instead, with her heart pounding in her chest, Ali forced herself to remain utterly still, playing possum in hopes of convincing Molly that she was helpless and lost in a drug-induced fog. Ali needed the element of surprise on her side. When she mounted her attack, it would work only if Molly hadn’t seen it coming.
Finished unloading, Molly stood at the back of the car. The task had taken its toll. Ali listened to Molly’s labored breathing, all the while keeping her own eyes shut and her breathing slow and even.
“Okay,” Molly called. “Everything’s out but her. What now?”
“Get her out, too,” Barry said. “I’ll be there to help in a minute.”
Ali knew this was it. If she were to have any chance of getting away, she had to do it now, while she was dealing with Molly alone. Once Barry finished with his lengthy telephone negotiation, he would come to help. Then it would be two against one and too late.
Molly hesitated for another few moments. In the silence, Ali heard the distant rumble of the man’s voice and maybe something else, too, but before she could identify the new sound, Molly reached into the trunk and used both hands to grasp Ali’s shoulders. Grunting with effort, Molly flipped Ali over and dragged her a few short inches toward her. Ali concentrated on being unresisting deadweight. She kept her eyes shut, kept her limbs limp and pliable. She had no doubt that her life depended on the subterfuge. Barry Handraker might be armed and dangerous, but he wasn’t the only one. Molly hadn’t hesitated to draw a weapon the other night, and Ali suspected she would do so again with the smallest amount of provocation.
Grunting and pulling, Molly managed to shift Ali’s body a few inches, then she stopped. “Barry, she’s too heavy,” she called over her shoulder. “I need some help here.”
Ali could tell from the sound of Molly’s voice that she had turned in Barry’s direction to call to him. Taking full advantage of the momentary distraction, Ali quietly straightened her legs. The cramping in her calves nearly took her breath away, but even if her legs weren’t ready to function properly, Ali knew now was the time. She had to make her move while Molly was alone.