by Katie Ruggle
Her alarm was muted, her panic smothered under a thick blanket. Drugged. The realization came slowly, even as the room darkened and tilted sideways.
“It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Kaylee.” The agent’s voice was distorted, the words stretched and blurred. “You can call me Truman.”
* * *
Grace woke up unable to move. Panic flushed through her, and her eyes popped open as she immediately started to struggle. Her muscles strained, but her arms and legs were restrained. She tried to yell, but something in and over her mouth stopped the sound. As the haze of unconsciousness started to clear, Grace realized that she’d been gagged and hog-tied, with her wrists and ankles bound together.
She blinked, trying to figure out where she was. The memory of the FBI agent—no, Truman—coming into the interview room, giving her coffee… Grace groaned, and the sound was absorbed by the gag. He’d drugged her. He’d drugged her and somehow moved her to wherever she was. Fear accelerated her heartbeat as reality returned. Where was she?
Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. Twisting her head back and forth, she realized that she was lying on her back in a small, rectangular space. Like a coffin. Her panic started to return, and she firmly shut it down. Light was coming from between the slats of a metal air vent next to her head. If the enclosure she was trapped in had been a coffin, there wouldn’t have been any light, and there definitely wouldn’t have been any air.
Even so, the horror of her situation was starting to sink in, and her breath came hard and fast. Stop! she commanded mentally, reining in her building terror. Giving in to fear would not solve her problem. She wasn’t sure what would solve it, but she knew for certain that getting hysterical wouldn’t help.
Turning onto her side, she twisted her hands so she could feel her bonds. Her fingers slid across a slick, familiar surface—duct tape. Her wrists worked, her fingers straining to find an edge, to pull and work at the tape, but the angle was wrong. Giving up on freeing her wrists, she reached for her feet. A rope of duct tape connected them to her hands, and she arched her back and pulled her bound ankles closer to her.
The front of her thighs screamed a protest at her awkward position as Grace picked and tugged at the tape. There was a thunk, and the light from the vent brightened, making her go still. Releasing her ankles, she craned her neck to peek through the slats.
She was in the back of a van, one that had been converted into…something. She could see a large, low sink and a table with a rubber, textured surface. The table looked familiar, and she remembered that Nan had a similar one at the kennel that she put the dogs on for grooming. Confusion added to Grace’s fear. What was this place?
One of the back doors was open, and Special Agent Barrett—no, Truman—climbed inside. Grace froze, not moving, not breathing. What was he going to do? Kill her? Torture her? This was the guy who put a hit out on Hugh, a cop, just to make it easier to run drugs. That kind of monster could be capable of anything.
He looked at the vent, and a cold smile crept over his face. “You awake in there, Kaylee?”
In a couple of strides, he was right next to her. With a click, the top of the enclosure—not a coffin, not a coffin—opened, and Truman stood over her, grinning. Trying to hide her shaking, she forced back her fear and packed all her rage and disgust into her glare.
“Comfortable?” he mocked. “I made it myself. From the outside, it looks like a water storage tank and heater, but it’s actually a very convenient hiding place.” His expression was expectant, as if he was waiting for her to rave over his cleverness. When she just continued to glower, Truman gave a tiny shrug. “I usually use it for…other things, but Jovanovic asked so nicely that I couldn’t refuse. When I told him a woman wanted to talk to the FBI about Martin Jovanovic, he guessed it was you right away. I must say, the photo he sent does not do you justice.” His reptilian eyes ran over her, and she fought the urge to cringe away from him. “He was quite desperate to know where you were hiding, but I’m keeping that to myself. I don’t want Jovanovic to send one of his goons to pick you up just so he won’t have to pay me. He’s cut me out of deals before. Fool me once, and all that.”
As much as she wanted to keep her tough expression, Martin’s name sent a surge of fear through her. Truman might not torture her, but he was delivering her to Jovanovic, and he wouldn’t have any qualms about causing Grace pain. She had firsthand evidence of that. The men’s bloody, battered faces filled her mind, and she forced them back. She couldn’t panic, not now. She tried to move, to pull free from her restraints, but all she managed was to bump her knees against the side of her enclosure.
“None of that.” Truman gave her a casual shove that rolled her onto her back, crushing her hands and feet painfully beneath her. “No one can hear you anyway. This auto shop is closed for the winter, and Monroe is like a ghost town. Just be a good girl, and I’ll deliver you into Jovanovic’s loving arms lickety-split. Well, I won’t be the one driving, but I’ll pay someone to get you there. How about that?”
He patted her on the head, and her rage returned, smothering the worst of her fear. If she hadn’t been gagged, she would’ve bitten his condescending, evil hand. Straightening, he lowered the top of her cage, and she heard a snap as something locked into place. Grace had a feeling that Truman hadn’t built in an emergency release lever for someone trapped in his drug hiding place.
Twisting onto her side again, she peered through the vent, watching as Truman hopped out of the back, leaving the door open. Grace felt a surge of urgency. She had to do something to take advantage of his absence and the open van door. Soon, they’d be in motion, and escaping would be that much more difficult. Once she was back in Martin’s hands… Squeezing her eyes closed, Grace blocked out the panic that followed. Think! There had to be some way to escape.
Her cell phone had been on her lap when she’d lost consciousness, so it was probably still in the interview room, unless Truman had grabbed it. Calling for help was out. Hugh’s face filled her mind, and she desperately wished she was with him, teasing him, joking with him, feeling safe. It hurt to think about him when she might never see him again, and she banished the thought. Plan! she ordered her brain. Think of a plan!
Her mind just spun in helpless, useless circles. Needing to do something, she reached for her ankles again, starting to pick at the tape while she thought. Truman had said they were in an auto shop. The only one that came to mind was a squatty little place perched on the very edge of town, a good distance away from any other buildings. Even if Monroe hadn’t been mostly empty, the shop was isolated. If she managed to make noise, no one would hear—no one except Truman. Her fingers dug at the tape more and more frantically, and she forced them to slow. Panic wouldn’t help. It only made it harder to think.
Truman climbed into the van, and she went still. Even though he knew she was there—he’d put her in there—she still instinctually tried to hide in place. As she stared through the vent, he carefully placed what looked like a canister vacuum on the shelf under the grooming table. His movements were so tentative that she examined the vacuum more closely, wondering why something labeled Pet Vac-N-Blow required such careful handling. She didn’t notice anything obviously off about it, though.
Once the vacuum was in place, Truman backed away, sending a grin toward Grace’s vent. “A little present for your cop friend, just in case he decides to stop your delivery today.”
Grace’s eyes went wide, and her body involuntarily jerked, thumping her bound feet against the side of her cage. Hugh? Her heart pounded as she stared at the innocuous-looking vacuum.
“Smells like coke,” Truman said, his tone slightly amused. “Officer Murdoch’s ever-so-talented dog will lead him right to it.”
It was hard to hear Truman with her blood roaring in her ears, so Grace tried to force herself to calm down so she could listen. Air tore in and out of her lungs in frantic gasps
as Truman smiled.
“Don’t tell him, but there’s a surprise inside. One that goes boom.”
Grace screamed into her gag.
* * *
As the van rolled into motion, jostling her back and forth in her tiny prison, Grace lost control of her panic. She fought her restraints wildly, not even feeling her muscles shriek as she pulled against her bonds. Her fingers scrabbled to grip the tape, and two of her short nails bent back past the quick, but it didn’t matter. She needed to get free before Hugh stopped the van, before Lexi found the drug-laced explosives, before the bomb went off, killing them all. Bound as Grace was, there was no way to warn them. She’d just have to lie there and watch, helpless, as everyone died.
With each second, they rolled closer to the street where she feared that Hugh, Theo, and Otto waited, and with each second, Grace prayed frantically that they’d already left, given up, gone back to the safety of the station. She’d still be sent back to Martin and killed, but at least Hugh and Lexi and the other cops wouldn’t die along with her.
Flashing red-and-blue lights lit up the back of the van as it rolled to a stop. A sob jerked through Grace, and she choked on the wad of fabric in her mouth. This was it. She renewed her struggles, but then paused to listen as a stranger’s voice said from the driver’s seat, “Was I speeding, Officer?”
Otto’s low rumble responded. “Yes. License, registration, and proof of insurance, please.”
“Sorry about that.” The driver gave an unconvincing chuckle. “These small mountain towns come up so fast. I’m on the highway, going fifty-five, and then suddenly I’m on Main Street. Takes a while to adjust.”
Grace shifted, moving her lower body into place so she would be ready to bang her knees and feet against the wall of her enclosure as soon as there was a second of silence. Unfortunately, the driver continued to babble.
“I drive this route all the time, since the Dresden ladies love their fluffy lap dogs to be clean, but I’ve never been pulled over here before. Didn’t even know you guys had cops in this town.” That awkward half laugh came again, and Grace gritted her teeth. If only the guy could shut up for five seconds, she could slam her legs against the wall hard enough for Otto to hear. If the cops found her first, before the bomb was activated, then she could warn them.
The faint sound of Hugh’s voice made Grace stop breathing. She strained to hear, but his words were unintelligible. Otto must have heard what he needed to hear, though, since he interrupted the still-babbling man. “Step out of the car, please.”
“What? Why?” The guy sounded panicked. He must have obeyed Otto, because the van bobbled slightly as he climbed out of the driver’s seat, and his babbled excuses and bluster grew fainter.
The back door jerked open, and Lexi hopped inside, followed by Hugh. No! Grace screamed, but the gag took away all of the sound. She swung her lower body as best she could, hitting her feet and knees painfully against the side of the small space, but an arriving squad car’s siren gradually grew louder, muffling the sound. With a glance toward Grace’s vent, Lexi went straight to the grooming table and sat in front of it, her attention locked on the pet vacuum.
“Good girl, Lex!” Hugh said. He limped toward Lexi, pulling a braided tug out of his pocket, but the dog didn’t grab on to the toy. Instead, she spun around and started sniffing Grace’s vent.
Good girl, Lexi! Grace made a grateful sound in her throat. Hugh was watching the dog curiously.
“What’s up? Bored with Mr. Tugs already?” he asked, his words barely audible above the siren. “Too many dog smells in the pet-mobile to resist?” After a few moments, he turned back toward the pet vacuum and pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket. As he lifted the rigged, deadly appliance, Grace screamed at him, but the sound was lost in her gag and the multiple sirens gathering outside.
Over and over, she slammed her body against the side of her enclosure. Tears of terror and frustration filled her eyes, turning Lexi into a blurry brown-and-black blob. Grace blinked, desperate to see, to know what was happening, and tears ran sideways across the bridge of her nose and down her face. Lexi started to paw at the vent and bark.
Frowning, Hugh put the vacuum on the grooming table and moved to crouch next to Lexi. The sirens went silent, and Grace’s knees hit with a dull thud. Hugh jumped back, drawing his gun. “Lexi, here!”
Lexi reluctantly moved to his side, her tail low and her attention still on Grace’s vent. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Grace babbled silently, rolling so her shoulder hit the side this time.
“Who’s there?” Hugh barked, and Grace thumped her knees in response. He moved toward her, but slowly, too slowly with the bomb sitting right next to him. Who knew where Truman—in his Agent Barrett guise—was, or if he had a way to detonate the explosives remotely. They didn’t have much time. Grace knocked into the side with her head. It was the loudest sound she’d made so far, but it hurt the most, and her vision grayed slightly. She gritted her teeth, blinking rapidly. If she passed out and couldn’t talk, then Hugh would never know about the bomb, even if he got her out in time.
As Hugh cautiously crouched by Grace again, her head cleared. Obviously taking Hugh’s movement as permission, Lexi resumed scrabbling at the vent. Hugh peered through the opening, and Grace pressed her face against the other side.
“Ah!” He jumped back slightly before his eyes widened. “Grace?”
She stared at him, making useless sounds in her throat. Get out! There’s a bomb! her brain was screaming, but he couldn’t hear her, couldn’t read her mind.
“Otto! Theo!” he shouted, standing.
No! Don’t call them! Her mental shouts were useless, though. All Grace could see of Hugh were his lower legs, but she heard him tapping and thumping on different parts of the fake water tank. She squeezed her eyes closed. He was trying to figure out how to get her out when he and Lexi should’ve been running away as fast as they could.
“What is it?” Otto asked, sticking his head inside the van.
“Grace is in here.” His voice was grim and frantic at the same time.
“What?”
There was a click. “Got it.” His voice was thick with satisfaction as the top swung open.
Grace stared at him, desperately saying, “Bomb!” over and over, but it came out as incomprehensible, muffled sounds.
“I’ve got you, Gracie,” Hugh crooned, his voice gentle although the look on his face was ferocious. He pulled out a pocketknife and cut through the tape rope hog-tying her. Her legs straightened, her muscles protesting, and she groaned. He carefully started slicing through the tape on her wrists, but Grace shook her head adamantly.
The gag! Take off the gag!
He was obviously a terrible mind reader, because he ignored her and continued separating her wrists. As soon as they loosened, Grace yanked hard, pulling her hands apart.
“Careful!” Hugh warned, pulling back the knife.
Ignoring him, she reached up for the tape covering her mouth, scratching her skin as she tried to peel up a corner.
Hugh frowned and reached out with the hand not holding his knife. “You’re hurting yourself.”
She didn’t care. A few scratches were nothing compared to what would happen to all of them if the bomb detonated. Finally, finally, she managed to get hold of the edge of the tape, and she yanked it off. It was painful…very painful. Despite her desperation and adrenaline, she still felt the sting, but she ignored it and spit out the wad of damp fabric.
“Bomb,” she croaked as soon as her mouth was clear.
“What?” Hugh and Otto said in unison.
Grace swallowed, trying to moisten her throat. It was so dry that she retched, but she forced herself to speak again, to get the words out. “Bomb!” Her voice was harsh and cracked, but at least it was understandable. “The vacuum is a bomb!”
There was bar
ely a half second pause before the cops sprang into action as smoothly as if they’d rehearsed. As Otto grabbed Lexi’s leash, Hugh snatched up Grace, slinging her over his shoulder.
“Agent Barrett is Truman,” Grace gasped. “Is he here?”
“Yeah, and he’s on his phone.” Otto’s voice was grim as he leapt out of the van with Lexi.
“His phone?” Her words were shrill, but Grace couldn’t help it. Was Truman using his phone to remotely set off the bomb? They had to get out—now.
Hugh grabbed the vacuum in his right hand, and rushed toward the door behind Otto and Lexi.
“Are you crazy?” Every word tore at Grace’s throat, but she didn’t care about the pain. “That’s the bomb! The vacuum is the bomb!”
“Yeah, I got it,” Hugh grunted as he leapt out of the back. “Don’t want the van to be an even bigger one. Gas tank and nasty shrapnel and all.”
As he landed, Grace’s body thumped down hard where she was folded over his left shoulder, and he staggered before catching his balance. Lifting the vacuum, he hurled it, football style, into the air. Arching her back, Grace craned her neck to watch. It seemed to move in slow motion, arcing high with hose and cord fluttering behind like the tail of a funny-shaped kite. It tipped down, returning to the earth, dropping over the embankment and into Big Creek.
Hugh dove, bringing Grace to the ground, his body covering hers, just as the sky turned impossibly bright. The boom came later, seeming to go on and on until everything went quiet. The silence felt worse than the earlier cacophony.
Grace opened her eyes, blinking away the splashes of light that popped up, blocking her vision. When it finally cleared, she couldn’t see anything except for Hugh’s shoulder. He was on top of her, his body heavy. He wasn’t moving.
“Hugh?” her voice came out scratchy, and she coughed, trying to clear her throat. It was hard to get enough air in her lungs, and her mouth was still painfully dry. “Hugh?” She tried to roll, to push him off so she could see his face, but his body kept her pinned. “Hugh!”