Shadow
of the
Storm
Candle Sutton
Text copyright © 2016 Candle Sutton
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogue, incidents, and locations are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to events, places, or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or other – without written permission from the author.
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Dedication and Acknowledgments
A note from the author
Excerpt from Deadly Deliverance
Prologue
One
One
“You’re gonna dump her off the bridge?”
The man’s words penetrate the fog in my head. The ground beneath me bounces. I try to open my eyes, but they’re heavy. Too heavy.
“You got a better idea? With any luck, they’ll rule it a suicide.”
A different voice, still male. This voice is deeper, more guttural, than the one that woke me.
“Why not just shoot her and be done with it?” It’s the first voice. Slightly high-pitched and a little whiny.
“Because bullets can be traced, you fool!”
“Use her gun.”
“I don’t have it.”
Somehow I know they’re talking about me. And they’re going to kill me if I don’t do something to stop it.
Why would they want to kill me?
Silence descends.
Pain stabs behind my eyes. Between that and the jackhammer pounding in my head, it’s a miracle I can hear anything.
But I can hear things.
There’s water. Rain, maybe.
Yes. Rain. And a rapid swish-swishing sound that I think is windshield wipers. Tires hum on pavement.
I’m in a car.
The fog slips away. Clarity sharpens my thoughts, which click through my head like a slide show.
Two men. Maybe more. Maybe not.
Hopefully not. I don’t know how many guys I can take on at once.
Assuming I can take on any of them.
I force my eyes open. At first, all I see is darkness, but then the darkness forms into shapes.
A few feet from my face is a small purse with rhinestones on it. A blue duffel bag rests beside it. Beyond them is the back of a seat.
I lift my head a few inches off the rough carpet scratching my cheek.
It looks like I’m in the back of some kind of vehicle. An SUV, I think.
Lightning flashes outside and I jerk.
A chunk of hair falls into my face.
I try to push it aside, but my hands are trapped behind my back.
Metal cuts into my wrists.
So I’m not just trapped. I’m handcuffed.
This night keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?
“What bridge?” Whiny voice breaks the silence.
A horn blares, preventing me from hearing the response, but it doesn’t matter what bridge. What matters is that I’ll be dead if they succeed.
Instinct silences me. I don’t know how I fit into this mess, why I’m handcuffed, or even if I’m really the one those guys intend to kill. The fact that I’m handcuffed in the back of a vehicle overhearing plans of murder doesn’t bode well for my survival.
Okay, first problem. Get out of these handcuffs.
Simple, right?
I lay my head back on the carpet and ease my hands down my backside, around my hips, and toward my feet. My heels catch on the metal.
My fingers trace the shoes. Smooth finish. Long, pointy heel.
I got all dressed up for something tonight. And I’m betting it didn’t include being kidnapped and murdered.
Pushing the shoes off my nylon-covered feet, I slide the handcuffs around my heels.
Huh. The slick surface of the nylons comes in handy for something.
Okay. So the handcuffs are in front of me. Now what?
They feel a little loose. Maybe I can slip free. I flex and twist my hands. The metal chafes the skin but I can’t get the restraints over my thumbs.
Dislocate your thumbs.
The thought flashes through my mind like the lightning that occasionally illuminates the vehicle.
Dislocate my thumb? Who even thinks such a thing?
The crazier thing is that I know how to do it. Just like I know it’ll work.
I clench my teeth and press my face against the carpet beneath me to muffle any noise I might make. Drawing a deep breath, I do it. Everything in me wants to cry out, but the only noise is the pop of the joint dislocating. As loud as it seems to me, I don’t think there was any way that the men up front could have heard it.
Fire races through my hand. I force air in and out in measured breaths.
The pain fades to a dull throb and I slip my hands from the cuffs.
Turning my face into the carpet again, I push my thumbs back into the socket. This time, a small gasp does escape, but I doubt they heard me above the road and storm noise.
Now to find a way out of here.
Before we reach the bridge or wherever it is that these guys plan to kill me.
I twist to look at the rear door.
Good, it has a handle. So all I have to do is open the door and make a break for it. And hopefully not break my legs or neck in the process.
There’s no telling how fast we’re going. Having broken bones will make me that much easier for these guys to subdue.
But I have to try.
I will not just sit here and let them kill me. If they want me dead, they’re going to have to work for it.
The car jerks.
I slide forward several inches as the squeal of tires on soaked asphalt fills the vehicle. The horn blares and gruff voice releases a string of choice words questioning the intelligence of the driver who cut him off.
We’re almost at a complete stop. It’s now or never.
I scoop up my shoes, the purse, and the strap for the duffel bag in one hand and reach for the handle with the other.
Please don’t be locked.
The latch releases and I thrust the door out. The dome light pops on.
Behind me, I hear the men yelling, which spurs me to move faster. I stumble out the back, my feet splashing in a puddle.
I need to get out of here.
Headlights approach.
A door slams.
Run, run!
I race across the street. A horn blasts from somewhere to my left, but I don’t know if it’s the guys who’re after me or someone else.
Frankly, I don’t care.
My feet hit the sidewalk and I angle for the closest alley.
Little pieces of rock or glass, maybe both, prick the soles of my feet, but I can’t put on my shoes. There’s no way I can run in stilettos.
The blackness of the alley swallows me.
Rain pelts my face, the water running into my eyes. The deluge plasters my hair to my head and makes my dress cling to me.
Shivers rock my body. My limbs feel sluggish, but the dumpsters fl
ashing by tell me I’m moving quickly.
I drape the strap of the duffel bag across my body.
The action slows me down for a second, but it frees one of my hands. If those guys catch up to me, I need to be able to fight.
Footsteps echo behind me.
A sharp crack splits the night, followed a second later by an exploding brick a foot away from my head.
Although it wasn’t an explosion. It was a gunshot.
Those men are shooting at me! I don’t know how I know, but I do.
Another gunshot. The bullet pings off the dumpster I just passed.
The dark of night is probably the only thing saving me right now. Even so, I’m an easy target.
I weave back and forth, trying to be as erratic as possible.
Are the footsteps drawing nearer? I risk a glance.
A dark shape lumbers closer. Only one.
Where is the other guy?
Doesn’t matter. I can’t let him catch me.
I push myself to go faster. A cross street is up ahead. Maybe there will be someone there who can help me.
I burst out of the alley.
The street’s deserted.
Where the heck am I? Shouldn’t there be someone around? Someone other than these guys who want me dead?
There’s no time to consider the question.
I race across the street.
Another gunshot sounds as I enter the alley, another brick showers me in dust.
There’s an intersection ahead. Looks like another alley. I make a sharp right into it.
Too sharp.
It occurs to me seconds too late. My feet slide out from under me and I go down, landing in a large puddle.
Pain vibrates up my arms but I can’t dwell on it. I have to keep moving.
I push myself to my feet and press forward.
Ragged breathing echoes between the buildings. Dang. That fall cost me valuable seconds. He’s getting closer!
Tears blur my vision. I blink them away and they mingle with the rain running down my face.
This is pointless. He’s going to catch me. Then he’s going to kill me. So why fight it?
Because I don’t want to die, that’s why. I can’t give up.
A meaty hand clamps on my shoulder and jerks me to a stop.
I scream.
Two
The sound bounces off the buildings around us.
The hand shifts from my shoulder to close around my neck. Another hand slaps across my mouth, cutting off the scream.
He pulls me against himself. Hot breath tickles my ear. “Got you.”
The whiny timbre of his voice does nothing to diminish my fear. I writhe against his grip.
“You stupid little–”
I don’t let him finish. I drive my elbow into his gut at the same time that I bite down on the hand covering my mouth.
He howls. His grip loosens enough for me to twist away.
Before I can take two steps, his hand closes around my arm with vise-like strength. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
That’s what he thinks.
I turn and throw myself at him, driving my shoulder into his chest. We stagger a few steps before tumbling backward. The dumpster fills my vision seconds before we hit it. His head bounces off the metal. At least my head only bounces off his chest.
A glazed look covers his eyes, but he maintains his grip on my arm.
I fist my free hand and smash it into his Adam’s apple with all the force I can muster.
He wheezes. The hand around my arm slackens.
Jerking away, I flee. Somehow I managed to keep my grip on the shoes, clutch, and duffel bag through all that. I have no idea what’s inside them, but for now it doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting away.
Far away.
I turn a corner and find myself on another street. At least this one has traffic. Not much, but I’ll take what I can get.
No doubt I look like some kind of lunatic, but I can’t slow down. Not yet.
I dart between two parked cars and barely check for traffic before racing across the street and down another alley.
As I run, the man’s face floods my memories.
Do I know him? I don’t think so. I certainly don’t recognize him.
But if I don’t know him, how did I get mixed up in… whatever it is that put me here?
What was I doing earlier? Before all this started?
I don’t know.
How can I not know?
I don’t know where I am, either. Nothing looks familiar.
Alleys and streets blend together like my tears mix with the rain. My breath comes in short gasps. I can’t go on much longer.
But where can I go? I don’t even know where home is.
Pain stabs my foot. A cry filters past my lips.
I don’t know what I stepped on. And I can’t exactly stop to check right now. I just hope whatever it is isn’t embedded in my foot.
The pain in my foot increases. I limp. It slows me down, but I can’t help it.
I turn the corner onto yet another street I don’t recognize.
Half a block up, a cab sidles up to the curb. A man steps out, pops open an umbrella, and holds it above the door as a woman exits the cab. Even from here, I can hear the cab door close.
“Taxi!” How can my own voice sound foreign?
The brake lights wink out.
No! This is my only shot!
“Wait! Taxi!” I hobble forward as fast as I can. I have to catch the cab driver’s attention before it’s too late.
I wave my arms like some kind of bird trying to take flight. “Taxi!”
The man holding the umbrella glances at me, then turns and raps the window on the cab.
The cab stops. I reach the door in seconds, jerk it open, and collapse on the worn vinyl seat.
The cabbie turns and stares at me. His mouth parts slightly and his eyes bulge.
Man, I must look like a train wreck. If I wasn’t cold, scared, and in pain, it might be funny.
Or not.
He clears his throat. “Uh, where to?”
“Anywhere. Away from here.”
The car inches forward, only to stop a second later. The cabbie’s eyes are locked on the rearview mirror. “That guy with you?”
I whip around to look out the back window. A dark shape is rapidly approaching.
“No! Please go. Hurry!”
Maybe it’s the panic in my voice or maybe the guy running towards us looks like trouble, but the cabbie stomps the accelerator and pulls away from the curb.
The man shrinks in the distance. It isn’t until we turn a corner that I look away and slump into the seat.
“Looks like you’ve had a rough night.” The cabbie’s tone is conversational, like we’re discussing weather, but when I meet his gaze in the mirror, I see sympathy in his eyes.
My throat burns.
I can’t cry. If I start, I may not be able to stop.
Besides, I’m enough of a spectacle as it is.
Clearing my throat, I try for a lighthearted tone. “I’ve had better.”
“There’s a walk-in clinic a few blocks away. Howsabout I take you there?”
No hospital. I don’t know why, but I know I can’t go there. “I look worse than I feel, but thanks.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
A second of silence. “Wanna tell me ‘bout that guy back there? He do all this to you?”
How bad do I look, anyway? “Yeah. The dangers of online dating, huh?”
“You oughta file a police report.”
Police.
A buzz fills my ears; my vision wavers like a mirage. The air I draw in feels thick and I can’t seem to get enough.
No police. I can’t.
I can’t even force a smile. “I just want to go home and forget this ever happened.”
The cabbie rubs a bushy beard with so much gray in it that I can’t tell what color it used to be. “I get
that, but you shouldn’t let him get away with attacking you. Guy oughta pay for what he did.”
The problem is, I don’t know what he did. But I can’t admit that to some stranger.
“Come on. Station’s not that far away. I won’t even charge ya.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m okay.”
He shrugs. “Suit yourself. Where to?”
My mind is blank. Absolutely, completely blank.
Home. I’d told the guy I wanted to go home. And I do. But I don’t know where that is.
How can I not know?
It doesn’t matter. Not right now, anyway.
Besides, if those guys know who I am, that might be the first place they’d look for me. I can’t go there.
“The airport.” The words are out before I’ve thought them through, but they feel right.
Well, as right as anything feels tonight.
The cabbie arches an eyebrow. “Little extreme, don’t you think? Why not just get a restraining order or something?”
Because restraining orders don’t necessarily keep the bad guys away.
I don’t say it, even though I know it’s true. Instead, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “It’s not that extreme. I don’t live here, so I’ll just be flying home a little earlier than planned.”
“You got all your stuff in that small bag?” Skepticism lines his words.
I glance down at the duffel bag on the seat beside me. “I pack light.”
Where is all this coming from? Is it true? If so, then why does it feel like I’m making it up as I go?
He shrugs. “If you say so. You’re the customer. Name’s Ned, by the way.”
“I’m…” Not sure. How can I not know my own name?
I certainly can’t admit that. He’ll take me to a hospital for sure.
I clear my throat. “I’m Alice.”
Like everything else tonight, I don’t know where I came up with that one. Maybe it’s true.
Wait. The purse. Surely I’ll have ID in there.
I open the flap and dig inside. A small wallet fills most of the compartment. I pull it out.
The first thing I see is a driver’s license. In it, a woman with narrow features and straight brown hair the color of bark stares back at me. The name on the license says Maria Brown.
She doesn’t seem familiar. Why would I have someone else’s license?
Shadow of the Storm Page 1