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As he topped a hill, he saw an old black pickup coming toward him, driving in the middle of the road. He honked the horn, which made the driver suddenly swerve. Hershel cursed as the man finally pulled back into the proper lane and sped past. That was all he needed—to get in a wreck with a hostage on the floorboard. He glanced down at her. She was starting to come around. He hadn’t recharged the Taser, but she wouldn’t know that. He picked it up and pointed it at her.
“Be still, missy, or I’ll shoot you again.”
Shame on you, Hershel! Shame, shame! Just look at her. She’s a beautiful, innocent young woman who deserves a chance to grow old. You let her go this instant!
“Hush up, Louise. I’m not letting her go, and that’s the end of that.”
Nola moaned as her eyes filled with tears. Now he was hearing voices—voices that were telling him to let her go—and he was arguing with them, which at least must mean he was torn about what he was doing. She couldn’t talk for the gag in her mouth, but she damn sure wasn’t quitting. She wanted him to think she was, though, so she nodded, but the minute he looked back at the road she began trying to work her hands free of the ties around her wrists.
As he took a curve in the road, he swerved a little too close to the shoulder. The right front tire went off the blacktop with a thump. The pickup lurched, which threw her against the door. For a few moments she was cheek down on the floorboard and looking under the seat at a filet knife.
Her heart began to race, and without hesitation, she made a big show of trying to roll over and pick herself up. As she did, she dragged the knife behind her and began sawing at the cord he’d tied around her wrists.
“What the hell are you doing, girl?”
She froze and shook her head, trying to convince him she wasn’t doing anything.
Again he picked up the Taser and pointed it at her. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face against her knees. She couldn’t believe she’d survived so much, only to wind up back in the river. Her mama would never have awakened her and warned her to run if she was meant to die. She had no hope whatsoever that Tate would find out what had happened to her in time to save her, so she had to save herself.
All of a sudden the truck began slowing down, and when it did, her heartbeat accelerated. Was this it? Would this be where she died?
She panicked, but when he got out and circled the truck, she had a few moments more with the knife. She angled it down toward her ankles, sawing frantically at the cord in an effort to weaken the cotton strands.
Then she heard the click of the door latch and quickly shoved the knife back under the seat. The cord was fraying, and looser than it had been. When he grabbed her by the arms to pull her out, he inadvertently gripped the stitches. She threw her head back, groaning in sudden pain, swallowing the scream beneath the gag.
“Oooh, hey…got a handful of the stitches, didn’t I? My bad.”
He grabbed her under the arms, dragged her out of the truck and then tossed her down like a sack of feed. She landed shoulder first, then rammed her chin into the mud and the dirt, and felt blood spurt inside her mouth. But she was on the ground, which gave her friction to work on the gag. She rubbed her face against the dirt until she managed to work the gag out of her mouth. It fell down around her neck like a dirty necklace, but it was a weight symbolically lifted.
She could hear him banging and splashing in the water behind her, and rolled over to check his location. When she saw the words Gator Bait on the side of the boat, her heart sank. It was just as Tate had predicted. The killer was taking her back out on the river to undo his mistake.
She began struggling even harder to pull her hands and ankles free. Each time she tried, the cotton cords stretched just a little bit more.
The sun was in her eyes when she heard footsteps, and she knew he was coming. She blinked, looked up and caught sight of a small squirrel watching silently from the branches above her. Something crawled out of her hair and down across her forehead. Normally that would have freaked her out, but it was nothing in comparison to the man coming toward her.
“Well, I see you’ve managed to remove your gag. That’s okay. There’s no one for miles in any direction to hear you, so scream to your heart’s content.”
She wanted to, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She was trying to remember everything she’d heard Tate say about the killer’s mental state. She knew he thought of her as a mistake to be rectified, so she had to play off that fact to her advantage.
“You’re the one who’ll be screaming when the FBI finally catches you—and they will. If not now, then later,” she snapped.
Hershel didn’t like it that she wasn’t crying. Louise had cried on that roof. She had begged for her insulin, but he couldn’t get to it.
“They know nothing about me,” he said. “And you can shut up.”
“Then I’ll talk to Louise,” Nola said. “She’s the only one around here with any sense.”
Hershel frowned. Louise didn’t talk to anyone but him.
She’s right, Hershel. I’m the voice of reason. You better heed me. I’m telling you now to let her go.
“I’m not letting her go, and that’s the end of that, Louise.”
“See, she told you to let me go. I told you she’s the voice of reason.”
“She’s dead, so her opinion no longer matters,” he said.
“Well I didn’t kill her, and what you’re doing to me makes no sense, so I guess that makes you crazy,” Nola said, then waited for rage to follow.