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Even if they weren’t glancing in her direction again, Joe didn’t know if she could accomplish her ankle escape swiftly enough
If she’d been alone in the building and had plenty of time, she’d use the shoelace-sawing method to get her ankles free. But as it was, she couldn’t guarantee she’d have a full twenty or thirty seconds of the trio’s inattention to work away at her restraints. She’d have to hope they gave her at least five seconds more of being distracted, so she could go with the less certain method. Which for her, during drills—shit—only worked about sixty-percent of the time.
At least she now knew she had until morning to make her move, but…
She had no idea what time it was.
The asswipes had abducted her just after midnight, and she didn’t have any way of knowing how long she’d been out. Making a semi-educated guess, she’d say it had been no more than two hours. Propofol, depending on the dosage—which varied with a person’s weight—often kept one under between one and two hours. Galici hadn’t wanted to kill her with an overdose—because nothing said murder like an excess of a substance in a victim’s system that wasn’t a street drug—so that meant he’d probably gone lightly.
That was the good news.
The bad news was, they’d probably be looking for her to wake up sometime soon, so ignoring her wouldn’t last. Meaning she had to make her move as quickly as possible.
“Go check on the cunt,” Galici’s voice ordered.
Shit, shit, shit. Why did she always have to be right?
Joe rolled back onto her side, hoping she hadn’t been seen doing it, and draped the remains of the zip tie over her wrists. She closed her eyes and leveled out her breathing, also praying she could fool whoever was looking at her into thinking she was still unconscious. If not, they’d probably stick her again with that damned syringe, and that she couldn’t have.
Footsteps approached.
Something nudged her shoulder. A shoe?
She kept her body lax, and the prodding foot kicked at her arm.
Joe still didn’t move. It would take a lot more than that poke for her to give up playing possum.
“She’s still out,” Chuck’s voice called out as he clearly headed back toward the group.
“Good. I want you to check on her every ten minutes. Got that?”
“Yeah, boss. I do,” Chuck assured him. “But, uh, why? Where are you going?”
“I need some sleep. I’m headed up above to get some shuteye.” The man yawned. “Jason,” he ordered, once he’d smacked his lips a time or two, “you go outside and stand watch for the first hour while Chuck keeps an eye on the bitch. Then switch off, so neither of you gets complacent. As soon as dawn breaks, which will be in about two and a half hours, we’ll dump her body, then go into town and take care of Benji.”
Somebody grunted an affirmative. Joe assumed it was Jason since Chuck was more verbal.
She waited patiently, then heard steps climbing the ladder, and the slamming of the side door.
Excellent.
Now she’d only have one prick to deal with.
Piece of cake.
An hour or so later—going by her own, internal clock—Joe amended her expectations.
Now she was cursing inside.
Instead of sitting down somewhere on the other side of the warehouse, as Joe had expected him to, Chuck had chosen to position a chair only a few feet away from where she lay. Clearly, he was afraid of Galici and didn’t want to mess things up. Because then he’d end up superfluous and dead, like Benji.
Fuckity-fuck. What now?
Chuck wasn’t falling asleep, as she figured he might eventually do. And not only had his breathing not evened out, but the man was continuously humming under his breath. Which normally wouldn’t bug her, but…
Goddammit. It was Baby Shark, for fuck’s sake.
Gah! If she lived past dawn, she’d have that earworm stuck in her head for days.