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CHAPTER FIVE

B rooklynn held her own hand over her mouth, terrified she’d squeal and give away her hiding place.

Voices carried through the metal door that locked her in. With them, sounds of scraping and sliding boxes.

The men out there were almost as terrifying as the pitch-black darkness.

Something tickled the back of her hand, and she wiped it over her jeans.

Ants? Spiders? Cockroaches?

Get me out of here. Lord, get me out of here!

Every cell in her body screamed for her to escape. To pound on the door. To risk whatever was out there in order to get away from the invisible threats in here.

But she held very, very still. Not thinking about the bugs crawling in her hair. Beneath her shirt. Up her leg.

Please, please…

“I’m telling you, there’s nobody here.” That was Ford.

“Then you’ve got nothing to hide.”

Footsteps on wood—they were going upstairs.

A door closed. Something moved on the ceiling over her head. Then nothing.

Silence.

For a long time. Too long.

What if something had happened to Ford? What if they hurt him, or killed him?

She needed to get out of there. Now. She needed to check on him and escape this tiny hole.

In the darkness, she opened her backpack and found her phone.

Powered it on.

Tried to dial 911. Better to have to fend off Lenny than to suffocate. She’d deal with him. She’d deal with the smugglers. Anything to get out of this box.

She stared at her phone screen, at the zero bars that showed she had no service.

Time ticked by, second by second. Minute by minute. It felt like hours passed before she heard footsteps again.

Ford?

Was he dead? Were the bad guys still looking for her?

A scraping sound, and then the metal door swung open.

She crawled out, lurched to her feet, and crashed into Ford. “Thank you. Thank God. Thank you.”

“Whoa.” He held her at arms’ length. “What’s wrong?”

She backed up to brush away the bugs she hoped she’d only imagined.

But there was a spider crawling up her jeans.

Squeaking, she smacked it, then smacked at more.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Just…” Ford looked around, then crossed the room. He returned carrying a man’s button-down and a pair of shorts. “Take those clothes off and throw them in the wash. Put these on.”

“What? I can’t?—”

He grabbed something in her hair, then brushed at her shoulders.

Spiders. Everywhere.

“Change. I’ll wait upstairs. I’ll…I’ll have a plan.” He thumped up the steps, leaving her some privacy.

She stripped out of her jeans and top and put the shirt he’d given her over her panties and bra, then added the too-big gym shorts, the waistband of which she rolled over three times so they wouldn’t slide down.

On bare feet, she climbed the stairs to the living room.

Ford met her there. “Follow me.” He barely looked at her, just spun and headed for the foyer and the sweeping staircase.

On the second floor, they hurried down a hallway like the one below, turned at a corner, and continued along a narrower hall.

He pushed open a door. “There’s a bathroom in here.

Everything you might need.” He seemed to be very careful not to look lower than her face.

“I’ll leave some clean clothes on the bed for you. ”

In case more spiders were crawling on what she wore, which seemed likely.

She shuddered. “Thanks.”

She wasted no time, and though she longed to soak in the claw-foot tub, she went straight for the shower.

Only after she’d washed her hair—twice—did she allow herself to relax.

She was clean. She was safe from her enemies, two-legged and eight-legged and everything in between. For now, anyway.

She had no doubt those monsters would visit her in her dreams. Life had supplied her nightmares with a lot of fodder today.

The towel rack held two towels, one folded neatly, the other not so much. She touched it and found it damp. This was Ford’s shower? Ford’s room?

She used the dry one, then wrapped it around herself and peeked into the bedroom.

Empty, though Ford had left a pair of gray joggers and a blue New England Patriots T-shirt on the bed.

The joggers had a drawstring, which she cinched tight around her waist. The T-shirt was way too big.

She tied a knot at the waist to keep it from hanging below the sagging butt of the pants, then towel-dried her hair.

She was digging through her backpack, looking for a comb, when she remembered the phone.

She’d powered it on in the creepy hiding place in the basement. But she’d never powered it off.

She found it in the outside pocket and checked the screen.

Seven calls.

All from Lenny.

Dang it.

Stupid, stupid.

She turned it off again, but it was too late. He’d come looking.

Ford would probably hand her right over to him. She’d been nothing but trouble for the man who’d decided to step in and be her protector. No doubt he regretted that decision now.

If Lenny came, then…then she’d have to get out of town. Not just away from the smugglers, but away from him.