Page 38 of Killer Knows Best (Fallon Baxter FBI Mystery #4)

38

MARSHA WARREN

A hard groan evicts from my lungs. My throat feels raw and burns like fire.

My head throbs rhythmically as if someone has been jackhammering inside my skull all night. Everything feels off—my body, my mind, the air , the surface under me. I pat my hands to the floor under my skin and it’s hard and cold as concrete.

A faint light spills from somewhere beyond the room and it manages to cut a line through the darkness. My eyes strain to focus, but everything is fuzzy and just out of reach. I blink, trying to bring the room into focus, and then I look down.

I’m naked.

A surge of panic rushes through me. I quickly inspect myself. Sure enough, my body is bare, with the exception of a long scrape that glides down my stomach. My fingers rise to meet it and it stings as if it’s still fresh.

What the hell is happening?

Was I roofied?

My mouth tastes like metal, and my tongue is thick like I’ve been drugged—and this powerful headache. I tug at my wrists, and there’s the cold clink of metal, but when I lift my hands, the chains slip right off.

“Oh, thank you,” I whisper as I quickly rub at my sore wrists. “I’m free.”

A surge of adrenaline explodes through my veins and I’m ready to bolt until I spot the manacles clasped over my ankles and somehow I manage to wrangle those open and soon I’m untethered.

Whoever did this didn’t bother securing me properly.

Idiots.

They’ve clearly underestimated me.

I sit up, and the world tilts for a second. My head wobbles and my dizziness threatens to pull me back down, but I grit my teeth and power through it.

My breathing is shallow, my heart hammers against my ribcage as if it, too, is trying to escape its captives.

I glance around, and in the dim light, I see my shredded clothes in a pile on the floor. The memory flashes back—someone cutting away at my dress with shears.

A breath hitches in my throat.

That ridiculous monster. The bad werewolf mask—their exasperated grunts.

Anger replaces every inch of fear in my gut.

They don’t know who they’re messing with. They might think I’m some uppity socialite, but I came from the streets. I learned to survive long before I could afford to buy myself out of danger.

When I get my hands on the idiot who saw fit to do this to me, they’ll wish they were dead. And I’ll make sure their last wish comes true.

I crawl on all fours toward the door and every muscle in my body feels tense yet ready for what lies beyond the border of this room. The floor feels gritty beneath my palms and the smell of dampness clings to the air like mildew.

This place reeks of horror movie material. And if I hang around for another minute, this just might morph into one. But there’s no way in hell I’ll be much longer.

I spot a stairwell and waste no time to stagger up it, one step at a time as my heart pounds in my ears like a war drum. The walls are narrow and claustrophobic, but I stay quiet, pressing my weight against each step to dampen the sound.

A dark kitchen greets me at the top of the stairs, cluttered with shadows. The air smells like dust and something metallic. With my luck, it’s probably blood. Whoever did this to me is a maniac, and I have no doubt they’re after my blood, too.

I push the thought away and move faster.

Have to get out.

The moonlight pours through the windows of a lavish living room, illuminating a clear path to the front door. I reach for the bolt and my fingers move quickly.

“ Come on ,” I mutter as I struggle to get a grip on the lock.

A river of curses streams from my lips in a heated whisper as I finally manage to twist it free. Every last inch of me is alive with fear. And seeing that my back is unprotected, I’m half-afraid someone is about to plunge an ax between my shoulder blades. But I don’t have a second to waste.

The door opens in a burst and I push it wide as the cold air hits me like a brick.

It feels fresh, sharp, and a live .

I feel alive.

“I’m free,” I cry as I take off running onto the porch when something hits me square in the chest and I nearly topple over.

“A dog.” I nearly laugh as it bounces over me again. “It’s just a dog,” I say with relief, and it comes at me one more time and sends me stumbling backward .

It gives a few loud barks and its teeth gleam in the pale moonlight as it dances by my side. But it doesn’t come for me again. It just barks and runs beside me as if it’s leading the way.

I don’t stop to think as I take off and my bare feet slap against the dewy grass. I’m so numb with shock I hardly feel the frozen air trying to penetrate down to my bones.

I don’t care about the cold.

I don’t care about the dog.

I just run.

The dog races beside me, barking with its breath creating a fog. My legs pump harder, and then I spot something up ahead—a small crowd.

People.

“ Help, ” I scream, my voice hoarse and wild. “Help me! I’ve been kidnapped!”

I wave my arms up over my head just as a pair of headlights race onto the scene.