I forced myself not to wince as the two henchmen walked away, still bickering. No matter who these pricks were, there weren’t many people I’d wish that torture on. Although, after a few more hours of lying on the cold floor in a wet shirt that made it even harder to maintain my body temperature, I started to have second thoughts.
On the plus side, when Morons One and Two walked out, they seemed to have left a door open allowing me to hear more. I was able to discern three distinct voices, the two men who had watered me and a female voice that seemed vaguely familiar but stayed so low that I couldn’t place it.
Other than that, I caught a few more smells, roasting meat and baking bread that suggested I was probably in the basement of a private home. Unfortunately, with no idea how long I’d been out or how far I’d been taken after I was kidnapped, I couldn’t even begin to guess whose house or why I was there.
Once the noise faded into nothing, I began to inch my way around my prison, fighting to memorize the layout as I searched for anything at all that I might be able to use to free myself from my bindings and, hopefully, fight my way out of the whole damn mess.
Chapter Thirty
Dane
Finding the spot where Shelly’s car had gone off the road was easy. Figuring how we were going to get it back up to the road was more difficult. Clark and I both drove responsible, boring sedans and Otto hadn’t even gotten around to renewing his driver’s license since he’d been home.
“Myke!” When Clark and Otto each quirked a brow at me, I shrugged. “We need a truck to pull it up, right? He has a truck.”
Pulling out my cellphone, I paced down the shoulder of the highway until the bars on my phone allowed me to call out. Returning to the car, I explained that Myke was on his way before noticing Clark seemed more worried than when I’d walked away. “Something catch your eye?”
“Maybe,” he said with a sigh. “Did Mitch take up Yoga?”
“Not that I know of. He’s been pretty much burning the candle at both ends with the rescue lately. Why?”
Clark lifted the hatchback door and pointed at a large pile of colorful rubber pieces.
“What’s that?”
“I think they’re the reason that Mitch went off the road.”
“Huh?”
Clark blew out a breath. “It’s just a hunch.”
“I’m still not getting it,” I huffed. “How the hell did some flat rubber balls cause the accident?”
“Stick your head in the car and sniff,” Otto suggested. He waited until I did to continue. “Do you smell that?”
“That odd sweet smell? Yeah.”
“I think it’s nitrous oxide,” Otto explained. “I helped out in the prison infirmary the last couple of years and it was one of the few chemicals we kept on sight.”
“But how would that get in Shelly’s car?”
“It’s just a hunch,” Clark repeated, “but you know how I listen to real crime podcasts when I’m driving?”
I nodded.
“There was one a while back about a doctor in Japan or somewhere who killed his wife by filling a yoga ball with carbon monoxide and putting it in her car.”
“I think it was Hong Kong,” Otto corrected, “but it’s the same concept. They just wanted to incapacitate Mitch, so they used something that would disorient him instead of killing him.” He shrugged. “Then just follow him until he wrecks the car and snatch him.”
My blood ran cold. “That would mean that we’re not expecting to find him wandering around looking for a signal.”
“I don’t think so,” Clark agreed quietly. “Combined with his father citing his testimony as the reason for demanding a mistrial, it seems a little too coincidental. I think we’re probably going to have to assume that he’s been grabbed.”
“But why?” I growled, shoving the irritated bear back down. “What is that going to accomplish?”
Clark and Otto held each other’s eyes in some weird impromptu staring contest and when Clark blinked, he sighed again. “Honestly? My only guess is that they plan to force him to leave some sort of admission,” his fingers curled in air quotes, “that he lied and then we’ll find him the victim of a suicide. There isn’t any other way for Fraser to discredit his testimony.”
“Fuck.”
