CHAPTER THREE
The dark storage closet had never felt so unfamiliar.Drea popped into this tiny space for sugar and napkins a thousand times a day.And now she was going to die here, without ever leaving Miami.Oh God.Who would take care of her mom?
“If you’d tell me what you’re looking for, I might be able to help.”Drea yelled through the locked door.It took tremendous effort to sound so controlled when the inside of her stomach had turned to Jell-O.The floor was cool as she edged a little closer to Cujo’s leg, making it look like she was simply trying to get comfortable.
The closet was small.The guy had instructed her to tie Cujo’s hands together with fucking cable ties.“It’s okay, Shortcake,” Cujo had reassured her as she pulled them tight.The strips of plastic bit into her own skin.Better to keep her wrists still.
Their assailant reminded her of the Whitesnake dude her mom loved so much.Snake.The name fit him perfectly.
Cujo stood, switching from foot to foot in their small confines.Nothing he tried loosened the ties.She heard him rub them along a shelf edge.Blunt.Useless.Like everything else in this stupid closet.
Drawers banged in the kitchen area.They’d all been opened at some point today.If anything strange had been hidden in there, somebody would have found it.
Drea rested her hands over her shins, and hugged them closer.Cujo crouched down next to her.
“You didn’t think to tell me over dinner this might happen?”he whispered.
“And say what exactly?”she hissed.“Hey, a woman got chased out of the café.I don’t know who she was.I don’t know who the perps are.How was I to know he’d come back?”
She mentally considered all the items on the shelves, wishing she’d paid more attention to those MacGyver repeats her mom insisted on watching.MacGyver would know how to escape using a gallon drum of ketchup, a twenty-five pound bag of sugar, and five thousand napkins.
There were no tools of any sort.Nothing to help jimmy the door.
“Did you just say perps?”Cujo let out a nervous chuckle.
“Perps, crims, miscreants, felons.I’ve watched my share of crime drama.Who cares what I called them?”
Cujo shook his head.“Only you could make me smile when the only thing separating me from a gun is a crappy piece of plywood.”He stood and continued fumbling around in the dark, presumably looking for something to help them.
“I know you probably don’t give a shit,” she yelled, “but my mom needs my help.She’ll call the police if I don’t get home soon.”
“Oh, I know she does.”
“How do you know that?”Drea stood, faced the door.Cujo pulled her behind him, driving her back up against the storage room wall.He had her rammed so tight in the corner her chest was constricted.
She poked Cujo in the back.“I can’t breathe.”
“You won’t need to if he gets a shot off in your chest.”
“Are you trying to be a hero, Cujo?”She lowered her forehead to his back.
“Shut up, Drea,” he said softly.
“Sit on the floor.”The lock clicked and the door opened quickly.
Being face-to-face with a gun wasn’t going to get easier.Cujo positioned himself between her and Snake.
“Please,” Drea begged.“Just let us go, I won’t tell a soul.I promise.Just let us out of here.”
Snake crouched and faced her, still holding the gun in one hand, stroking the barrel with the other.“See, sugar, you and I weren’t meant to meet again.”
Did he know she’d called the police the last time?She had a feeling that if he did, the reunion would be unsalvageable.
“But him…” Snake jerked his chin in Cujo’s direction.
Drea turned to Cujo.His eyes hardened as he stared at Snake.Anger rippled off him in waves, yet he sat still.
“I think you’re a smart girl, who’ll keep her mouth shut,” he said inching closer.He used the barrel of the gun to move her hair away from cheek.“I’ve met girls who didn’t.”His voice was harsher.“Girls who say one thing and do another.”
