Tristan hesitated, not knowing if he should confess to that. Apparently, he took too long to answer because Pearface pointed the weapon at Tristan and hissed, "Answer my question. Did you take his laptop?"
Jesus, he was getting really tired of guns pointed at his face. Pulse racing, Tristan gulped and nodded.
"Where is it now?"
"With a friend."
"What information did you find on it?"
Deciding to give only information that the man would already know he had, Tristan answered, "The location of the house where my sister was." He wasn't going to mention that they also followed a van to the house.
"Is that all?" the gunman pressed, staring Tristan down ominously.
Tristan's mind whirred. If Pearface didn't already know, he would soon find they had raided all ten houses.
"No, the other houses too."
Eyebrows twitching, the man asked, "What did you do with that information?"
Again, Tristan debated how much to divulge, but Pearface really didn't like his stalling. He cocked the gun and snarled, "I'm losing patience with you."
A primed gun was an amazing motivator, Tristan recognized as he blabbed, "We got the other girls out of them too."At least I hope we did.
"Who's we?"
"A bunch of guys."
The man's eyebrow twitched, and his jaw tightened. "Who are they? Who do they work for?"
"I... I hired them," Tristan lied, vowing that no matter what, he would not divulge the identities of Cade and the others.
Apparently believing the lie, at least for now, Pearface stood abruptly, scraping the chair against the cement floor. He strode from the garage, cursing under his breath.
Letting out a breath, Tristan felt some of the tension drain from his body, but only for a moment, because now that his brain started to chug, it occurred to him: Pearface had wanted information, and now that he had it, there was no reason to keep Tristan alive.
Shuddering, he tried to listen for sounds from the house, to be prepared for when they would kill him. He didn't see or hear anything for a while, but it was hard to guess how long without a phone or clock, and his fuzzy, pounding head didn't help. As the minutes dragged on with no imminent threat, pain and discomfort caught up with him. His temple throbbed with sharp pain with every pump of his heart, his mouth begged for water, and he desperately wanted to lie down, to sleep.
Knowing that was impossible, he hung his head to rest, wondering if he would die like this, alone in a strange place, where no one would know what happened to him.
Natalie's face popped into his mind, and he desperately hoped she was safe with Cade and Annabeth, free from these monsters. That was the most important thing.
But even if Natalie was out of danger, she must be distraught and traumatized. Tristan should be the one comforting her after thisordeal, holding her and assuring her everything was okay. They had no family but each other.
If he couldn't escape this situation, she would be all alone.
Tristan choked back a sob as despair swamped him. He wanted more than anything to go home, to hug Natalie, to be there for her and watch her grow up.
And then there was Cade. What was he doing and feeling? Was he upset over Tristan's disappearance? Tristan wanted to believe he was, had to believe it. The two of them needed to talk, to figure out their future, if they had one.
If he survived.
He absolutely had to get out of this, to go home and hug Natalie, to hug Cade, to be with those he loved.
Desperation crashed over him, and Tristan was suddenly frantic to escape. He needed a plan, and willed his brain to cooperate, to think logically.
If he could reach the car, the GPS would lead him home, but with his hands and legs tied and no phone, it seemed impossible to break free of the ropes, disable his captor and find the keys.
Craning his head to scan the workbench behind him, he spotted pruning shears and a box cutter among the tools. Maneuvering to see if he could somehow stand or shift the chair, he found his legs too tightly bound to move much. He might be able to scoot the chair slowly to the workbench, but the heavy wood was sure to scratch the floor loudly enough to be heard. Maybe he could try when his captor was asleep.
