“Do you really think I’m going to run?” I force out. Then I look around, taking in the scene.
I was right. Wearenear water.It appears to be some sort of industrial area and for the most part, it looks abandoned.
Ransome, of course, doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pushes a button near the seatbelt, and the seat back that I am leaning against starts to fold forward.
“What is this?” I demand as I try to move out of the way.
“I am going to take the ties off your hands. Under one stipulation.”
“Which is?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, his eyes slide past me, all the way to the backseat as it folds out of the way to reveal the trunk of the car.
Oh.“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
Sadly, no. Men like Ransome rarely ever say a word they do not mean. Which is precisely why I’m so pissed. “I told you I’m not going to run.” I try to say it calmly, but my heart starts to race, and not in a good way.
“I’m not afraid of you running,dorogoya. I’m afraid of you being seen.”
“By who?”
“I will come back for you,” he says instead of answering. “Now get in the trunk and keep quiet. Don’t do anything stupid.”
I narrow my eyes at him in a last-ditch effort to get him to change his mind, but I know full well it’s a Hail Mary. When he doesn’t break, I turn my back to him so he will untie me. My body stays still as I look around the car for anything that might be useful.
It’s always best to take note of one’s surroundings in a dangerous hostage situation. I don’t necessarily know this firsthand, of course. But growing up with an MIA mom and a deadbeat dad, we didn’t have a lot of money. We certainly didn’t have luxuries like cable TV. That, for me, meant a lot of true crime shows, the ones that came on late at night after the ten o’clock news.
Ransome’s car, of course, is immaculate. That is, except for the sleek black iPhone laying on the floor.
It’s the burner phone from his office. The one my location was linked to. Maybe it isn’t a burner after all.
“Alright, you’re free. Metaphorically speaking,” he adds. His best attempt at humor, I am sure. Not a very good one. “Now get in the trunk.”
“Can I at least take my shoes off first? My feet are killing me.”
“Fine.”
I bend down and undo the latch on my heels. Ransome’s phone, his regular one, buzzes and he checks it.
While he does, I swipe the burner off the floor and shove it in my bra. Then I kick my shoes off and attempt to climb into the open trunk. I say “attempt” because it’s easier said than done in a pencil skirt. If he’d told me we’d be roleplaying as Buffalo Bill and Catherine Martin, I’d at least have worn pants.
I swear to God, I can feel his eyes on my ass. If he were the old Ransome, the one that didn’t know how I felt about him, the one I didn’t know was in some kind of cult, I would be turned on by the idea of him checking me out. But considering the circumstances, I’m half-tempted to donkey kick him in the face right now.
Ransome presses the button and the seat folds back up, taking the light and a decent amount of air with it. Luckily, I know how to keep calm in tight spaces, both metaphoric and literal. Again—thanks, Daddy, for never splurging for cable.
I wait until I hear the beep-beep of the car doors being double locked and the sound of Ransome’s wing-tipped shoes on the ground slowly getting further and further away before I pull the phone out.
“Getting a little sloppy, aren’t we, boss?” I muse. “Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please don’t be—yes!”
I am actually smiling when the white Apple symbol lights up the screen and the phone comes to life.
“Full charge, baby. Let’s go.”
Not knowing if Ransome is going to be minutes or hours—hell I might die in this trunk. For all I know, Ivan came and picked him up and this is where it ends. Damn, that’s even more grotesque than the body in the woods…—I get to work.
While the phone is in SOS mode, disabling the internet and most phone calls, I can access the text streams. One stream in particular catches my eye. It’s from an anonymous number. I open it up and read through the texts backwards.
