“Um, Agent Snow?” a female voice said.
Laurel paused. “Yes?”
“This, um, this is Vida.” Her voice shook so much she didn’t even sound like the girl Laurel had met the other day.
“What’s going on?” Laurel asked, going cold.
“Um, well, Dad and the bimbo got tired of us, so we decided to come home early. We just got here, and Mom isn’t in the house, but her car is here. Her bed isn’t made and there’s a bunch of blood on her pillow.” The girl’s voice was pitched high in panic. “There’s something wrong, and she told us to call you if we ever needed to. It’s weird. What should we do?”
The world crashed down around Laurel’s head. “Nothing. I’ll be right there. Lock yourselves in a room and wait for me. Stay on the line.” She quickly dialed Monty’s number. “The killer got Kate last night. Send everyone to her house right now.” With that, she ran back down the stairs.
Oh, God.
Kate.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Kate Vuittron kicked the frozen door again. “You think I’m embarrassed to be naked, you stupid ass? I gave birth three times. Without drugs. Have the episiotomy scars to prove it,” she yelled. Oh, this asshole was in for a shock when he opened that door. She’d been in here for hours, and she was freezing.
She didn’t remember what had happened. The last thing she recalled was going to bed and then hearing a noise.
Then pain. Splitting, agonizing, desperate pain in her head before darkness came. The bastard had obviously hit her in the back of the head; she now had a lump the size of Texas back there. What wimp hit people in the back of the head? Oh, she wasn’t going down easy again.
So she dropped to the blanket that she’d spread on the floor to do more pushups. Not enough to weaken her muscles, but enough to keep her heart pumping and her body warm. The cargo hold smelled like puke and bodily discharges, although the interior had been cleaned out with water and bleach. It stank like bleach. She looked over to a corner that was stained yellow.
A pee corner.
Her bladder felt full. It was probably an animal instinct to create a corner for waste. She walked right up to the door, crouched, and peed. He could wade through it when he came back.
The guy was strong. He’d carried and then tossed her into the container, where she’d landed on her side with the wind knocked out of her. By the time she’d gotten the hood off, the door was closed. The hood was a scratchy pillowcase that she’d used to wrap her freezing feet. Who was he? How had he gotten into her house? Thank God the girls hadn’t been there. It was the one small blessing right now.
She purposely didn’t look at the four hooks in the floor. Despite the bleach, blood stains showed between those hooks. The lantern flickered weak light from the far corner. She could start a fire with the dirty blanket, but the timing on that would have to be perfect. If she started it now, the smoke would kill her. If she waited until he opened the door, it wouldn’t light fast enough.
She sat and hung her head, thinking of her girls. Her three young girls who needed her. Tears pricked the back of her eyes and she batted them away. This guy had killed at least ten, if not twenty women. What had each of them done in here?
Probably tried to make fire. Okay. That was the only weapon she could see. What else? She’d looked the entire place over, up and down, trying to find a piece of steel or metal to use. Nothing. Even the rings set into the floor were smooth and well secured. She’d pulled on one until her skin shredded.
The only weapon in the container was her own body.
She was it.
In the metal prison, she’d lost track of time. From reading the autopsy reports, she knew that the victims were left alone to starve and become weak. Could she eat the blanket? Would that even count as sustenance? So many women had died at the hands of this monster—what made her different? How could she survive when they had not?
How had he subdued all of those women? Sure, they were weak from lack of food and water. But what else? When he opened the door, and he would eventually, her instinct was to rush him. To get out of the prison and into the light, even if it was freezing outside. Was that his expectation? If so, he’d be prepared. With what? A gun? A knife? If he was armed, what was her best chance?
She clutched the blanket to herself. Her only chance was the blanket. If she rushed him with it, she’d go for his head and try to dodge his weapon. Then she’d have to fight.
Her instinct would be to run, but she was barefoot and he was not. She’d have to fight until she overcame him.
She huddled against the wall, trying to stay warm. Yeah.
Fighting was her only chance.
For her girls.
* * *
Laurel ran into Kate’s house behind several police officers.
