Her head throbbed as she struggled to recall what happened when she left work.
Hazy images danced through her mind that didn't make sense. Collin's voice behind her while Daniel flirted with her on her phone.
Strong arms.
A sharp pain in her neck.
She heard her own voice call for help.
Why did I call for help?
Flashes of what transpired in the hospital parking lot filled her head, quickening her heart rate, and making her breathing suddenly feel labored yet disconnected from her own body.
Fighting to keep her breathing slow and steady, she resisted the urge to open her eyes and alert Collin to her consciousness. She had no idea where he was—or where she was, for that matter—but she refused to let herself panic. Instead, she concentrated on one of herbreathing techniques. If she had any chance of survival, she needed to collect her wits that seemed to be scattered from here to Canada.
But where is here?
She attempted to discern what she could of her surroundings without sight. Softness. She lay on her side on something soft. A couch or a bed?
Quiet rustling noises came from a distance. Indiscernible noises. Then another farther away. A droning motor that gradually grew louder then faded away, followed by a faint, rhythmic, lapping sound.
Water?
Were they near the lake? How long had she been unconscious?
She detected light behind her eyelids, but not a bright light. Still, she kept her eyes closed.
She continued to mentally take stock of her faculties while remaining motionless. She tested her limbs by slowly flexing each muscle one at a time. She sensed the tightness of the waistband of her slacks around her stomach and the softness of her rayon shirt against her arm. Her heart sank when she realized her hands were tied behind her back, and lifted only slightly when she discovered her legs were free.
She managed to cling to one positive thought —Collin hadn't yet done the horrible things he intended to do to her. So how did she keep him from succeeding in his goal?
Panic spiked again, and once more she focused on her breathing. Thinking clearly came a little easier now. She recalled the small pocket knife she'd carried everywhere for the last three weeks. If she could manage to get it from her pocket, maybe she could cut whatever bound her wrists.
She slowly pressed against her restraints. Not narrow and sharp like zip ties. Nor thick like a rope.
She strained again.
Duct tape?
Slowly, she peeked her eyes open to see if she was alone. Did she dare try to break the tape?
The blurry blue, gray, and white designs of the bedspread beneathher slowly came into focus. Paisley print. She let her gaze wander around the large bedroom as far as she could without moving, spotting a chest of drawers in a rich, dark mahogany color.
No Collin, thank goodness.
More rustling noises came through an open door.
But he's here.
She strained against her bands again.
Definitely tape, but not something she could tear. She quickly blinked against the onslaught of the tears that flooded her eyes.
Getting emotional won't help.
Footsteps drew closer.
Riley closed her eyes again and tensed, steeling herself for what was to come. She wished she'd had an opportunity to get her knife out, but she feared even if she had, she wouldn't have strength enough to defend herself with the small blade.
