Fatal Burn (West Coast 2) - Page 25

No!

That was impossible!

But true.

Her insides crumpled. Damn it. She couldn’t leave the van to move around and try to find if there was any coverage, even roaming coverage, in the area. Wanting to cry she snapped the phone closed, turned it off, managing to worm it back into her bra again where it then stayed lodged safely, if painfully, against her breast.

She hadn’t let her disappointment overwhelm her. She’d wanted to give up, but she’d made herself fight through it. Maybe there would be another moment when she would be able to try and call.

She tried to just sit and wait, but her insides were screaming. She had to do something to help with her own escape! But what? What could she do?

She searched the cab, her gaze scouring the dash, the cup holders and the driver’s seat before landing on the ashtray, where dozens of crumpled cigarette butts were squished into the small container. The tray was so full, it couldn’t shut.

And each one carried some of the creep’s DNA on it.

Good.

Without thinking twice, she inched her body to the middle of the van and tried to pick up one of the smoked cigarettes with her joined hands. If nothing else she would somehow, someday, get the Marlboro Lights butt to the police, and they could run what was left of it through the lab and their databases and somehow be able to nail his sick hide, just like she’d seen on those true crime shows. And if it turned out that she wasn’t able to talk…if she was found really, really hurt, or…even…She swallowed hard and recalled the garbage bag in the back of the van with its sickly trail of blood seeping from the corner. Oh, God…

Dani didn’t want to think that the jerk-wad might actually kill her, that he might use his long-bladed knife on her throat. She nearly lost control of her bladder when she considered it, so she stubbornly pushed that horrible thought aside and had gnashed her teeth until they ached. She decided if the son of a bitch tried anything with her, he’d be in for a surprise. Though she was playing the part of the scared, witless little girl, she planned on fighting him tooth and nail before he so much as scratched her skin.

In the dark interior, she inched closer to the driver’s side of the van.

The handcuffs hampered her movements. She was running out of time.

Still, she had to chance it. Couldn’t just play the scared little girl forever. But she’d have to be careful, so that she didn’t spill anything out of the ashtray and make him suspicious.

She licked her lips. Told herself it was like playing Pick-Up-Sticks, a game she’d played with Allie Kramer. The object of the game was to withdraw one plastic stick from a nest of jumbled plastic sticks without disturbing any of the rest. She was pretty good at it. But thin plastic sticks played for fun were a lot different from cigarette butts jammed into an ashtray.

Wiping her sweating palms on her pants, she held her breath. Carefully she attempted to extract one of the smelly, squashed butts from the full tray. Just as her fingers clamped over one filter tip, a loud roar had cut through the night, the sound of a huge engine sparking to life. Twin beams of light glared from the open doors of the garage. Startled, Dani jumped. And that’s when cigarette butts had rained to the floor of the vehicle—in plain sight.

Dear Jesus, she’d be caught!

She’d been about to try and retrieve them and force each back into the tray or brush them under the seat when a black truck rocketed out from the garage, its headlights blazing like the eyes of a monster.

Dani sat frozen, sweat seeming to curdle on her scalp.

As she watched, the creep parked his truck on the far side of the garage, then jogged across the open space to the van.

Her heart seized.

Oh, no!

He would see the spilled cigarettes and guess what she’d been doing!

His boots crunched ominously on the sparse gravel.

Fear crawling up her throat, she stuffed the cigarette butt into her pocket and silently prayed he wouldn’t notice anything wrong. She was sweating from the exertion and a case of nerves, but forced herself to pretend to just be scared to death.

Which hadn’t been hard.

Though she’d barely been able to draw in a breath, she tried to figure out how to keep him from seeing what she’d done.

She had to distract him!

That was it!

Before he realized anything was amiss.

Tags: Lisa Jackson West Coast Mystery
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