Rich waited until the sound of the
truck’s engine could no longer be heard before moving toward the
cabin. Instead of going inside the place, he went directly to the
window and tried to peer inside the room. He had to have a
justifiable reason for entering the place. Otherwise any evidence he
discovered could be thrown out of court.
Follow the letter of the law,
he told
himself.
Gut hunches don’t count when it
comes to a jury. He had to get up on tiptoe before he
managed to get a decent look inside. Unfortunately, a pair of
curtains blocked most of his view. Undeterred, he went around to the
back of the building and tried another window. This one was blacked
out, but he was able to see into the lit room just past the doorway.
Squinting, he adjusted his position, hoping to tell what was in
there, when something moved. A hand came into view. A hand propped
up on an elbow. It moved slightly, and the arm turned enough to
where he caught sight of a length of rope wrapped around the wrist. Racing over to the back door, he
tried to enter, but it was firmly locked. He tried the front door,
but Huntsman had secured it, as well. Rich glared at the row of windows
facing the porch. He could break out one of them and try to crawl
in, but he knew he’d have a better chance at busting through the
doorway. Steeling himself, he lowered his
shoulder and rammed it into the wood. Was it wishful thinking, or
did he feel a slight give? Backing away a few more steps, he threw
himself against the door a second time. He was rewarded with a
satisfying crunch as the lock broke out of the jamb. Lifting one
leg, he slammed his foot directly above the doorknob, and the door
popped open. “Rose!” He hurried inside, using the
pale illumination that was the only source of light in the place as
his beacon. He found her lying on the bed,
semi-conscious. Both hands and legs had been tied to the bedposts.
From the light coming from the shaded lamp sitting on the nightstand
on the other side of the bed, he noticed a harsh red handprint
covered one cheek. It looked fresh, too, and anger burned in his
chest. “Rose!” Dropping to the mattress, Rich
gently placed a hand to her undamaged cheek and turned her head to
look at him. “Rose! Are you all right?” She blinked up at him, but he could
tell she wasn’t cognizant. She appeared to be drugged, but that had
to be his secondary concern. Right now he had to get her out of this
place as quickly as possible. For a split second he debated
whether or not to call in his discovery. There had to be a phone
somewhere in the house, but that might take precious seconds he
couldn’t afford to waste. He’d radio it in the moment he got her
into his car to take her to Saint Joseph’s. “Hold on, Rose. I’m getting you out
of here.” He examined the knots at her wrists.
They were tight. Too tight for him to try and undo. Rich pulled his
pocket knife from his pants and opened the little two-inch blade. It
may be small, but he was fastidious about keeping the edge
razor-sharp. Holding the rope, he quickly sliced
through the rough hemp. He didn’t try to remove the binding from her
wrist altogether. He just needed to free her to where he could get
her away from here. That, and the police photographer would need to
take pictures of the cord binding her hands and feet before hospital
officials had them removed. Beside him, he could tell she was
fighting to regain awareness. Once one hand was loose, he stopped at
the foot of the bed to cut her feet free, then went to the opposite
side of the bed for her other arm. Hurrying around the bed, he folded
and slid the knife back into his pants pocket, then bent down to
pick her up. She managed to focus somewhat on his face as he lifted
her into his arms. “Rich?” “Yeah, baby. It’s me. Don’t worry.
I’m getting you out of here.” She spoke his name again, as if not
believing it was truly him. Her voice croaked, and she closed her
eyes. “Water.” He paused. “What?” She inhaled, letting it out with a
whispery, “Water.” She needed a drink of water. She was
parched. Leaning her against his shoulder, he
grabbed the glass from the nightstand and held it to her lips.
“Drink, Rose. Here’s some water for you.” She drank thirstily, as if she
hadn’t had any for the past several hours, which he bet was the
truth. She emptied more than half the glass before she gasped. “Rich.” “Who did this to you, Rose? Who’s
the son of a bitch who kidnapped you?” “Nils,” she barely managed to
murmur, when her face went slack, and her head rolled over to the
side. |