Hunted. Cynthia Eden

cutting into her wrists. She twisted and her body slid over...over plastic?

      Yes, she was on a big sheet of plastic. The smell of fresh wood filled the air, and her frantic glance took in the room around her. She was in a home...of some sort. One that appeared to be under construction. No Sheetrock was up on the walls yet. She could see the wooden framework all around her.

      And I’m on plastic. Oh, God. Because she knew why an abductor would put his prey on plastic. So there won’t be a mess left behind when he’s done with me.

      She wiggled and twisted and finally managed to sit up. When she did, she realized that light was pouring in through one of the windows to the right. Light, and she could also hear the thunder of waves. I’m on the beach. In a house under construction. A house or some kind of condo complex or...

      No, it’s a beach house. Because she remembered seeing about four houses that had been under construction on the west end of the beach. They’d been big, massive structures up on wooden stilts that screamed high-end real estate. But, if the place was under construction, where were the construction workers? Where was the crew? Where was someone who could—“Help!” Casey called out. Her voice was oddly weak, so she tried again, screaming, “Help!” with all of her strength.

      She fought to remember what had happened to her. She’d been in her hotel room and then...someone had been there. He’d grabbed her. Rammed her head into the wall—jabbed her? Injected her with something? And she’d fallen. Everything had gone dark. But she thought that she remembered him...laughing.

      The waves kept thundering. Her gaze narrowed on the window. There was only a little light coming in. Maybe dawn hadn’t fully arrived yet. Since it wasn’t dawn, that meant the work crew wouldn’t be coming for a while and—

      It’s Sunday. Her eyes squeezed closed. No, the work crew wouldn’t be arriving anytime soon.

      She jerked and twisted her way across the room. The plastic slid beneath her, bunching up, and she tried not to think about it—or about the man who’d taken her. The man who could appear any moment. The man who—

      “I heard you screaming, Casey Quinn.”

      She froze. Casey didn’t want to look over her shoulder. He was back there. If she looked at him, if she saw his face—

      “Guess your screams mean...it’s time to get started.”

      And she had to look back. Her head jerked toward him. He stood in the framed doorway. Dressed head to toe in black—complete with a black ski mask that covered his face. She couldn’t even see his eyes because there was some kind of weird mesh over them. “Stay away from me,” she ordered, hating that her voice shook.

      He laughed—the laugh that she remembered—and he pulled out a knife.

      The plastic beneath me...it’s to catch all of the blood.

      “Can’t stay away,” he told her. “I have work to do.”

      “Y-you’re going to stab me...five times?” Because that was what he did. With all of his victims, he stabbed them. And then he slit their throats and dumped the bodies in the ocean.

      I fit his profile. Josh even said... No, no, this couldn’t happen!

      He came toward her, moving slowly. He bent and brought the knife toward her. She heaved and strained against the ropes, but they wouldn’t give. He put the knife to her cheek. Pressed just enough that a drop of blood slid down her face. “Don’t rush me,” he murmured. “I’ve been waiting for this moment a long time.”

      What?

      “You and I are going to talk. You’re going to tell me all of your secrets.”

      No, she wasn’t.

      “Or I will cut you open.”

      He lifted the blade away from her face—the moment she’d been waiting for. He was crouched close to her—his mistake. He thought that just because she was tied up, she was helpless.

      He was wrong.

      She lifted her feet—wish I still had on my heels, those spikes would have come in handy—and she slammed them right into his crotch, as hard as she could. He gave a grunt and staggered back. The knife fell from his fingers. She grabbed it, rolling and slamming her body harder into the plastic. The blade cut her fingers, but she didn’t care. She started sawing at the ropes that bound her wrists together and—

      He drove his fist into her cheek, so hard that she saw stars. The knife fell from her fingers as her head slammed back and hit the plastic—and the hard wood beneath it.

      He swore and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her toward him. As he hauled her up, her hands fumbled across the floor and something sliced into her pinky finger...something sharp and narrow.

      A nail. A nail was sticking up through the wood.

      “Don’t go passing out on me. We have to make a phone call. That’s step one for us. Got to let folks know who has the power here.”

      She kept her hands near that nail and started to slide the rope against it. Was it making a grinding noise as she sawed? Could he hear her? The knife’s blade had almost cut all the way through the rope, and if the nail could just finish the job, then she’d have a chance.

      He left her there, sagging on the floor, her hands behind her and working slowly with that nail as he yanked a phone out of his back pocket. Her gaze darted to his hands. He was wearing gloves, but she could see a little bit of tanned skin where the gloves ended near his wrists. The guy was Caucasian, a little over six feet, probably close to one hundred and eighty pounds, and he—

      “I’ve got someone new,” he rasped into the phone. “Pretty soon, Sheriff Black, it will be time for you to find her.”

      He’d called the sheriff. Did he always do that? Always call while the victim was still alive? The authorities hadn’t revealed that detail to the press, and if this was part of the guy’s MO, then no wonder Hayden Black had looked increasingly worn. He’d been fighting to find the victims alive, but he kept turning up dead bodies.

      His finger slid over the phone—she realized he must be wearing those smart gloves that allowed him to still work a phone screen—and she heard Hayden’s voice fill the room.

      “Give me proof of life,” Hayden barked.

      Her abductor laughed. She tensed and almost stopped cutting on that nail. Almost. She knew his laughter wasn’t a good sign. Hayden wanted proof of life, so that probably meant the jerk in the ski mask was about to make her scream. He was going to hurt her again—

      “It’s Casey Quinn!” she screamed. “He’s got me in one of the houses under construction on the west end—help—”

      Her abductor threw the phone down and slapped his hand over her mouth. What? Had he believed she didn’t realize where she was? When she’d arrived in Hope, she’d made a point of checking out the entire town. A good reporter learned her territory.

      She glared up at him.

      “Think you’re clever?”

      She thought she had a chance. Hayden would come racing to the scene. And maybe...maybe he’d get there fast enough to save her.

      “Your mistake. You’re just dead.”

      No, she wasn’t. Not yet. Did he think she was too afraid to fight back?

      She felt the ropes give way around her wrists. Her hands were free. Now she needed to get rid of the ropes around her ankles. She stared up at him, just seeing the mesh over his eyes. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest.

      His hand slowly fell from her mouth.

      “You should run,” she whispered. “The sheriff will be here soon.”

      “I’m not going anywhere...” He turned away from her. Bent and picked up his phone. She could see the smashed screen. “Not yet.”