Page 5 of Twisted Devil

I tipped my head toward the prostitutes, and he fell in beside me. His eyes lit with understanding when he saw where we were headed. “Wonder why the locals didn't question them already?”

“Probably weren't out this morning.”

Several pairs of wary eyes turned toward us as we approached, and I lifted one hand in a little wave to staunch their concern. A young woman in a candy-red leather brassiere sidled toward me on sky-high heels. “What can I do for you, sugar?”

“Were you by chance working last night?”

Her head tipped slightly to one side. “Depends who's asking.”

I pulled my wallet from my back pocket, then dug out a twenty and passed it to her. Without even glancing at it, she tucked it into the cup of her bra and nodded for me to continue my line of questioning. “A man came through here last night in a light-colored van. Would you happen to remember anything about the driver?”

A little smirk tipped her lips. “Honey, I see a lot of cars come through here on any given night.”

Kennedy held up the grainy black-and-white photograph we pulled from the ballet studio. “A young woman was abducted from the coffee shop down the street last night.”

I pointed toward the corner. “I have a feeling he may have been parked down this way somewhere. I want to make sure we find this guy and keep you ladies safe.”

A battle brewed in her eyes for a moment before she glanced over her shoulder. “Renee.”

At the sound of her name, a young brunette ambled forward. “Yeah?”

The first girl pointed at the picture Kennedy held. “You remember this guy last night?”

Renee nodded. “Parked right up there.” She pointed about a block over. “Thought he might be looking for some fun for the night, so I spoke to him. Asshole was rude. Told me to leave him the hell alone.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

Renee shook her head. “He was the forgettable type. Couldn't really see all of his features anyway with the hat on.”

Damn. I tamped down my disappointment. “Well, thank you anyway.”

Kennedy and I turned to leave but were brought up short by the woman's voice. “Hey.”

I threw a quick look at her. She pulled out her phone and took a second to flip through it before holding it up to me. “I took a picture of the van.”

My heart rate jacked up as I took the phone. “He kind of creeped me out,” she said. “You never can tell with people.”

“No, you can't,” I agreed. I enlarged the photo on the screen, and a sense of satisfaction welled up inside me. “Got you, you son of a bitch.”

CHAPTER SIX

CHLOE

I stared down at the twin-sized mattress that had housed God knew how many women before me. Sliding my fingers underneath, I awkwardly maneuvered it so it was upside down. The bottom was just as disgusting as the top, and I grimaced. I picked up the sliver of mortar and moved to the top right corner of the mattress.

Digging the sharp end into the fabric, I wiggled it back and forth until it cut a tiny hole in the material. Excitement surged through my blood, and I dragged the mortar downward, using sawing motions to cut away at it. Once I had a tear about a foot long, I turned at a right angle and continued to cut until I had a large rectangular piece of cloth. I tore a smaller strip off, about an inch wide, then tied it around the base of the mortar sliver.

I kept adding layers until the cloth handle was easier to hold and wield. When I was done, I flipped the mattress over to conceal the missing fabric, then stood and grabbed up the mortar. It would serve as a makeshift shank in case the man came back, but I had other plans for it at the moment.

Readjusting my grip on the mortar, I crossed to the door. There was no window, just a single slab of steel that probably weighed close to a hundred pounds. But that wasn't the important part. What mattered was that the door swung inward, so the hinges were on my side.

I examined them, studying the way the pins secured the door in place. The pins were about four inches long, and there was one at the top, middle, and bottom of the door. If I could work those free, I could potentially move the door and escape. I didn't delude myself into thinking that it would be an easy task. But it was my only option at the moment, and I refused to just sit here and wait for the man to come back.

Staring at the door, I decided that the top pin was going to be the hardest. Even standing next to it, the pin was still several inches above my head. The head of the pin was flat, but there was a tiny space between the head and where it rested on the hinge. I wedged the sharp end of the sliver under the head and wiggled. Nothing. I tried again, but it refused to move. I let out a frustrated sigh and shook my head. Damn it! This had to work.

I repositioned the sliver, angling it upward and bumping it with the heel of my hand. My heart jumped in my chest as the pin slid upward. It was no more than a millimeter, but it was better than nothing. I kept going for what felt like ever. The pin was wedged tightly in there, and it was stiff with disuse. My shoulders and upper back screamed from the effort of constantly holding my arms over my head.

After what had to be more than an hour, the pin was only halfway extracted from its hole but I didn't dare let go. I refused to sacrifice the progress I'd made. My muscles burned with exhaustion and every nerve ending felt like it was on fire. My hand was stiff, and blood dripped down my fingers where my nails had broken and my skin had been torn ragged from picking at the pin on the door. It was fight for freedom or die down here. Said that way, it was really no choice.

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