Page 77 of High Velocity

This place is a pigsty.

Aside from the empty food wrappers and containers, the crumpled up beer cans everywhere, and the stench of rotting garbage and body odor, every surface seems to be covered in a thick layer of grime and dirt. I don’t think this place has seen a mop or a sponge in decades.

If I could wipe my face, I would, but the best I can do is rub the cheek that was pressed into the dirt on the floor on my shoulder. My hands are tied tightly behind my back with zip ties, so those are basically useless. My ankles are bound with more zip ties, but at least I’m still able to kick out. That is, if that coward would come close enough. Instead, he’s sitting on a stool at a Formica kitchen table at a safe distance, sipping a damn beer.

Mitchel Laine. Damn, time hasn’t been kind to him.

He can’t be more than forty-five but looks at least a decade older, with a rapidly receding hairline and a face even a mother would have a hard time loving.

Yet Tracy fell for him. He must have a way with words, because I don’t see the attraction. Of course he had five years of virtual anonymity to groom her before meeting her in person.

Tracy.

My eyes find the woman, hunched down in a corner of the kitchen. Poor thing, she can’t have had any idea what she was getting herself into. When I get her out of here, I’m sure this experience will leave deep scars long after her body has healed.

Because I will get her out of here, if it’s the last thing I do. Unfortunately, my right arm is useless and there’s no way I’ll be able to get out of these zip ties with one hand. Also, my gun is at the bottom of the rain barrel, and Laine’s weapon on the kitchen table is right in front of him. Not that I’d trust myself to shoot anything at this point, it’s tricky enough left-handed, but I’m also starting to feel a little lightheaded. Maybe it’s blood loss, or maybe I’m going into shock. Either way, I may need a little assistance.

For now, all I can try and do is keep Laine talking until help arrives. I know Vallard will eventually find his way here—he may be a shit person, but he’s a good investigator—or maybe Alex will call in the troops when I don’t return.

I remember Laine had a massive ego and a penchant to rant when I collared him all those years ago. Maybe if I provoke a little, I can get him to talk.

“So what’s the plan, Mitchel?” I challenge him.

There has to be a reason he didn’t simply put another bullet in me and finish the job.

His beady eyes focus on me, but instead of answering, he takes another swig of his beer.

“Don’t tell me you don’t have one? You had years inside with nothing better to do.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks at my taunt, but still no word. I try a different tack.

“Bet you weren’t expecting to find me here, were you?”

He unexpectedly barks out a hoarse laugh at that.

“Stupid bitch. Why do you think I’m here?” He turns his head and jerks it in Tracy’s direction. “For that bitch? Please. A means to an end, lady.”

Tracy’s whole body jerks as if he kicked her.

“What end, Mitchel? That’s what I’d like to know.”

The grin he sends me is bone-chilling.

“Don’t play me for an idiot. You know exactly why I’m here; the money.”

I’m confused, and the moment I take to process what he’s saying doesn’t make it any clearer.

“What money?”

“The money you bastards stole from me.”

He slams down the empty can and snatches up his weapon, aiming it at me as he gets up on his feet. Tracy whimpers in her corner.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t give me that, you’re in this up to your eyeballs and you know it. It was all a setup to get me to take the fall while you guys took off with my money.”

Agitated, he starts pacing, waving his gun around, and I breathe a little easier now it’s no longer pointed at my head. In the meantime, I’m desperately trying to make sense of what he’s saying.

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