Page 25 of Web of Lies
“You sure?”
Another shake.
“You going to keep fighting us? I don't mind closing you back up in there. We'll come get you before it gets too hot and you pass out.” I pause for effect. “Maybe. Actually, that's a good idea. Close the lid. She won't feel much like fighting or running in a couple hours.”
That gets me a much bigger shake. “No.”
“No?”
She shakes her head again.
“You sure?”
A nod.
“Alright. I'm going to scoop you out. You walking, or am I carrying?”
A brief moment of indecision, then she quietly says, “I'll walk.”
“Good girl,” I tell her before I can stop it from leaving my mouth and I laugh again. This is going to be an adventure.
I bend down into the trunk and put my arms under her knees and back to lift her out, then I put her feet on the grass beside the gravel driveway. She sways almost violently and Wyatt grabs her around the waist before she can fall. I catch his gaze over her shoulder as she steadies herself. He shrugs and I bite my tongue. Is she sick? Some kind of blood disorder? Have we kidnapped a woman who needs hourly medication? I agreed to take her, not kill her. Is she diabetic? My aunt is diabetic and she's off balance sometimes, even passes out.
“I can walk.”
Both Wyatt and I glance down at her quiet, trembling words and then back at each other. If I look any more concerned than he does, this job is going to end up being a problem.
I've never been here, so I obviously don't know what to expect once we get inside. I've imagined everything from a shitty living room with one of those big dog crates in the corner to keep the wife in, to an upscale middle class situation with a nice, safe, noise canceling room down the hall for the wife. What greets me when we get her inside is a combination of a lot of things, but based on my current experience with Wyatt, I'm not surprised by any of it.
We enter through the back door, which opens into the kitchen. It's just a basic kitchen and I'm relieved to see how clean it is. The wife is walking between us with Wyatt pulling her behind him by her wrist and she stumbles over the rug in front of the fridge.
“Careful,” I warn, gripping her elbow to steady her, then smile at the back of her forty-eight trillion thread count covered head when she jerks away from me as soon as she regains her balance.
Wyatt leads us into the living room and pushes her into the armchair against one of the walls. “Hands.”
She holds her hands out in front of her.
“A few years ago,” Wyatt pauses to reach between the cushions of the chair, his brows furrowing until he pulls out a short length of thick cord, “I altered a couch like this. It worked out really well, but I thought a chair would be better for this situation.” He secures the cord to her bound wrists and continues. “This will work for a while, but there are other ways to keep her where we want her. Some are more creative than others.”
I understand it's mostly for show, but it takes a lot of effort not to roll my eyes at his display of stereotypical criminal monologue. “I usually just lock them up in a closet or tie them up inchworm-style in a trunk or something.”
Neither of us miss the way she stiffens at my subtle suggestions.
“I'm taking the pillowcase off your head,” Wyatt tells her. “You've been quiet so far. That's good. But if you start screaming, understand that I have a wooden chest in the bedroom and I'll throw you in it faster than you can blink.” Wyatt pauses to give her a moment to process. “Understand?”
She nods.
“Good.” Wyatt pulls the pillowcase off.
I have to look away from her and at him. “A word, please.”
Wyatt's eye twitches in irritation but I don't give a shit. He tilts her gaunt face up to look at him and she blinks at him with deeply shadowed eyes. “Don't move. Don't make a sound. We are going to be just outside the door. Understand?”
Her lips are tight but she nods again. Wyatt jerks his head toward what must be the front door and I start whisper-yelling as soon as it clicks shut. “Something isn't adding up. Tell me what the husband said again.”
Chapter Ten
Wyatt
