Page 141 of Swept for Forever
Now on the floor, I twisted onto my side and folded myself down, my spine curled, my knees tight to my chest. It was ugly and shaky, but I managed to thread my legs through the loop of my arms.
Bit by bit, my wrists slid past my thighs. Past my knees.
And over my feet.
I lay there, panting, with my arms in front now. Still tied.
But mobile.
The door was locked. And not some flimsy basement kind, either. This thing was solid steel. Someone had to unlock it, or I had zero chance. Not even with broken knuckles.
Seriously, who puts a door like this on a basement?
I scanned the room. I needed something sharp.
Behind a heap of junk in the corner—splintered table legs, crushed tin crates, a busted shelving unit—I caught a glimpse of dark canvas wedged in the mess.
It was not exactly a weapon. But not nothing.
A duffel bag.
The same one Stiff-Neck had tried to bury on that trail.
I dropped to my knees, pinned one end of the bag under my foot, and tugged at the zipper with both hands. It was awkward as hell with my wrists bound, but it gave.
Inside was just one item.
“Fuck me.”
A gun.
Grass clippings clung to the lining, and silt pooled faintly at the base. The bag had definitely held more. I remember how full it had looked. It held Lulu’s collar, for one. I’d seen him toss it in.
Still, it was something.
It was evidence. Enough to back up everything I’d said. Maybe more. If Susan Nolan got her hands on it, it could blow the whole mess open.
Hurried, uneven steps rattled the ceiling overhead, and the creak of the first stair followed.
I wished I had more time. But this? This was exactly what I’d been waiting for.
The gun stayed where it was. I zipped the bag shut and turned to the chair. My wrists still burned, but I could lift now. It was clunky and heavy, but manageable.
With both hands gripping tight, I crept toward the door.
The handle turned.
He stepped in.
I swung with my full body. I was off balance, my wrists aching, but rage had better aim than grace.
Wood cracked against bone, and he dropped.
I gave him one more whack for good measure. The man was nothing more than a sack of potatoes now. And he was probably even dreaming of unicorns.
Then I moved, my hands scrambling at his belt. The gun was there, but I passed it over. Too risky. I’d probably end up shooting myself. But just beside it was something else. Something smaller and usable.
“Bingo.”
