Page 143 of Liar's Point

Even with her eyes open, Cassandra couldn’t see a thing, so she kept them closed as she tried to calm her nerves. But her usual deep breathing exercises were difficult with a strip of duct tape covering her mouth.

Don’t panic. Think!

She’d been in the back of the trunk for a while now—at least half an hour—which meant he’d definitely driven off the island. With every minute that ticked by, her panic expanded. Her heart drummed frantically, and her skin was slick with sweat.

Would Alex be looking for her by now? What about his brother, the police detective? She hoped they were searching, but even if they were, would their search extend beyond the island?

The car hit a bump, and Cassandra bit her tongue. Her heart rate spiked as she absorbed what was happening.

Malcom was going to kill her.

It was a reality, as real as the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. As soon as they got wherever they were going, it was only a matter of time.

Unless she could somehow come up with a plan.

A plan.

Something she could carry out from the trunk of a car, with her hands bound with zip ties and a strip of tape over her mouth.

Think.

She swished the blood with her tongue. She couldn’t spit it, so she swallowed it down, along with a hot lump of terror lodged inside her throat.

Think, think, think. You don’t have much time.

Alex would be looking for her. Calling her. Her backpack was in the front seat of the car with Malcom.

At least she thought it was. Unless he’d ditched it somewhere?

Malcom had grabbed the phone from her hand and tossed it into the dumpster behind the yoga studio. But that was her backup burner phone, the one she had kept in her locker. The phone Alex knew about was in the inside pocket of the backpack. Was the ringer on? Her thoughts were muddled, and she couldn’t remember. If it was, Malcom would have heard it by now and probably gotten rid of that phone, too.

She sucked a breath through her nose and could have sworn she smelled his cologne again. She’d smelled it in her apartment, too, but convinced herself it was her overactive imagination. So many times over the past few months, she had thought she felt his presence, and so many times she chalked it up to paranoia. But now she knew at least some of those times she hadn’t been paranoid at all—she’d been perceptive. Her subconscious brain had been picking up on danger and trying to warn her, like an animal at a watering hole sensing a predator.

Why hadn’t she listened to her instincts?

The vibrations changed pitch, and her pulse spiked again. The car was slowing. She pressed her ear to the scratchy carpet, straining to hear. The road seemed different now. Were they exiting a freeway?

They came to a stop, and she held her breath. Then they rolled forward, and she pictured him moving through an intersection.

Where is he taking me?

Tears burned her eyes, but she willed them away. What would crying do? She had to think.

The dark trunk space smelled like warm rubber. From the spare tire, probably. Was there anything else back here that she could use as a weapon? The trunk had been empty when he’d shoved her into it. And anyway, her hands were bound. She strained against the zip ties once again, but the plastic bit into her wrists. She clenched her teeth and kept pulling, tearing her skin. If she was going to die today, at least she could leave some blood behind, something for the police to find.

Oh God oh God oh God. Blood seeped from her wrists, and panic started to overtake her.

Alex was right.

She should have done something sooner. At her first inkling that something was wrong, she should have gone to the police and spilled the entire story about Malcom and his business and the phone calls she’d overheard in the middle of the night.

And her suspicions about Isabel’s death.

But she hadn’t gone to the police. She’d been too afraid. And now it was too late. What was done was done.

I’m sorry, Lucas.

Tears seeped from her eyes as she thought of her brother’s face. She thought of his crooked front tooth and warm brown eyes. She hadn’t spoken to him in almost seven months now, not even on the phone. It was the longest she’d ever gone, and a slimy ball formed in her stomach as she thought about abandoning him forever, leaving him alone in the world.

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