Page 76 of The Secrets She Keeps

Minutes stretched on, each one colder and more desperate than the last until, finally, a small, old pickup truck slowed and pulled over. The driver, a middle-aged woman with a kind face, rolled down her window.

"Need a ride?" she asked, eyeing Powell's disheveled appearance with concern. “You are a bit beat up, honey. What’s happened? Were you in a wreck?”

"I was abducted. Please…I need help,” Powell managed to say. “Do you have a cell phone?”

“Signal’s real spotty through here, though.” The woman nodded, unlocking the doors. "Hop in. You look like you've been through hell. You that realtor they been talking about on the news? That Barratt girl? The one on all the billboards?”

“Yes. That’s me. And they still have my friend. They took her. And I need help to get her back. She’s a single mother. She hasa little baby girl who is only six months old and a little girl who is only three. We have to get her back for her daughters. We just have to.”

The woman pressed on the gas. “I’ll get you there. I promise. I have three girls of my own just your age. Let’s get you to help, okay? We’ll go up the road a bit to where there is a better signal. We’ll get help there. I promise.”

She’d done it. Powell had gotten away.

Now, she had to find a way to get help to Heather.

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She'd tuckedthe box cutter in her underwear, banking on them not finding it—at least not right away. Heather knew it was a risk, but these guys were idiots. They were panicking. She’d just listened to them. Learning. Planning.

Powell had gotten away. They hadn’t counted on that. Now they were afraid for their own skins.

It could mean one of two things for Heather now. They killed her fast to get rid of her. Or they took her with them and made sure she felt their anger in every possible way.

She was banking on these three imbeciles not knowing what to do without thebossthere to tell them how to blow their noses.They’d partied a little too hard—in preparation for the party they’d planned for her and Powell.

Heather was going to use that to her advantage.

Her face hurt. That old bastard had hit her hard. But Heather had been hit that hard before. She wasn't going to let the pain stop her from doing what she had to do.Her girls were waiting. Her sisters, her nieces. She was going to do what she had to do.

She wiggled. They'd taped her hands and feet this time with duct tape. It hurt. But...she was able to pull herself over to her side. Her feet were still secured to the pipes.

Heather had taken dance lessons for years, from Frankie's age on until her parents had died. After that she taughtdance lessons. She was extremely flexible. That hadn't changed since the baby, she hoped. Heather twisted her body so she could reach where her hands were taped. With her mouth. It hurt. Her lower lip was bleeding everywhere. Her jaw was bruised. But she was able to grab the edge of the tape with her teeth.

It was slow going, but she got the first rip started.

She continued to work her way free, her body twisted and bowed in a way it wasn't meant to bend in, as she listened to the three stooges arguing.Discussingthe plans the boss had.

"I think this is a fucking mistake," one said. She tried to remember which one he was—he had an accent. No. Not an accent, a speech impediment. Faint, but it was there. She’d been researching speech impediments lately. Because of Frankie.

He was well-educated if what she'd heard him say was true. The other men called him Harvard. And Mr. Ivy League. He used larger vocabulary when he wasn't cursing. The other two men out there, Scarface and the Sheep, who just did what he was told all the time, were far less educated. Rougher around the edges.

Crude.

She would never forget the things they had told her they were going to do to her. To Powell. The jokes they had made about what Steve had done to Heather already. Like they had discussed details with him before.

She wouldn't put it past any of them.

Well, she wasn't sticking around to be their entertainment tonight.

"What are we supposed to do? Just take all this shit with us?" Scarface asked. "You going to drive it out of here right now?Whole damned state is out there looking for us. Dumbass—that's the governor'sfamilyin the closet there. He's got the entire National Guard on call. At his fucking fingertips. Not to mention that rich dude she's related to. Billions, man. Rivals the Barratts for cold hard cash. You think important people aren't searching for her right now? Think that Rich Bitch you all just let walk away isn’t spilling her guts about everything she seen and heard here?"

Like Luc and Marc would ever look forher.Heather wasn't stupid. Nor was she waiting around on rescue from men likethemthat would never come. If someone was rescuing her tonight—it would be Miguel at the forefront. Right next to Gunnar. Maybe with Murdoch and possibly Jarrod beside them.

OrNorm,putting up his slide rule and compass to come riding to her rescue. That was far more likely than Luc ever doing anything to help her.

Heather knew where she fell in the grander scheme of things in this hellhole that was Finley Creek. Heather wasn't giving up.Powell had gotten away. She was almost certain of it.

Now, it was Heather's turn.

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