Page 76 of Skin and Bones

The zip tie at my wrist snapped, and I felt the bite of the nail as it penetrated my skin. I’d worry about tetanus later. For now, I was worried about survival.

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

I stared at Reynolds, who still had his back to me, his attention focused on the window. Blood trickled down my palm, warm and sticky, but I was free—or at least my right hand was. My left wrist was still secured to the chair arm, but with one hand free, I had options. The question was, what now? My phone was in Reynolds’ possession, and I had no weapon except possibly the chair I was still technically sitting in, trying not to give away that I’d freed myself.

I glanced around the boathouse, looking for anything that might help me. The place was a graveyard of forgotten fishing equipment—frayed nets, corroded hooks, ancient tackle boxes. Nothing immediately useful, except maybe as a distraction.

“Whoever’s coming,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “they’ll have to get rid of you too. You know that, right? You’re as much of a liability as I am.”

Reynolds spun around, his face twisted with anger. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” I countered, shifting slightly to conceal my freed hand. “Whoever this person is, they’ve already killed twice. What makes you think you’re not next on the list?”

“Because I’ve kept his secret for thirty years,” Reynolds snapped. “I’m the one who’s been loyal.”

“And now you’ve led me straight to him,” I pointed out. “You don’t think he’ll be a little concerned about that? The only witness you were supposed to eliminate?”

Doubt flickered across Reynolds’ face, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. He glanced at his watch again, then back at the window. “He’s late. He’s never late.”

“Maybe he decided you’re too much of a risk after all,” I suggested, inching forward on the chair. If I could just get him to turn away again, I might be able to work on freeing my other wrist.

Reynolds pulled out his phone, checking the screen before shoving it back in his pocket with a curse. “No signal out here. Perfect.”

“Why don’t you go outside and check?” I suggested, gesturing toward the door with my chin. “Maybe he’s waiting for a signal from you.”

“And leave you alone? How stupid do you think I am?”

Pretty stupid, considering you kidnapped me in the first place, I thought, but kept that particular observation to myself.

“At least loosen these zip ties,” I said instead, putting a whine in my voice that even annoyed me. “It’s cutting off my circulation.”

Reynolds hesitated, then approached, squinting at my left wrist in the dim light. “It looks fine to me?—”

I struck with all the force I could muster, driving my still-bound wrist upward while simultaneously bringing my freed hand around in a wild swing that connected with his temple. Reynolds staggered backward, and I took advantage of his momentary disorientation to grab a rusty fishing weight from the tackle box with my free hand. I swung again, catching him on the jaw.

He dropped to one knee, blood trickling from a cut on his face, but he wasn’t out. I scrambled to get the chair between us, my left arm awkwardly angled due to the zip tie still connecting me to it.

“You little—” Reynolds growled, lunging for me.

I sidestepped, dragging the chair with me, and swung the fishing weight again. This time it connected with the back of his head, and he went down hard, sprawling face-first on the dusty floorboards.

For a moment, I just stood there, panting, the fishing weight still clutched in my trembling hand. Reynolds lay motionless, and panic surged through me. Had I killed him? I wasn’t going to stop and check.

Working quickly, I used the rusty nail to free my left wrist from the chair, wincing as the jagged metal scraped my already tender skin. I searched Reynolds’ pockets, finding my phone and his keys. I tried my phone first, but there was no signal. Reynolds’ department-issued phone showed the same.

“Of course,” I muttered. “Because it’s only the modern age of technology. Why would I expect to have cell service in America?”

Reynolds groaned and began to stir. I backed away, heart hammering, and made a split-second decision. The boathouse door creaked as I pushed it open, and I plunged into the darkness, leaving Reynolds and his weapon behind.

The night air felt thick with humidity as I navigated the maze of weathered docks, my low heels clicking against the boards and occasionally catching in the gaps. The moonlight provided just enough illumination to avoid falling into the harbor, but not enough to clearly see what lay ahead.

“At first I was afraid, I was petrified,” I sang under my breath, the lyrics a talisman against the fear threatening to overwhelm me.

Behind me, I heard Reynolds cursing as he regained consciousness. A flashlight beam cut through the darkness, sweeping across the wooden walkways like a searchlight.

“Mabel!” he called, his voice echoing across the water. “You’re only making this worse for yourself! Come back now, and maybe I can still help you!”

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