Page 94 of Reckless Chance
“No. I got a new ID. I’m flying out today—can’t risk staying here any longer. I’ll contact you when I get to Cabo and tell you where to send the money. Don’t try to call me again. I’m dumping this phone.”
The call ends, but he’s still pacing. I quickly send the recording to Sean. I can’t let Reese know I overheard him, so I pull the door completely closed, plunging me into total darkness. I’ll stay hidden here until he leaves.
Not willing to risk the light from my phone giving away my presence, I stuff it into my crossbody purse. As I fumble in the dark, searching for the outside pocket, the phone slips out of my hand, landing with a loud thud.
Whoosh!
The tree door flies open, dimly lighting the space. An angry hand grabs my shirt, slamming me against the wall of the tree. With his other arm, Reese tosses his backpack to the ground, grabbing my flailing arm with his freed hand.
“You bitch. Fuck. You overheard everything.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been inside here.”
“Don’t play dumb. What were you doing in the tree if you weren’t eavesdropping?”
“I was just looking around. Let me go!” I scream, attempting to knee him in the balls. Unfortunately, the agile acrobat easily jumps aside without easing his grip on me.
“Right. You were looking around in the dark. That’s a good one.”
With a sweep of his leg behind my knees, he knocks me to the ground. I land hard on my ass, barely missing his backpack.
I try everything to free myself—kicking, biting, hitting—but he stomps his other foot onto my diaphragm, knocking the wind out of me, and uses his foot to hold my left arm captive.
As I gasp, trying to catch my breath, he warns, “Hold still. I’m not going to harm you. I just need time to get away.”
Without oxygen, I can’t tell the jerk that he’s already hurt me. He’s delusional if he thinks I’ll trust anything he says.
Keeping my eyes on him, my mind spins, trying to concoct a way out of this.
He reaches for the hem of his shirt, raising it upward. As I attempt to push myself up with my free arm, the metal chain on my purse clangs against a nearby metal support. That gives me an idea. Unclipping the electronic luggage tracker from my purse, I quickly stuff it into the outside pocket of his backpack as Reese pulls his shirt over his head with one hand and rips his belt from his pants with the other.
Sweat seeps from my pores, not knowing what he’s going to do next. The way he has me pinned, I can’t reach to hit him. Summoning help is my best shot. As air begins to refill my lungs, I open my mouth to scream, but he stuffs his shirt in it. Bending over, he manages to flip me onto my stomach, pull my wrists above my head, and binds them together with his belt. I have no idea how he did that so quickly. It must be his kickass acrobatic skills.
His foot is now firmly planted on my lower back, preventing me from getting up. I’m not finished fighting him though. I frantically kick my useless legs, hoping to land a blow somehow.
Keeping me pinned to the floor, he opens the main part of his backpack, extracting a couple of exercise bands. In a split second, my feet are bound together. Despite my twisting and flailing, he rolls me to my back and ties my wrists to one of the metal supports and my ankles to another. I’m stuck.
“I need you to stay quiet for a while. Now where did your phone go?”
“Ahh. There it is. I’ll take this with me—can’t have it ringing and risk someone coming to find you too soon. This is thesecond time I’ve had to take your phone—sorry about that. At least I don’t have to take your laptop again this time. I know they’re expensive, but last time I had to destroy your notes and recordings in case Amelia had shared that Brentwood and I hung out together.”
I watch as he takes a spare shirt from his backpack and pulls it over his head. He gives the area a quick scan, hoists his pack onto his shoulder, and peeks out the door. With a last warning to keep quiet, he slides out and shuts the door.
Reese takes off, leaving me stranded, bruised, and unable to move. Darkness surrounds me again, and a sense of claustrophobia overwhelms me with his shirt stuck in my mouth and my legs and arms bound. It’s even worse than the paralysis that happens when you’re partially awake but can’t move.
Closing my eyes, I try to calm myself with logic. It’s doubtful Reese will return. My situation could be much worse. I’m safe. I inhale deeply, counting to four, and breathe out slowly. Repeating this a few times, my breathing and heart rate gradually return to an almost normal state.
It could take forever for anyone to find me. Who’s going to look inside this tree?
Think.
The performers and crew should be here soon. There must be a way I can draw their attention.
When I hear footsteps and talking nearby, I quickly work through a laundry list of ideas. I squirm to bang my head against the metal support behind me, hoping someone will hear the noise. Damn it. The way Reese tied me between the two supports, I’m stretched out so much that the top of my head barely taps the support.
I scream in frustration and desperation. That doesn’t work. The shirt in my mouth muffles it. No one can hear me.
I’m about to give up from exhaustion when my butt connects with a lump on the ground. It’s too dark to be sure, but it must be my purse. A light bulb goes off in my head. I need to work it up my body to reach it with my hands.
