Page 18 of Risk It All
Cara was yanked back, her spine pressed tightly against the intruder’s chest, surprise stealing her breath for a moment. Her elbow automatically swung back, and her assailant’s breath was driven out in an audiblewhoosh. Desperately trying to remember her training, Cara stomped on the foot behind her, cursing her stocking feet as her heel came down on the hard surface of a steel-toed boot. The arm around her middle tightened again, and Cara twisted, trying to turn enough to aim a heel strike at the intruder’s nose, but he anticipated her next move and dodged the blow. The side of her hand glanced off his knit-covered cheek, the miss sending her off-balance.
Her body rocked to the side, but she didn’t wait to regain her footing before kicking out again, hoping to hit his knees. Her sole slammed against his shin, but it wasn’t hard enough to make him release his grip. Balling her hand into a fist, she let it fly in a backswing toward the side of his face. Before it could connect, he lurched forward, taking both of them to the floor.
This is bad!She grimaced with effort as she fought to get out from underneath him, but wrestling had always been her weakest point in the basic self-defense training Felicity had given them. Now, with panic swamping her brain and keeping her from remembering the techniques she’d been taught, Cara was reduced to ineffective squirming and glancing backward blows that only managed to tire her out.
She sucked in a breath, prepared to start screaming again, when something pricked the side of her neck. Her head swung back, and the back of her skull connected with his face. She felt a fierce sense of satisfaction as she heard a male voice start nasally swearing. She desperately hoped she’d broken his nose.
When he reared back after she head-butted him, she struggled frantically, using her breath to fight rather than scream, but her arms grew heavy and the living room was already getting wobbly around the edges.
Darkness crept in from the sides of her vision, and she prayed that she wasn’t dying. She tried screaming again, but her lungs were having trouble getting enough air through her vocal cords, and her yell turned into a pathetic whimper.
Her phone chimed from the coffee table, and she renewed her struggles, hating that she was so close to a rescue and yet it was impossible. There was no way to get to her phone, and she wasn’t even able to scream. Not even the nosiest neighbor would hear her cries for help over the constant dinging of the doorbell.
As the darkness edged in, she gradually stopped fighting, her limbs turning leaden and uncooperative.
All she could manage was a final mutter. “I’m…going to…killyou, Stuart.” Then everything went dark.
Chapter 6
Cara’s head was pounding, and all she wanted to do was fall back into the oblivion of sleep, but she was too cold for that. Besides, the bed was hard, and someone was talking loudly. She made a face without opening her eyes, wishing whoever it was would be quiet, since the noise was making her head hurt even more. There were times when it was hard to live in a house with all her sisters. Peace and quiet were rare. She shifted, trying to roll to a more comfortable position on her side, but her arms weren’t cooperating.
The strangeness finally registered, and her brain snapped to full awareness as her eyes flew open. She was on the floor on her front, her head turned toward a wall, and her arms were pulled behind her. Panic rose in her, making it hard to think, and she blinked hard at the rough board in front of her. The pounding in her skull increased, the pain tearing viciously through her head. Scattered images flashed through her brain—struggling with a masked man, the constant ringing of the doorbell, the painful prick in her neck—overlying the terrifying unfamiliarity of her surroundings. Her heart beat so quickly it was almost a drone, and a scream built in her lungs. Gasping in a rough breath, she forced herself to count the knots in the rough planks that made up the wall. It took thirty-eight before she calmed enough for her brain to work again.
The room was dim, but a small amount of light creeping in around some kind of window covering made her fairly certain it was daytime. Now that she had shaky control over her panic, she lifted her shoulders, arching her back to give her enough space to turn her head to face the other direction.
The room was tiny and bare. Except for her, some cobwebs, and a solid layer of dust, the space was empty. The rough boards that made up the walls and floor made her think she was in a cabin—not a fancy, ski-resort-type vacation cabin, but the type that someone threw together so that they’d have some protection, no matter how rough, against the winter snow and winds. A shack.
She spent a dizzy moment debating whether she’d rather be tied up in a cabin or a shack before the panic started creeping back in, and she jerked her thoughts back on track.
Focus.
The person in the other room had gone quiet, and the complete silence was unnerving. The events of the evening before—had it just been last night?—ran through her memory, and she instinctively yanked at her hands until her wrists burned from the friction.
Calm, calm, calm.
Her breaths were quick and tight, and she forced herself to slow them, dragging in long, ragged inhales until her heart stopped pounding so hard. The pain and pressure in her head eased along with her panic, which helped her start thinking rationally again.
Okay. Hands are tied. Feet?
She attempted to move her legs, but they were strapped together at the ankles. The restriction threatened to bring another wave of panic, so she focused on making a mental to-do list. First, she needed to get off the floor, at least to a sitting position if she couldn’t stand. Trying to stay as quiet as possible—since she didn’t want whoever was in the other room to know she was conscious—she rolled to the right, just enough to draw her legs up underneath her.
It was a relief to see that she still wore her hedgehog pajamas and her hoodie, but the drag of fabric against the rough floor sounded loud to her ears. Pausing, she listened so hard that her head started pounding again. When no one came bursting into the room, she let out the breath she was holding in a long rush and lifted her upper body until she was on her knees.
A wave of dizziness hit her, and she swayed, blinking rapidly against the spinning room. When it finally passed, she wondered if she’d hit her head or if her symptoms were a result of whatever her kidnapper had injected her with. The thought of him drugging her filled her with fresh rage, and she clenched her teeth together hard enough to make her molars squeak.
A hard shiver shook her, distracting her from her anger, reminding Cara of how cold she was. Her fingers were numb, either from the tight bonds or from the chilliness of the room, making it impossible to feel what they’d tied her with. Twisting, she examined her ankles and saw that they’d been secured together with two zip ties. She made a face, wishing it had been duct tape or knotted cord—something she could’ve picked at.
From her position on her knees, she looked around to see if she’d missed anything she could use as a weapon or to free herself, but the room was just as empty as she’d thought. There was a window, though, covered with a cheap plastic shade. She tried to shuffle toward it on her knees, but the ties around her ankles were too tight to allow for movement. She debated standing, but worried that she’d topple over, creating a crash that could bring her abductors in.
She paused, realizing that they hadn’t gagged her. Did that mean they didn’t think she’d wake to yell, or was there no one around to hear? The walls weren’t soundproof in any way. She could hear the twittering of some kind of bird and the occasional sweep of the wind. Her stomach tightened, and she swallowed with a suddenly closed throat. The idea of being in a murder cabin was infinitely scarier when it was in the middle of nowhere.
They don’t care if I scream, because no one will hear.
The drag and thump of a chair being pulled over old floorboards reminded her of the other occupant of the cabin, and she corrected herself.No one who hears will care.
Panic was bubbling up again, and she forced it down.Stop it. Not productive.Whatwouldbe productive was getting to the window. She might not be able to escape with her feet and hands tied, but she could at least get an idea of where she was.
Having a goal helped keep her calm, so she added to her to-do list:Second, get over to the window.
