The Mercenary: Skewed Part 6

I sat still, my ears straining, listening for any signs of a struggle coming from upstairs.

If she died while I was still alive down here, there was a chance no one would even think to look for me-though if they did, they'd most likely shoot me. But the thought of dying a slow and excruciatingly painful death while strapped to this f.u.c.king chair wasn't something I planned on doing. I'd prefer to be shot.

I could hear the thud of footsteps above, the low drone of m.u.f.fled words spoken, though I couldn't make out what was being said. A friend stopping by for coffee, perhaps? No, that didn't sit right. She didn't give the impression of a woman who would bother with the social niceties needed to make friends. The conversation seemed amiable enough, though, so I didn't think Vee was in any immediate danger.

I needed to get free from this d.a.m.n chair.

She'd left the light on this time when she'd exited, though I'd heard her lock the door.

I glanced around, trying to see something that would help me get loose. My ankles were strapped to the chair legs, but the chair wasn't attached to the floor, and I had some movement in my arms, though my wrists were also taped together, and secured to my thighs with another length of tape. I thought that with a little wriggling, I could at least get my hands free from my thighs. I could have tried to stand and use the rear legs of the chair to attack Vee, but she had a gun and would have shot me before I'd even gotten close. No, I needed to get my hands free and the rest would be easier.

An old dresser was pushed up against the wall on the right hand side, a clutter of various items scattered over the surface. There must be something there I could use.

First of all, I needed to at least partially free my hands. I pulled my joined hands up as much as I could, trying to stretch the circle of tape wrapped around the backs of my thighs and then up over the top of my wrists. I yanked it up and down, back and forth, trying to create some give in the tape. It was frustratingly slow, especially as I knew Vee's visitor might leave at any moment, but the more I worked on it, the more I could feel the tape start to loosen.

Finally, I created enough s.p.a.ce and tugged my hands from the binding. My wrists were still bound together with more tape, but at least I could reach out and grab something. I tried to twist my hands to one side of my body, to see if I could reach the phone in my back pocket, but I wasn't flexible enough. It didn't matter. There wouldn't be any coverage down here anyway, and it wasn't as though I'd ever call her father's men for help.

Gritting my teeth against the intense pain, I managed to partially stand from the chair. My a.s.s lifted off the seat, but my ankles were still taped. Without the use of my hands to be able to hold the seat higher and lift the back legs of the chair off the floor, I would have to drag the whole thing along behind me as I shuffled forward. Considering the injury in my thigh, and the pain it was causing me, I knew this wasn't going to be a fun process. But the dresser was a matter of a few feet away, and I'd been through plenty of more painful and traumatic situations in my life.

Favoring the uninjured leg, I started my awkward shuffled toward the unit. The chair legs sc.r.a.ped, too loudly, against the concrete floor, little scuff, scuff, scuffs, which sounded with each movement I made. Would she hear them and come racing down here, risk whoever she was with finding out about me? I didn't think she'd take the chance, but who the h.e.l.l knew with her? My jaw clenched against the pain in my thigh, my eyes watering. My breath came in heavy pants, as though I was at the end of running a marathon rather than attempting to move a matter of feet. The chair I was strapped to was made of old solid wood, and was heavy and awkward.

I managed to shuffle about a foot, and then collapsed back in the seat, trying to catch my breath and rebuild my strength. I was at the peak of physical fitness normally, aware that being fit in my job could literally mean the difference between life and death, but the two stab wounds and loss of blood had sapped my strength.

I composed myself for a moment, aware of time spilling past, and then with a growl of determination and a fresh spurt of pain from my leg, I forced myself to my feet again.

Slow movements, an inch at a time, letting out a grunt of determination with each little bit of progress made until I was finally close enough to the unit to be able to reach out and touch the surface. My forearm throbbed with the movement, but the wound where I'd been stabbed hadn't started bleeding again. My fingers on that hand didn't feel as strong as the other hand, but I had movement. She hadn't severed any ligaments when she'd stabbed me.

Using my joined hands like a brush, I swept aside the debris, searching for something that would help me. I moved old tea-light candles, a stack of receipts, another roll of tape, until I finally found a penknife. A surge of satisfaction rose inside me. I'd cut myself loose before she made it back here, and then we'd see which of us was in control.

I picked up the knife with my good hand and managed to use my thumb to flick up the blade. With the heels of my palms pressed together, it wouldn't be easy to flip the knife around and cut the tape between my wrists, but that was what I needed to do. I knew there was a good chance I'd cut my skin while I attempted it, but I figured it was a risk I was prepared to take. I fiddled it between my fingers, using the other hand to hold it still while I edged it around to face the other way. Deep concentration while part of me listened out for her return. Would she shoot me if she saw me trying to escape? I thought she probably would.

From somewhere upstairs, a door slammed shut, breaking my concentration. I fumbled the blade, and it hopped from finger to finger, then to my dismay, it slipped from my grasp and tumbled to the floor.

"f.u.c.k!" I hissed.

It was still within reach.

I leaned down for the knife, reaching for it. With my ankles strapped to the chair legs, I couldn't quite reach from where it had skittered across the floor, so I stretched a little farther.

I felt it go before it did, the chair tilting in the direction I'd been reaching, my body creating an angle. I should have just shuffled it a bit further to one side, instead of overreaching myself, but it was too late now. I tried to straighten, but the legs slipped out from under me and I unbalanced and gravity took hold. My face slammed into the floor, my teeth cracking together, an impossibly loud sound in my head. A split second later, the chair crashed down on top of me, the wooden backrest connecting with my upper spine. I gave a grunt of pain. The back of the chair was wedged up against my back, my hands beneath my body.

d.a.m.n it. This wasn't quite what I had in mind.

I was trapped.

Chapter Thirteen.

V.

The m.u.f.fled crash caused every muscle in my body to tense, my gaze darting in the direction of the cellar's locked door. What the h.e.l.l was X doing down there? Whatever it was, it didn't sound good.

The deputy looked to me with a slight frown, as he settled back in his seat after having used the bathroom. I'd kept an eye on him to make sure that was exactly where he'd been, worried he was using it as an excuse to poke around my house, but he'd gone straight there and back again, slamming the bathroom door behind him when he did. He'd heard the noise from the cellar, too, but didn't know quite as obviously as I did about what the cause had been.

I forced an exasperated shake of my head, my nostrils flaring. "d.a.m.n racc.o.o.ns keep getting in the trash."

"Isn't it a bit early in the day for racc.o.o.ns?"

"Yeah, but they start it, and then the local stray cats and dogs get in. Should call animal control, really."

"I think you have bigger problems to worry about," he said.

"Yeah, you're right." I was relieved he seemed to accept my excuse, but I needed him out of the house. I had to find out what X had done to cause the crash. "Anyway, if there's nothing else, Deputy," I gave a big yawn, that started off fake and then morphed into the real thing, "I really need to get some sleep before my s.h.i.+ft tonight."

He realized he'd been excused and got back to his feet. "Yes, right. Well, if you need anything, Viola, or if you see anything or anyone suspicious, you know where to get hold of me."

"Yes, of course, thank you."

He was one of the last people I would ever call if I was in trouble, but he didn't need to know that. In fact, I didn't have anyone I would ever call. No one I truly trusted-not even my own sister. If she had a way of getting rid of me, I honestly thought she would take it at the first opportunity. The only reason she hadn't up and left me and gone back to New York already was because the U.S. Marshal had told her they would be unable to protect her and that someone would be likely to shoot her if she did. It was fear for her own life that kept her with me, not any kind of love or loyalty.

The deputy took a final gulp of his coffee, while I stood by, anxiously willing him to leave with every fiber of my being. I had to clench my fists to stop myself from grabbing him and attempting to physically throw him out myself, and I bit the inside of my lip to stop myself from screaming, 'get the f.u.c.k out!' at him. At any moment, I expected another crash to sound from the other side of the cellar door, this one closer and far more aggressive. If X had gotten free, he'd be pretty p.i.s.sed, and he had no idea an armed cop was on the other side of the door.

It occurred to me that I should be wanting the deputy to stay instead of leave. That, a.s.suming he was innocent, he would be there to protect me, but I didn't feel that way at all. If the cop shot X, I would never get any more information about the reason two different sets of men had been sent into my house when I was in Witness Protection, to kill me and do G.o.d only knew what to my sister. If I lacked knowledge, I lacked the power to protect us. I'd been hiding here for months, waiting for the day to arrive when I could finally put this mess behind me, when I could look my father in the eye and tell him how much I hated him for what he'd done, and how he'd go down for a long, long time. But now I thought the authorities were unable to protect me or Nickie. They clearly hadn't been able to keep our location a secret, and if they moved us again, what was there to prevent the same thing from happening? Only the next time we might not get so lucky and I wouldn't wake up in time to stop us being killed. The next time we might both end up dead.

No, I was starting to realize I couldn't rely on anyone else. I never had been able to, and it seemed nothing had changed. I needed to be the one to keep Nickie and me safe, and if it meant finding out who had sent both sets of men to kill us, then I would, and I would take matters into my own hands.

There weren't many benefits to being a young woman, but one of them was we were always underestimated. If I'd been born with a d.i.c.k, I'd probably have already been killed.

Deputy Kier gave me a quizzical look over his shoulder as he left via my front door. I hoped I hadn't acted too nuts and made him suspicious. But if he'd expected to find me dead, he'd already be wary about what had happened.

I was relieved to shut the door on him, but I didn't have time to take a breath. I waited until his vehicle had started up and driven away, before hurrying back to the cellar door.

Before opening it, I reached up onto the shelves and took down one of the guns I had put there. I had a sickening feeling I would need to use it.

My heart pounded as I went back to the cellar door and placed the key in the lock. I turned it slowly, keeping the muzzle of the weapon pointed at the door. If he'd gotten free, I imagined he would wait until the moment the door was unlocked and barge through, catching me by surprise and knocking me backward.

But as I turned the lock, cautious, my mouth running dry and my heart palpitating, nothing happened. This did nothing to ease my anxiety, and instead conjured up all the other possibilities that might be waiting for me.

I'd left the light on, and so entered with my arms outstretched, pointing the weapon. I wasn't inexperienced with a gun. The attack still didn't come, and instead of warding it off, I found myself looking for him. The chair wasn't in the same place as I'd left it, and my stomach lurched once more as I'd thought it had suddenly vanished, but then my eyes alighted on a mound near the old dresser on one side, the chair legs sticking up into the air, and it dawned on me what had happened.

He'd fallen over.

Feeling c.o.c.ky again, I gave a laugh and started down the stairs toward him.

His growl came from beneath the chair. "Laughing at me is a bit cruel, don't you think?"

I came to a stop beside him. "You came into my house to kill me, I've stabbed you, and you think the laughing is the cruel part?"

"Kicking a man when he's down," he grumbled.

"Are you requesting that I kick you now?"

"No. I need help up. My ankles twisted at funny angles when I fell. I think if I try to move like this, I'll break them."

I pursed my lips. "Maybe I should let you. It would prevent any ideas of you wanting to escape."

"If that should happen, I'll be a lot less inclined to want to help you."

I laughed again. "Help me? At what point have you helped me?"

"When I killed the two men who were out to murder you and s.n.a.t.c.h your sister. Perhaps I'm wrong, but I would have thought that counted."

He seemed genuinely annoyed I didn't consider that help. Perhaps he even thought I should be thanking him-I didn't know, maybe I should-but that didn't change the fact that he had been here to kill me, too.

Even so, I reached down to help him.

He wasn't a ma.s.sive man-I guessed about five feet eleven-but he was lean and compact with muscle. I was strong, too, but even so, it took all of my strength to try to haul him up with one hand and pull the back of the chair up with the other. He was able to help by pus.h.i.+ng up with his bound hands, but only a little. I noticed he'd managed to get his wrists free from where they'd been bound to his thighs.

"You could untie me," he grunted, as I tried to get him upright and failed. "That would make things a lot easier."

"Nice try," I replied, not considering it for a second.

I s.h.i.+fted my position slightly and tried again. This time I was able to get his a.s.s into the seat of the chair, and then I used his momentum to pull the back of the chair up and slam the rear two legs onto the floor.

He was upright again.

I spotted the knife on the floor and bent to s.n.a.t.c.h it up. "I a.s.sume this was what you were going for?"

"You'd a.s.sume right."

"And if you'd gotten free, what then?"

"I'd have escaped."

"And would you have killed me if you'd had the chance?"

He didn't answer me, just stared at me with those blue eyes. I suddenly wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer.

"I had a cop upstairs with me, you know," I said, perhaps recklessly. "He was armed. If you'd come through that door, he'd have shot you."

His eyes narrowed. "A cop came to see you the morning after you were supposed to have been killed. Doesn't that strike you as suspicious?"

I shrugged. "He comes around every so often to check up on us. He knows we're in Witness Protection."

His eyebrows lifted. "My point exactly."

I didn't want to admit to him that he was echoing my suspicions.

"Are you suggesting he's the one who leaked our location?" I asked.

"Just because he's a cop, doesn't mean he should be trusted."

"I already told you, I don't trust anyone."

"I figured that, or you would have asked him for help rather than keeping me hidden down here. You could easily have handed me over to him, you know?"

"And if he's in cahoots with my father, what would have happened then? He'd have released you, and I'd have ended up dead, just like you wanted."

"I didn't want it, Vee," he said, locking me with those blue eyes. "That was your father's wish, not mine."

"But you were happy to be his hand."

We stared at each other, not speaking. Finally, I sighed and looked away.

"So what now?" he said. "How much longer are we going to stay like this? Won't your sister be home soon?"

"Not for another couple of hours."

"Someone might come looking for those two before then." He jerked his head toward the bodies. I noticed he had a graze across his forehead, which I a.s.sumed he must have gotten when he'd fallen. "You haven't even searched their bodies yet."

I knew I needed to.

Could I smell the two bodies now? The slightly sweet tang to the air, like over-ripe fruit about to spoil. The idea of touching them again turned my stomach, but I needed to get hold of myself and deal with it.

"Fine," I said, "but first, I can't have you bleeding all over the place again."

Perhaps I was just delaying the inevitable, but I took a moment to patch up the wounds I'd give him, laying another folded piece of gauze on top of the cut and sticking it down with a fresh strip of tape.

"Thanks," he said, but I only gave him a scowl in return.

Then I left him to stride over to the pile under the dust sheets.

Taking a shallow breath, hoping I wouldn't be able to taste death across the back of my throat, I yanked back the sheet.

The men were exactly as I'd found them, sprawled across each other like dolls discarded and forgotten by children who had been playing with them and been called for dinner. The smell I'd hoped I'd imagined flooded over me, making me turn my head away.

"Check their pockets," X called out, making me jump, "and also look for any straps around their upper arms or ankles which might be holding a cell phone."