Black Harvest

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Stephanie was running late. She stepped out of the elevator in her parking garage and walked toward her car. Her shoes sounded loud in the echoing space. If Beltway traffic wasn't bad she might make it on time. Yeah, right, she thought. That's on the order of Moses parting the Red Sea.

She reached her car, a sensible Toyota Avalon. Enough luxury and power without getting into the really high end stuff. It was a lovely blue color. She liked her car. She pushed the remote and heard the beep as the doors unlocked. She opened the door. She heard a sound like a hissing snake and felt a sudden sharp pain and looked down at a dart sticking in her leg. She felt dizzy. The keys fell from her hand.

She woke lying on a cot. A small window well high up on the wall let in enough light to see a square room of unfinished concrete. A camera watched from the ceiling. The door was made of gray steel. A metal toilet without a seat took up one corner. The only other features were a water tap in the wall and a drain in the center of the floor.

A shot of fear cleared the fog from her mind. She sat up, awkwardly. Her right arm jerked back. Handcuffs shackled her to the cot. The cot was bolted to the floor.

The last thing…yes, opening the car door. Something in her leg. A tranquilizer dart.

She was in a cell. Not thinking, she felt for her gun. The empty holster mocked her. The handcuffs rattled.

Except for a headache and a queasy feeling in her stomach, she was unharmed. Her skirt was smudged with something, maybe from the garage floor. She had a scrape on her leg.

They'd taken her watch. Stephanie had no idea how long she'd been unconscious. She guessed a few hours. She took a deep breath, calming herself. Suddenly she was angry. She raised her free arm and gave the camera her middle finger. Maybe that would get someone's attention.