Last Breath

28

This time there was no confusion. C.J. swam out of unconsciousness into waking reality, and instantly she remembered the surprise attack in the hallway, the phone call from Tanner, and above all Adam’s voice.

She was still blindfolded, and he had gagged her again with the rubber throttle. He had propped her in a sitting position, her back against something hard and straight. A wall? No, a post.

The floor was stiff and cold. Concrete. Not part of her bungalow. Not Adam’s condo. Someplace else.

She had been relocated while she slept. She might be anywhere now. A basement, maybe. No, she felt cold air-fresh air, outdoors air-moving across her face. There must be windows or other openings. She listened for sounds of traffic from outside, music, jet planes, but heard nothing.

Carefully, afraid to move too much and betray the fact that she was awake, she tested her wrists and found that they were still bound behind her back. Her ankles too-taped together, her legs curled under her. Her head had slumped forward while unconscious, and she did not raise it, not yet.

She wondered why she had not fallen prone on the floor. When she drew in a deep abdominal breath, swelling her belly, she had her answer. A cord had been tied around her waist, securing her to the post.

Footsteps on the concrete floor.

He was close, perhaps six feet away. Moving toward her, then away.

She prayed he didn’t know she had revived. Every minute that she maintained the pretense of unconsciousness was a reprieve from whatever fate he had in mind for her.

Not that there was much mystery about it. He’d told her himself, hadn’t he?

Till death do us part.

The footsteps continued circling, now joined by a new sound, hard and regular. It took her a moment to understand that what she heard was the beat of her heart in her ears.

The sound of her own pulse frightened her. Each beat was like the tick of a clock, announcing that her time was limited and fast running out. She almost wished he would just go ahead and do it-whatever it was he meant to do-do it and get it over with and spare her the ordeal of waiting.

But that thought flared and died, replaced by another. She had not lived long enough. She had not done enough.

What did she have to show for her life? A bungalow with a mortgage, a uniform in a locker? Not much for twenty-six years on this earth.

And now he would take even that away from her. But why? How was it even possible? The man she’d married was capable of lying, cheating on her, but he couldn’t do something like this, something insane…

Involuntarily a groan escaped her, so low and muffled that she wasn’t sure Adam heard.

But he did. His circling footsteps stopped abruptly.

She froze, hating herself for the weakness that had voiced itself in that groan. She had shortened her remaining time, and she couldn’t afford to lose any of it, not when every minute was precious now.

He came toward her. She heard the sharp claps of his footfalls on the concrete. He was wearing hard-soled shoes-his dress shoes from work? No, he wouldn’t be that stupid. He would know that shoe prints could be identified by forensics experts. He would not make such an obvious mistake.

A stir of air, and she sensed that he was kneeling by her. Rustle of clothing, caress of leather on her cheek.

His gloved hand. Touching her.

She struggled not to react. He did not necessarily know she was awake. People groaned in their sleep, after all. As long as she stayed absolutely still, he might not be sure if she remained unconscious or was merely playing possum.

It was all about buying time, more time. Time seemed suddenly the most important thing in the world, or maybe it always had been, and these circumstances were required to bring home this truth that she always should have known.

His gloved finger slipped under her chin and stroked her. Tickled her.

“Hey, C.J. Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Words he used to say to her on lazy weekend mornings. Then as now, he had tickled her gently. Then as now, he had eased his hand under her chin, fingering the sensitive hollow of her jaw…

Abruptly his grip tightened. His hand clutched her throat.

She jerked her head back with a gasp.

He withdrew.

“Thought that would get your attention,” he said.

No purpose was served in pretending to be unconscious any longer. She tried to pose a question to him: “Where am I?” The hollow rubber ball clamped between her teeth distorted her words and made them almost unintelligible. She tried again. “Where… am… I?”

“I heard you the first time, C.J. Where are you? You’re in the same place you put me for the last year. You’re in hell.”