Split Second

CHAPTER 33

Tess McGowan tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids were too heavy. She managed a flutter, seeing a flash of light, then darkness. She was sitting up, but the earth was moving beneath her in a low rumble and steady vibration. Somewhere a soft, deep voice with a country twang was singing about hurting the ones you love.

Why couldn’t she move? Her arms were limp, her legs like concrete. But the only restraint was across her shoulder, across her lap. A car. Yes, she was buckled into a car. That explained the movement, the vibration, the muffled sounds. It didn’t explain why she couldn’t open her eyes.

She tried again. Another flutter. Headlights flickered before her heavy eyelids fell closed. It was night. How could it be night? It had just been morning. Hadn’t it?

She leaned against the headrest. She smelled jasmine, just a hint, soft and subtle. Yes, she remembered a few days ago she had bought a new sachet and stuck it under the passenger seat. So she was in her own car. The scent, the notion calmed her until she realized that if she wasn’t driving, someone else was here with her. Was it Daniel? Why couldn’t she remember? Why did her mind feel as though it was filled with cobwebs? Had she gone out drinking again? Oh dear God! Had she picked up another stranger?

She turned her head slightly to the side without removing it from the headrest. It took such effort to move, each inch as if in slow motion. One more time she attempted to open her eyes. Too dark, but there was movement. The eyelids dropped shut again.

She listened. She could hear someone breathing. She opened her mouth to speak. She would ask where they were going. It was a simple question, but nothing came out. There was a slight groan but even that hadn’t come from her. Then the car began to slow, followed by a faint electric buzz. Tess felt a draft, smelled fresh tar and knew the window had opened. The car stopped, but the engine continued to hum. Gas fumes told her they were stalled in traffic. She tried once again to open her eyes.

“Good evening, Officer,” a deep voice said from the seat next to her.

Was it Daniel? The voice sounded familiar.

“Good evening,” another voice bellowed. “Oh, sorry,” came a whisper. “Didn’t see your wife sleeping.”

“What seems to be the problem?”

Yes, Tess wanted to know, too. What was the problem? Why couldn’t she move? Why couldn’t she open her eyes? What wife was sleeping? Did the officer mean her?

“We’ve got an accident we’re cleaning up on the other side of the toll bridge. A leftover from the rush-hour traffic. Be just a minute or two. Then we’ll let you through.”

“No hurry.” the voice said much too calmly.

No. It wasn’t Daniel. Daniel was always in a hurry. He’d be making the officer understand how important he was. He’d be causing a scene. Oh, how she hated when he did that. But if it wasn’t Daniel beside her, then who?

A flutter of panic crawled over her. “No hurry?” Yes, the voice was familiar.

She began to remember.

“You smell quite lovely,” that same voice had told her. It came to her in pieces. The house on Archer Drive. He wanted to see the master bedroom. “I hope you’re not offended.”

He wanted to see her face. “It’s really quite painless.” No, he wanted to feel her face. His hands, his fingers on her hair, her cheeks, her neck. Then wrapping those hands around her throat, tight and hard, the muscles squeezing. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. Dark eyes. And a smile. Yes, he had smiled while his fingers squeezed and wrung her neck. It hurt. Stop it. It hurt so bad. Her head hurt, and she could hear the smack of it hitting against the wall. She fought with fists and fingernails. God, he was strong.

Then she had felt it. A prick of the needle as it sunk deep into her arm. She remembered the rush of heat that flowed through her veins. She remembered the room spinning.

Now she tried to raise that same arm. It wouldn’t move, but it ached. What had he given her? Who the hell was he? Where was he taking her? Even the fear felt trapped, a lump caught deep inside her throat, straining to be set free. She couldn’t wave or swing her arms. She couldn’t kick or run. My God, she couldn’t even scream.