Chapter 36
Despite the chill in the Brands' house, sweat prickled between Mariah's breasts. The thud of her pulse echoed Wyatt's footsteps as he paced, firearm in hand, in front of her chair. She held her breath.
Linc grinned from the couch. "This is great, huh?"
"Shut up," Wyatt growled.
The impact of the shotgun butt on the table made every nerve in Mariah's body jump. Stay calm. Don't give them anything to retaliate against.
She had really been kidnapped.
Again.
This time, though, she was getting out of here on the first try. And alive, by God.
Step one, negotiate. "Guys, let me go back to the hospital. I won't say anything about what happened. It was... a misunderstanding. Right?"
Linc did a suggestive swagger with his thumbs pointed at his chest, then licked his meaty lips, and Mariah threw up a little in her mouth. "No misunderstanding. I, for one, am glad you're here. We didn't get to spend much time together at the fight."
She concentrated on staying upright. The shaking had escalated from a tremor to a full body shudder. Everything about this situation was so wrong. The rough pine floor and wood paneling in this house generated flashbacks that battered her from all sides. When would the beatings start?
Breathe. Think. Do not give in to the panic.
"So what do we get to do with... her?" Linc pointed to Mariah.
Wyatt's slow grin contained zero happiness. Red glinted in his eyes. Not normal. Had to be possessed. "She's bait so we can screw those Taggarts over real good. It's part of the Great One's plan."
Mariah pushed to her feet. She couldn't take this insanity anymore. "That's it. I'm done here."
With a whip-like move, Wyatt's grip bit into her upper arm. The muzzle of the gun rested under her chin. "I don't think so."
Through a motionless jaw, she whispered, "You'll be arrested for this, Wyatt."
"Only if anyone says anything." He smacked his lips. "Or if there's any evidence left to find."
The edges of her visual field dimmed. Her heart beat too quickly. She couldn't breathe. The scent of moldy wood made her stomach cramp.
Tommy piped up, his irises flashing from blank to briefly red. A whiff of sharp scent, like a match strike, drifted past her. She was dealing with much more than a crime here. "Good news. The sheriff witnessed this scene. Nothing to see here."
She bit her lip. This could not be happening. But if they needed bait, maybe she could buy time.
She tucked her hands in the coat pockets and wrapped her fingers around the cell phone.
Maybe she could get a message out.
Wyatt dragged her toward the hallway. "Why don't you go check on our mom while you're here. Although, I'd say she's pretty relaxed right about now."
"What?"
"Once you're in her room, sit there and be quiet."
Mariah froze. Walk deeper into this house?
"Go!" he bellowed, his voice echoing in a strange reverberation that spiked jolts through her spine. "If you try to leave, we'll hurt our mom."
Linc snickered. "And I know how to find your brother, Doc. A bantamweight can't stand up against a heavyweight."
Mariah froze. It was Utah all over again. Sweat prickled her chest.
"Linc, take her phone and car keys."
"Good idea." The fighter groped in her pocket, with far too much extra touching. Mariah's stomach churned. "Want me to destroy her phone?" he asked.
"Not yet. We may need it to send our message."
"Yeah." Linc waved at her. "Get out of here. We have revenge to plan. I get dibs on Vaughn. He owes me."
Mariah forced her legs to carry her out of the living room and down the hall.
Wyatt's gravelly voice drifted to her. "Not me. I'm going for low-hanging fruit. Kerr's easy. He can't run."
Gasping, Mariah ducked into Mrs. Brand's room. A bedside lamp gave off sickly, yellow light.
Oh, no. This room also had wood walls. A thick odor of musty pine made it hard to breathe.
Mrs. Brand opened an eye. "What're you doin' here?" Her words slid out, slurred.
"Are you okay?" Mariah asked. At least she could focus on treating a patient. Do something useful. Anchor herself to reality.
"Mmmph." The woman drifted back to sleep. The hiss of oxygen and her light snore produced the only sounds in the room.
Mariah gently shook the woman's shoulder, but nothing happened. She frowned as she checked the bottles at the bedside. Medication for her multiple sclerosis, an antibiotic, some blood pressure medication, and inhalers. Nothing that would... ah, a bottle of lorazepam. She shook the bottle. Two tablets left from the twenty prescribed a few days ago. That explained the stupor. Was the woman going to be okay?
Mariah paced, her head whipping to the door at any external sound. Only the low voices of the three nuts filtered back to the room.
Leave and Mrs. Brand might be hurt. Along with Mariah.
Stay and the entire Taggart clan might be hurt. Along with Mariah.
Where was Izzy? Mariah checked the bedside clock: 7:45 p.m. Even if she waited another hour or so for Izzy to return, there was no guarantee the woman could help. Worse, involving Izzy might put her in danger as well.
Sweat trickled down her back.
Heavy footsteps transmitted through the floorboards.
No way was she staying here. She'd go for help and send someone to check on Mrs. Brand. But Mariah couldn't call for help here, trapped. She picked up the landline phone on the nightstand. No ring tone.
What she really wanted to do was curl up in the fetal position and wish this nightmare away.
Quietly, she began systematically going through the room. The window had a retrofitted lock on it. Unlikely they kept a key in here. But a window lock hadn't stopped Mariah years ago. She had defeated that lock with a metal brad and a paperclip back then. And a lot of desperation.
The dresser top held a few boxes. Some earrings but the posts weren't long enough. A brush. How about bobby pins?
Nothing. Damn.
Moving to the closet, she fished around until a harsh squeak stopped her.
Metal hanger.
Metal.
Keeping an eye on the soundly sleeping Mrs. Brand, Mariah fished out the hanger, winter pants, and boots. Opening a few dresser drawers, she found woolen socks and gloves. She wasn't picky on sizes. Anything was better than the current work clothes she wore, because by God she was getting out of this place.
A door slammed. She didn't move.
A few low voices continued, presumably from the living room. The ever-present hiss of oxygen provided background sound.
Quickly donning the extra layers, she took two hangers and bent one into a longer piece and pinched an end to push up the lock pins. She pressed the wire of the other hanger into a narrow loop to turn the lock itself.
The lock was at waist height on the sill. With trembling fingers, she used those memories of her escape in Utah and went to work placing the narrow loop into the lock as a lever for the other metal piece. The wire thickness barely fit. But it fit.
Click.
Plink.
Click.
She turned the lock. Nothing.
Sweat rolled down her temple, tickling her cheek. Air rasped in and out of her lungs.
The voices continued. When would they come back?
Forcing her hands to stop shaking, she rolled her shoulders. Not only would she make it out of this hellish place and find her way across wilderness to safety, she would call for help for Mrs. Brand, and then she would let the Taggarts know about the extent the Brand guys wanted to hurt them.
She readjusted the hanger pieces.
The light metal in the lock made tiny scritches in the quiet night. Who was it that had left the house? Would they be out here, waiting for her?
She'd deal with that issue later. For now, escape.
A slight movement of her hand, and there, she felt the bent tip of the long piece of metal push up the farthest pin. Easing the metal back, she pressed the second pin, then the third. One more to go.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Last one.
Clink.
Scared to move, in case the whole thing slipped, she paused. Then, with a slow and steady twist, she turned the lock.
The window lock popped open.