Читать книгу Broken Silence - Liz Mistry - Страница 17

Felicity’s arms ached. In fact, despite the biting cold, her entire body ached. She thought she’d felt crap when she woke up, but right now, the only thing keeping her from giving up completely was Stevie. Stevie wouldn’t cope without her so, there was only one option. She needed to get out of this mess.

She lay still for a few moments, thinking. She was on her side, on top of a metal surface, in the dark and the cold, with an itchy blanket half over her. So, they’d probably dumped her in the back of the van and driven her somewhere. The van was silent so unless they were being ultra-quiet in the driver’s cab, she thought she might be alone. Her nostrils twitched at the oily petrol smell that wafted off the cover and she regurgitated a little bit of alcoholic vomit. If she wasn’t so damn cold, she would have kicked it off already. Her arms had been pulled behind her and her wrists were bound. When she moved them, whatever was binding them became tighter, scouring her flesh and sending shooting pain up her arms and into her shoulders. Cable ties. What should she do? What could she do? She moved her legs and discovered that her feet were bound together and only the presence of her jeans was saving them from chafing her skin.

She wanted to close her eyes and give in to the pain, but instead, a glimmer of a thought flickered into their mind. At first, she was resistant and then as the flicker persisted, she realized she had no other option if she wanted to survive. At the conference, Archie had looked at her scathingly and told her she should be ‘more like Parekh’ and that might be exactly what she needed to do to stay alive. She was no Nikita Parekh, yet, much as she despised the woman … distrusted her even, she knew that the tenacious thought niggling inside her throbbing head might be the only thing that would get her out of this mess. What would Nikki Parekh do?

Against her better judgement, Felicity Springer considered her options. Parekh would probably assess her physical condition. Felicity had no real knowledge that her supposition was true. She hardly knew Parekh – not really. Any interaction was always acrimonious, yet with a conviction born of these observations and office gossip, she knew that Parekh would not just curl up and die. She would fight. That’s what she’d done the previous year and that’s what she would do in this situation. Parekh was nothing if not fearless and determined. Keeping that thought in mind, Felicity hardened her resolve and began to assess her own physical condition.

Her shoulder ached like a bastard, and she suspected the bullet had gone straight through it. The smell of fresh blood made her feel a little nauseous, yet the fact that she was conscious and relatively clear-headed told her someone had staunched the bleeding. Her right arm felt useless by her side. Every movement was like a million pinpricks concentrated on her wound and she wanted to scream. Bet bloody Parekh would just suck it up and be on her feet already. Still feeling groggy, both by her hangover from the previous night and by the waves of nausea that rolled over her every few seconds, she tried to complete her injury inventory. On a scale from one to ten, her shoulder was a definite eight – no way would she consider it a ten; she had to think like Parekh, had to keep some reserves in play, so she couldn’t allow her bullet wound to be a ten. Using her newly devised criteria, she decided that her entire body, arms, shoulders, legs, crotch … all of that was a six.

The sound of her own breathing roared in her head, disorientating her. She needed to channel Nikki, so she slowed her breathing right down, long slow breaths and gradually she was able to focus on listening. She held her breath and strained her ears to see if she could hear the faint breathing of anyone else beside her. Nothing. There’d definitely been someone in distress in the transit van she’d followed. Had they been injured in the impact? Was she lying next to a dead person? The thought freaked her out and she began to drag in big breaths that increased her pain tenfold. Get a grip, Fliss. Get a bloody grip. You deal with cold cases, skeletonized corpses and bodies every day. Get a damn grip. The only difference was, she was in control then. Now she was at the mercy of some unknown assailant, in the middle of God knows where, channelling her inner bloody Parekh. If nothing else told her how bad the situation was, that one thing did.

‘Hello?’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded tremulous. She tried again a little louder, but not too loud in case someone was in the front cab of the van, ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’ Still nothing, so either she was alone or the person whose arm she’d seen through the taillight was unconscious. With determination she pushed away the addendum … ‘Or dead.’ She was not going to think that way. She was alive, she was able to move a little, she was alone. All of the above were things she could use to her advantage.

She rocked a little on her side – tentative and controlled. A groan escaped her lips as she fell back into her original position. Body, six and a half more like – not a seven though. No, she couldn’t allow the rest of her body to be a seven. It had to be well below the most painful injury on the pain scale. This was going to be hard. She took a deep breath and tried to roll onto her back, so she could see better. It wasn’t quite absolute darkness. There were shadows and shapes looming around her, some larger than others and some smaller. All she had to do was focus and she might find something to help her escape from her current predicament. All she had to do was overcome her pain and move round the vehicle, surely there would be something in here to help her.

Using her bound feet for leverage, Felicity began to push herself backwards to where she thought the front of the van was. Maybe she’d find a tool, something to cut her ties, something she could use as a weapon. Her head banged gently against a solid surface and she tilted her head, trying to work out what it was, but the light was too dim. Using her feet to propel her round so her hands could feel the surface, she ignored the warm blood that trickled from her shoulder and ended up pooling at her wrists. She got herself in position and strained her shoulder upwards, so her hands could touch the surface, and almost cried when she realized that instead of heading to the front of the vehicle, she’d slithered herself to the back instead.

She was at the door, but there was no way she could either stand up or reach the handle to open it, which, knowing her luck would be locked anyway. Her shoulders slumped, and the sensation of sticky blood on her bare hands and wrists was gross. She hated dirt, hated gore, hated anything like that. Stevie often teased her about nappies and baby sick. Not her fault if she had an aversion to all that crap. The glimmer of Nikki Parekh was in danger of fading; pain was hitting a nine. Can’t let it hit ten. If it gets to ten, I might as well give up.

She moved her wrists, tried to wipe some of the blood off onto her sleeve. It strained her shoulders, but she was prepared to bottle the pain if she could just get rid of that horrid stickiness. At the back of her mind she was aware that she was becoming a little hysterical … a little panicked, still she kept flexing and unflexing her wrists, desperate to get rid of the cloying gunge. It was invading her nostrils with its coppery abattoir smell. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she kept frantically moving. It wasn’t a sudden awareness that the cable ties were shifting with her movements, more of a gradual dawning. Her moving hands slowed as she savoured the fact that the ties moved up and down her wrists without causing quite so much pain – a four now instead of a six. She tried twisting them to the right and then to the left – definitely slacker. The blood from her shoulder was lubricating the cable ties making it easier for her to move them. If she could only persevere a bit more – channel a bit more Parekh – then maybe she could get out of them. Separating her wrists as wide as she could, she began moving again – this time more frantic. It was sore – course it was – a seven, maybe nearly an eight, the cable ties were digging into her wrists, despite the lubrication, but the gap between her wrists was getting wider. Finally, breathless, sore and tired, Felicity reckoned she had created enough slack.

First, she tried to yank both hands out together, but all she succeeded in doing was hurting her wrists even more. It was then she had the idea of manoeuvring one bloody hand out at a time. Keeping her fingers as close together as she could, and tucking her thumb in, she pulled her right hand up whilst sliding her left down trying to maximize the space between them. It took a few attempts and when she finally succeeded, her right arm jerked, causing a sharp dagger to shoot through her shoulder. Dizzy and gasping in pain, her breath rasping in her throat, she couldn’t quite believe she’d managed to get out of the cable ties. Her fingers were numb as the blood flooded them – ten fat sausages on the end of her hands. A definite eight. Not a nine though, definitely not a nine. Take that Parekh. Just take that!

Now what? Freer now, Felicity rolled onto her back and brought her hands round to rest on her stomach. Forcing herself to block out the pain, she wiggled her digits, willing her circulation to do its job, willing the numbness to go so she could use them. After what seemed like ages, she rested her elbows on either side of her body, and minimizing the pressure on her still recovering hands, she got herself into a sitting position, leaning against the door. Her feet didn’t have the same numbness she had experienced in her hands and it took her a moment to realize that the ties weren’t as tight around her feet. If she pulled the material from her jeans up that would loosen them even more and if she removed her ankle boots, she’d be able to get them off completely. She’d be untethered.

The thought spurred her into action and she forced her clumsy fingers to first pull her jeans out from under the ties and then she was able to pull the ties further up her leg as she unzipped her boots. She took frequent breaks to rest her shoulder which, though she was loathe to admit it, was now hitting nine, possibly even nine and a half. She needed to get out of there. Needed to get out of this damn metal coffin. Needed to get back to Stevie. She’d never admit to anyone that she’d channelled Nikki Parekh of all people to help her. No, that would be her secret – one she’d take with her to the grave. Unable to bend down one more time, Felicity jiggled one foot at a time until her boots were nearly off and then, with a final effort, managed to flip them off completely, before manoeuvring one foot, then the other from the cables.

The relief was like a tsunami knocking her backwards against the metal panels. But it was short-lived. She gasped as she realized time might not be on her side. Felicity shuffled over to her boots, rammed them on and clambered to her feet, her hands outstretched and feeling for the handles that would guarantee her release.

Her hand latched onto the mechanism at the same time as a grinding sound reached her. Someone was coming in. Someone was nearby. Fear flooded her body as she wondered whether they would check on her, and if they would look to make sure that she was still secured. Falling to her knees, Felicity grabbed the cables and put one foot in, lay on her left side facing the door with her hands clasped behind her and shrugged the smelly fabric half over her body, praying that they would assume that if her position was changed it was done en route to wherever they were. She closed her eyes. Better if they thought she was still unconscious.

The door opened, and torch light bounced around the van. Focusing on keeping her breathing steady and not flinching, Felicity waited. A slight dip of the vehicle told her someone had entered, and seconds later she smelled the faint but familiar tang of a citrusy aftershave that made her stomach lurch. Please don’t notice the cables, please don’t notice the cables. What is he doing?

‘What you waiting for? Get the fuck up here. Find out if he’s still with us. Then get the body disposed of. Get a move on.’

Felicity froze. That voice … did she recognize it? Was it someone she knew or was she just imagining it?

‘Yes boss.’ The second voice was raspy, like he’d smoked too many full tars over his lifetime and then the van dropped again as a second man entered. ‘Nope, still alive.’

The words chilled Felicity; they were going kill her. Kill her and dump her. The vehicle dipped once more, and shoes scraped against metal. A third person. So at least three in total. The familiar citrusy scent was replaced by sweat and stale smoke. Felicity tried to think. What the hell would Parekh do? Should she try to make it to the door? She was weak and stiff. She could barely stand upright without effort, there was no way she could use the element of surprise – not in her condition. The only option she had was to play dead. Maybe if they thought she was dead, or even just unconscious, they’d just dump her and not bother killing her. Maybe then she’d have a chance.

Cold fingers touched her neck and Felicity forced herself not to flinch as she held her breath and Felicity closed her mind. If she shut everything off, maybe she’d survive.

Tar man replied, ‘Leave that to me and Jase. We’ve got the dump spot all sorted, like. We won’t let you down. Not again.’

‘They both need to be disposed of. But separately. She needs to be dumped where she won’t be found for months – the middle of the moors or somewhere. And him …’ Xavier kicked the prone man. ‘Finish him. And make sure you use the usual forensic measures – yeah?’

Felicity recognized the voice itself but couldn’t place it. Without a face to go with it, she just couldn’t remember. She couldn’t risk looking, had to play unconscious. Keep her eyes closed and focus on keeping still. Not that it would do her any good, not with a bullet through her brain. So much for channelling Nikki fucking Parekh!

Citrusy man snorted and then the van lifted again. ‘Okay, I’m counting on you. Get on with it.’

The click of a semi-automatic pistol being cocked echoed in Felicity’s ears. Her breath caught in her throat and it was all she could do not to scream out loud. She sent up a final prayer that Stevie would be all right. She needed to believe that Stevie would be all right … especially now. She hadn’t quite finished her frantic prayers when the shot fired out, extra loud in the van … followed by silence.