Expecting to Die

Think, Bianca. You have to get hold of yourself. You have to save yourself. No
one knows where you are; no one will be looking for you. Jeremy will think
you’ve gotten a ride with a friend or Michelle. Mom is at the hospital with the
new baby. Santana’s staying with her. You’re on your own. For the rest of the
night, these psychos will be able to do whatever they want to you.
Unless you fight back.
She wanted to give up. To fall into a million pieces and cry. To even beg for
mercy, but she could tell, even in her current, jangled state, that whoever had
taken her was psyched up, adrenaline running fast and hard through their veins,
maybe helped along with drugs . . .
At that thought, she knew what she was up against.
She knew who had abducted her, and a cold as icy as the frigid North settled
in her gut.
It all came together. In her jolted, jerking state, she mentally ID’d the son of a
bitch who had to be behind all of the attacks. She didn’t know why he was
involved or how, but he was involved.
She hazarded a glance to the back window of the cab and saw the gun rack, in
position, the long barrel of some kind of hunting rifle visible. So they were
armed with more than a stupid stun gun.

---

With a jerk, the driver cut a quick corner, and the back tires spun on dust and
gravel, throwing Bianca to the far side of the bed before the wheels caught hold
again and the pickup nosed upward, gears grinding on some steep backwoods
road. She tried to think, to reason things out. Why Tophman, the preacher’s son,
and drug dealer to the football and baseball teams? Everyone in school knew that
if you wanted to get high and needed anything from weed, to meth to ’roids,
Tophman could set you up. He himself had bulked up by using steroids, and it
was his private joke that his parents and coaches hadn’t figured it out. All of the
other kids, Bianca included, never ratted him out. In Bianca’s case, she was a
cop’s daughter, already the target of ridicule and suspicion, and besides, she
didn’t care what the other kids did.
Now it had come full circle, and she was going to pay the ultimate price.
Unless she did something and fast. The truck ground upward as she tried to
figure out how to save herself. She twisted to her side, raised her head, and
through the cab window saw a glow, the headlights spraying light against the
trees.
Still she had no idea where she was, just somewhere deep in the wilderness of
the Bitterroot Mountains.
Move, Bianca. Get moving. You don’t have much time, and if you want to save
yourself . . .
Her hands were tied, but in front of her, rather than in back, and she’d already
yanked out the filthy rag they’d used as a gag. She worked at the knots at her
wrists, but her fingers were still disobeying, unable to loosen the heavy twine.
Her legs were free, thank God, and slowly, far too slowly, she was regaining
control of her limbs.
The pickup bucked and shook as it hit a big rock.
“Shit! Be careful!” Tophman yelled, his voice reaching Bianca from the open
window of the cab.
“It ain’t as if this is the damned freeway,” another voice said. Kywin Bell. The
driver. Oh, damn! Her mother’s number-one suspect in Destiny Rose’s murder.
She tried to push herself upright. Her arms gave way and she fell against the
floor of the bed, hitting her chin and probably splitting open the wound. Damn it
all to hell.
She tried again. Her muscles tried to fold in on her, but she gritted her teeth
and was able to hold up her weight for a few seconds. Now, if she could just find
a weapon, or jump out of the truck without them seeing her...
But she couldn’t outrun them.
And she had no source of illumination, while they had flashlights. And the
stun gun. And the rifle or shotgun or whatever. And probably more.

---

No, no, no . . . all she had on her side was the element of surprise.
The truck was slowing—they were reaching their destination, wherever it was.