Impostor's Lure by Carla Neggers

Author:Carla Neggers [Neggers, Carla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781488081965
Publisher: MIRA Books
Published: 2018-08-21T14:41:05+00:00

15

“What do you want with me?”

Tamara hated the fear in her voice. She refused to accept it. If nothing else, she wouldn’t give her captor the satisfaction. Unless it helped her situation. Then she’d damn well grovel if it made a difference and got her out of here.

No response.

Maybe she hadn’t heard actual footsteps on the stairs. The wind could have caused moans and creaks of pipes and other cellar things—water heater, pump, washer, dryer, freezer.

Vermin. There had to be mice down here.

Tamara sat cross-legged on the smelly yoga mat. Her head was spinning in rhythmic waves. Fear? High blood pressure, given the terror and uncertainty of her position? The aftereffects of whatever drugs she’d been given? She kept trying to piece together anything she could remember since she’d been grabbed, in hopes something might help her escape. She’d managed to sleep some. She wanted to be ready for any opening to make her escape. She didn’t care about beating her captor to death or discovering who it was. Just get out of here.

She’d left a dim light on above the sink during the night. She’d eaten a protein bar. Drunk the water in the bottle. Refilled it. Balled up the blanket so her dried barf wasn’t visible and didn’t smell as much. Cleaned up as much as she could without proper toiletries.

Not the Hilton...

Milky light penetrated the thick plastic over the window, presumably from the moon and stars rather than a streetlight or another building. She’d stood on the toilet before it got dark, but the plastic was too opaque and dirty for her to see outside. She had no idea where she was or if anyone would come back for her.

She shut her eyes. The spinning eased. She constantly fought claustrophobia. She wished she’d paid more attention in her anti-kidnapping, what-to-do-if-you’re-snatched-by-some-crazy-SOB training, but some of it had stuck—or maybe it was just reptilian instinct at work.

She heard footsteps again.

She opened her eyes. Yes, footsteps. No question now...

They were on stairs on the other side of the door, nearby.

Wood stairs.

Why can I not remember stairs?

Were the stairs the only way out of the cellar? Was there a bulkhead? Was anyone else in the building—house, business, whatever it was?

What about weapons? A loaded shotgun tucked in a cellar closet would be nice. Tools on hooks. What she wouldn’t give for a good crowbar right now. She’d grown up with two older brothers and a macho father who’d all considered crowbars, hammers, saws, drills and such their domain, but she’d learned a few things. She’d been her dad’s “little helper.” She smiled, thinking of him.

Law school, Tamara? I thought you wanted to be a teacher.

I could teach at a law school one day.

Whatever makes you happy. You’ll make a fine lawyer.

He’d been a state police officer in upstate New York. He’d never had much use for lawyers, but he’d liked that she’d become a prosecutor. He’d died when Adalyn was seven. Tamara blinked back tears. “Oh, Dad. I hope you’re watching over me now.

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