Wading Into Murder by Joan Lambert

Author:Joan Lambert [Lambert, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: dangerous escape in the dark, relentless stalker, sex trafficking ring, lighthearted heroine, romantic liason, a romp that is fun to read, memorable characters, courageous heroine, atmosphereic tension, historic british sites
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Laura opened her eyes to total darkness. She blinked, trying to make her vision work. Then she realized that night must have come. There was nothing wrong with her eyes, only her head, which hurt abominably.

She closed her eyes again, wanting only to rest. Her nose wouldn’t let her. It told her that if it was night she was in the wrong place. This place smelled dank and musty, and it was cold. Definitely not the hotel.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes again. Nothing was visible; she couldn’t even see her hand. That was wrong too. There were street lights outside the hotel that let in some light. Where was she then?

Laura shivered. Somewhere chilly and damp and utterly dark. The floor felt cold under her fingers, and the stone wall behind her was clammy. But why was she sleeping propped up against a stone wall?

Snippets of memory slowly returned. She had turned, seen Abdul behind her, but after that she remembered nothing. He must have hit her and dumped her on the bus, and brought her here. But where was here?

Images from old horror movies and lurid novels poured into her mind, of ancient stone crypts and filthy pits in the ground where people were buried alive, fed only if their captor bothered to remember.

Laura hugged her arms around her chest and shuddered convulsively, trying to ward off panic. This place felt like a hole or a crypt, with that unmistakable dank scent of wet earth and stone.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she worked up enough courage to stretch her arms out in all directions. If she was in a pit in the ground she wouldn’t be able to stretch them very far. She had to try, had to know at least.

Her hands felt only emptiness, and the relief brought tears to Laura’s eyes. She must be in a bigger space. An old cellar perhaps? It smelled like that.

Opening her eyes, she stared into the blackness, hoping her vision would adjust. It did, a little. She made out a large lump not far away. It was just a bit lighter than the floor, which her fingers told her wasn’t a floor but packed earth.

The lump started to squirm in her direction. She could hear it slithering across the ground. Laura scrabbled away in terror.

“Steady,” a masculine voice said. “It’s just me.”

“Me?” Laura’s voice was a squeak.

“Richard. It’s Richard.”

“Richard?” she breathed. How had he got here?

“Of course, you never saw me! Sorry. I forgot. Someone dealt me a fearful whack and I fear my brain isn’t working too well at the moment.”

“But what are you doing here? And where are we?”

Richard crept closer, gave a muted yelp and abruptly stopped moving. His voice sounded weak and strained when he answered.

“I came to Stourhead as promised to tell you what I’d found out, but realized something was wrong when I saw police cars and tour members filing into an office looking upset. So I asked some questions, found out what had happened to Amy and Margaret, and decided to wait outside until the police had finished interviewing you.

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