Page 3 of Suspicion
For one protracted moment, she realized her fate. If the person approaching brought ill intent, there was nothing she could do. Bound at both her wrists and ankles, she’d struggle to even get to her feet, let alone make a run for it. She was a literal sitting duck.
I could call out.
Her throat dried at the prospect. Shouting for aid would alert the newcomer to her presence, which would either be the best thing that had happened to her since she’d woken up or the start of an entirely new nightmare.
But what choice did she have? Without help, she’d struggle to break free of the ropes and would be stuck there on the cold, hard earth without so much as a drink.
She had to do something.
She had to take a leap of faith.
Whichever choice she opted for, she only had seconds to choose. If she kept her mouth closed, there was a chance, although albeit a slim one, that whoever approached might pass her by and fail to notice her. But if they did, they left her without means of escape, vulnerable to both the elements and whatever wildlife might frequent the area.
But if she spoke up, she ran the risk that whoever was there meant her harm. She was between the devil and the deep blue sea.
I have to call out. Her hands trembled as she grasped the unknown device between them. The thud of footsteps sounded as though the passerby was right behind her. I have to hope it’s someone who can help me. The monologue played through her head as, holding her breath, she braced for whatever was to come. They could cut her loose and call the authorities. It’s my only hope.
“Hello?” She hardly recognized her own voice as it carried beyond the thick girth of the tree. “Can you help me?”
The footsteps stopped, their absence reverberating a sudden cruel silence.
“H-hello?” Her voice broke as she forced herself to speak. “Can you help me?”
“Ella.” The deep, gravelly voice of a man resounded through the leaves, although she didn’t see its owner at first.
He knows my name! Fear furled in her stomach, knotting as she grappled to rationalize how that was possible. Who is he, and how does he know who I am?
One thing seemed certain, though—no innocuous stranger would have been able to identify her.
“Who are you?” Twisting in the direction of his voice, she wrestled down her terror. “How do you know me?”
One long stride presented an answer to her initial inquiry at least. The footsteps belonged to a giant of a man, his towering presence all the starker compared to her own cowered form.
For one lengthy moment, they only stared at one another. His dark eyes pierced her with an angry intensity as she grappled for what to do next.
“You’re Ella.” He spat out her name as though it left a nasty taste in his mouth.
“Y-yes,” she stammered.
Who was this guy? She didn’t have to be an expert in behavioral psychology to ascertain that whatever he was there for, it didn’t bode well for her. His clenched fists and stiffened jaw conveyed how little patience he seemed to have.
“What do you want with me?” Her question hung in the air as, slowly, he lowered and crouched before her.
“You’re mine, Ella Bennett.” His gaze narrowed as it fell over her sleeping bag. “You’re coming with me.”
Chapter Two
The Captor
Tucker Bowman
“What?” Her eyes widened as her wrists rose to her chest. “What do you mean?”
Rising to his feet, Tucker considered his initial judgment of the hapless girl. She was older than he’d imagined, but that was because in the years since he’d last seen Alexander Bennett, he’d lost track of time. He’d expected the girl Bennett had promised to be barely legal, but the woman slumped before him now appeared to be in her twenties.
Still far too young for me.
Tucker hadn’t known what to expect when he’d come to collect her. Bennett had provided no photographs of the woman, but Tucker had come regardless. Her aesthetic, he realized, was irrelevant anyhow. He wasn’t there to pick up a piece of art. She was bartered stock between the two men.