Page 63 of The Veteran

Getty grabbed my shoulder and roughly directed me to stand beside one of them. “Put your arms around it,” he ordered.

I did, keeping my posture stiff and my body away from the timber, not wanting to touch anything in here. It was disgusting. Baker stood on the opposite side of the beam and looped something around my wrists. He pulled it tight and I winced as plastic cut into my skin—perhaps a zip tie.

“Right.” Baker sounded pleased. “Now you’re not going anywhere.”

“What do you want?” I asked, taking care to keep my tone neutral. I tried to look over my shoulder, but with the position I was in, it proved difficult.

“What the fuck do you think we want?” Getty snarled. “Tell us where the money is.”

“I don’t know.”

Baker grabbed my hand and a moment later, white-hot pain blazed through me. I screamed.

“That was for pistol-whipping me.” Baker moved into my line of sight. “One finger down, nine to go, unless you decide to do the smart thing.”

He’d broken my finger?

Tears streamed down my cheeks and I bit my lip. “I told you, I don’t know.”

Baker pretended to pout. “Wrong answer.” He reached for my hand and I squealed and tried to pull back. He seized my left index finger and dug his nails in. “This one next, I think. What do you reckon, Rich?”

“Good a place to start as any,” Getty agreed from somewhere behind me. I felt a cold finger trace down the side of my cheek and shuddered. He leaned close and his breath whispered across my ear as he spoke. “Think really hard. You and your precious mommy knew that lying sack of shit better than anyone. You knew where he’d keep the things that mattered to him.”

Precious.

For some reason, that triggered a memory.

During my conversation with Dan, he’d used the same word when he said that I was the most precious thing in my father’s world. At the time, I’d felt like I was missing something but hadn’t been able to think what. Now, I closed my eyes and imagined Dad’s voice as he stood over my bed and told me that everything precious to him was right there.

He’d meant me, of course, but what if that wasn’t all he’d meant? What if he’d been trying to give me a clue about where he liked to keep his valuables, in case I ever needed to know?

Surely not.

I shook my head. It was too far-fetched. Besides, someone had already torn apart the mattress. But then, there was more to a bed than the mattress, and Dad had always been crafty.

“Nothing?” Baker asked, tightening his grip on my finger.

“Wait!”

They both stiffened.

Getty grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. “What?”

“The bed,” I gasped. “Try my bed at our old house.”

“We’ve already looked there.” Disappointment laced his tone.

“But did you check for hidden compartments?” I persisted, not caring that I might be giving them the knowledge they needed to find the money. As far as I was concerned, they could have it. The police would catch up to them anyway. My highest priority was to get myself, and everyone who’d been trying to protect me, out of this unharmed.

“No,” Baker said slowly. “We didn’t.”

“Try it,” I urged.

Getty dug his fingertips into my scalp. “What makes you think it’s there?”

“Just a feeling.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Something he used to say to me when I was younger.”

Getty released me, and I bit my lip so I wouldn’t whimper. My hand was throbbing and blood had rushed to my scalp so everything prickled.