“I’ve been to his computer room before,” Jill said. “He’s got, like, three computers in there. A bunch of monitors, too. He definitely knows something.”
Lindsey curled her upper lip in a snarl. “You think Mitchell got paid by his dad to set up your father?” Lindsey said. Jill thought about it and nodded again. Lindsey said, “Why would he pick me? He hardly knows me.”
“I don’t know, Lin. I’m just thinking, that’s all.” Jill noticed Lindsey’s expression darken. “What? What is it?” she asked.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you,” Lindsey said.
Jill’s body tensed, and Lindsey sat back down on the bed beside her.
Lindsey told Jill about how she’d met Agent Rainy Miles before the student assembly. How the FBI had come to her house with pictures that Lindsey had taken with her cell phone camera. Naked pictures of herself that she’d sent to Tanner Farnsworth.
When Lindsey finished, Jill threw her hands into the air and shouted, “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I was embarrassed,” Lindsey said.
Jill looked at Lindsey in a way that reassured her. She more than understood.
“I didn’t want anybody to know,” Lindsey added, then shook her head, disgusted with herself. “After you left Principal Osborne’s office, I told the FBI agent the truth. I told her that I’d sent the pictures to Tanner. Maybe Tanner showed them to Mitchell. They’ve been friends since grade school. Maybe… I don’t know, maybe, somehow that’s why Mitchell picked me.”
Jill got up from the bed, crossed the room, and sat herself down on the corner of Lindsey’s desk. Jill looked her friend in the eyes. “Mitchell texted me. He said he’s bummed we’re not hanging out anymore. He invited me to come over to his house tomorrow night,” Jill said.
“So?”
“So, if I’m alone in Mitchell’s bedroom, where Mitchell keeps his computers, maybe there’s a way I can find out.”
Chapter 49
Tom could feel the ground beneath him. His fingers dug at the dirt. Grass tickled his face. Jagged rocks pressed uncomfortably against his legs and arms. Tom thought he’d opened his eyes, but still couldn’t see. That was when he knew he’d been blindfolded. He listened for any recognizable sounds. But the only noise was a steady buzz that could have been insects or just his own drugged mind.
The ground beneath him seemed to be spinning. Each revolution came faster, turned tighter. He tried to swallow but gagged instead. His mouth had gone completely dry, beyond anything he imagined possible, as if every drop of moisture was being sucked up by an invisible sponge.
Someone pulled on his shirt. He felt himself dragged across the rocky ground and slammed up against the side of a car. He sat slumped on the ground, the car keeping him upright.
“Where are my drugs?”
Tom recognized the voice. His monotonous speech and raspy tenor were unmistakable.
Lange.
Tom labored to work his jaw, mouth, and swollen tongue to form his words. “What… drugs?” he managed to say.
“Not the ones I gave you, dumb ass,” Lange said to him. “You know what drugs I’m talking about. Look, Tom, you’re helpless out here. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
Tom heard a car approach and could tell by the sound of its tires that it had pulled to a stop close by.
Someone else is here.
Tom heard a car door open, then slam shut. He heard heavy footsteps crunching across the ground. He struggled to stand, but rough hands pushed him back down.
“Is he talking yet?” Tom heard a man say. He thought he knew that voice. Deeper than Lange’s. Gruff. But from where?
“Not yet,” Lange said.
“Tie his hands,” said the other man.
“Why? This guy is drugged out of his gourd.”
“No unnecessary chances. Remember?”
“Well, I can’t really see out here.”
“I’ll turn on his headlights.”
Moments later, Tom felt himself being thrown to the ground. He was again facedown in the dirt. Somebody wrenched his arms behind his back. The drugs made it impossible to resist. The rope wrapped around his wrists several times. Tom could tell it was made from nylon. He pushed against the rope as it was being secured, enough to hold his wrists slightly apart. It wasn’t a conscious act, so much as a reflex, his training kicking in, even though his thoughts were far from lucid. The spacing Tom created was slight, hardly enough for his captors to have noticed. They pushed him back up against the car.
“I’m going to ask you again,” Lange said. “And then we’re going to hurt you. Where. Are. My. Drugs?”
“What drugs?”
Tom couldn’t see the punch coming. He made no move to avoid it. A nanosecond passed between the moment Tom knew he’d been hit in the face and the first eye-stabbing jolt of pain. He felt his skin tear and knew the wetness dripping down his cheek was blood.
“Douche bag, I asked you a question. Where are my drugs? Where did you hide them?”
“Destroyed them… burned them up.”
“Bad answer,” Lange said.
The second blow struck Tom on the face, in the exact same spot as before. The pain doubled in intensity. Oddly enough, it gave Tom a little spark of awareness. He felt a tick or two stronger. He worked discreetly to loosen the rope binding his wrists and tried to conceal his panic when it seemed the space he had created might not be large enough. Tom knew he needed to buy himself more time. Lange and Mr. Mighty Punch had no intention of letting Tom live, even if he gave up the drugs’ hidden location.
“Can’t talk,” Tom croaked out. “Need water. Mouth too dry.”
“That’s a normal side effect of the drug,” Tom heard Lange say. “Get him something to drink.”
“He’s got water in his car.”
Tom heard footsteps crunching over dirt. Tom kept twisting his wrists, trying to work the rope free. He had more mobility than before.
“I can’t kill you,” Lange said to him. “I don’t want to hurt you to the point where you can’t talk, either. No use putting you in the hospital. So let me tell you what’s about to happen. Are you listening?”
Tom turned his head in Lange’s direction. “I’m sorry…. Were you talking to me?”
Lange laughed.
“Cute. Keep up the humor. You’re going to need it when I tell you that I’m about to leave you with my friend here and go get your daughter. She’s over at Lindsey’s house. Right? Studying for a chem test in the morning.”
Tom struggled again to free himself. He felt the rope starting to give. The buzzing in his head grew louder, like static from the radio blasting in both his ears.
“I’ll tell you…. I’ll tell you….”
“Good.”
“Just need water.”
Tom heard footsteps returning. Strong fingers pressed against his skull and pulled his head backward. Tom could smell the sour breath of whoever bent down to give him a drink. A plastic bottle touched against his mouth. Tom’s tongue slid out from between his cracked lips. Tom pushed his head away.
“What is it?” asked Tom.
“Water. Drink up,” the gruff-sounding man said.
Tom had wanted him to speak. Unable to see his target, Tom needed a sound cue to pinpoint his strike area. The man’s displeasing breath helped him lock on a target even more. With his wrists now free from the restraints, Tom swung his arms out from behind his back, hoping that he guessed the right level to grab hold of the man’s head.
Tom felt his hands grip a thick, round head.
Pay dirt.
Tom didn’t hesitate. The first rule of an attack is to keep on attacking.
Tom squeezed the man’s ears hard, as if they were a horse’s reins. He snapped his head forward, using the hairline area of his forehead as the striking surface. He aimed where he envisioned the man’s nose to be, heard a satisfying crunch, and felt the cartilage give way. The man didn’t scream, but Tom heard him fall.