Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
What if it was him? She would not be shackled again. She would not. She picked up a shard of glass and clutched it in her hand as she pulled herself to her feet, slipping, stumbling, limping, shaking from fear and cold. Run! Run! Josie ran. Her feet were bare; she was only wearing a tank top and the torn remnants of the shorts she’d put on a lifetime ago. She glanced behind her and saw that she was leaving a trail of blood in the light dusting of snow.
Red breadcrumbs that he could follow if he arrived before she made it to safety.
She slipped on a patch of ice, pitched forward but caught herself before she fell, stumbling on. And on. It was deserted everywhere she turned, a vast area of abandoned buildings. No wonder no one had heard her screams. She wavered in and out, gasping, keeping herself moving by sheer will alone.
She saw movement up ahead. Headlights. A car. Josie sobbed, wondering if it was him. But no, it was a taxi. A taxi! Josie stumbled forward, mustering a yell, sobbing so hard she could barely catch her breath, waving her arms.
The taxi turned, heading in the other direction, and Josie yelled again. A pulsing wave of red overtook her, and for a moment the world blinked out. She fell to her knees, raising her hand toward the taxi that was moving slowly away. Come back! Come back! She tried to pull herself up but couldn’t, crawling in the snowy dirt toward the retreating vehicle, one arm reaching toward it.
She saw the red brake lights come on suddenly, and then it began backing up. Josie wavered, her head bobbing as she tried desperately to remain conscious, reaching forward as if she could grab the approaching light in her outstretched hand.
A door opening. Footsteps. A man’s voice. He was yelling something. At her? No, he was on his phone. She crumpled to the ground. She could smell asphalt, dirty ice, the tang of her own body.
“911? A girl in the road…bloody…half naked… I don’t know.”
Josie rolled partially to her back. Where were the stars? There was only concrete above her. A bridge, maybe, or an overpass. The man’s voice faded in and out. He was still talking fast. Panicked. “…looks half dead. Send help!”
Josie closed her eyes and slept.
Lights faded in and out, sounds rushing. She was somewhere bright, moving, people running along beside her. Pain. Everywhere. She moaned. “She’s hemorrhaging!” someone said.
She opened her eyes groggily, turning her head away from all the moving people. Her gaze hooked on a man in uniform—a police officer—standing against a wall, staring back at her. His expression was filled with shock and such deep sadness. His gaze met hers. His eyes. Indigo like the nighttime sky. She let go. She’d made it to that faraway star, and it bathed her in its blinding light.
Free.
Free.
Free.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Marshall Landish’s sister lived in a single-family brick home with a wide wraparound porch in the Mount Lookout area of Cincinnati. The small lawn had recently been mowed, and window boxes of bright red and yellow flowers adorned the upper windows. A red tricycle was parked at the base of the wide stone steps.
Why this surprised Zach, he wasn’t sure. He supposed it was because the name Landish conjured up such dark thoughts, and this picture-perfect symbol of American family bliss went completely against those murky notions.
Of course, Marshall’s sister Linda was no longer a Landish. Her married name was Winston.
He glanced at Josie, and she gave him a small smile, though her eyes told him she was nervous, as did the way her hands opened and closed at her sides as though unconsciously seeking something to hold on to. He reached over and squeezed her hand, unable to resist offering her a small reassurance with his touch, if only very briefly.
Before Zach even knocked, he could hear the boisterous sounds of children playing inside. He used the knocker to rap on the door, and the noise inside grew louder for a moment, as if every member of the household was moving toward the door. When it was pulled open, a dark-haired woman stood there, holding an exuberant poodle by its collar, as two young kids met her where she stood.
“Mrs. Winston? I’m Detective Copeland. We spoke on the phone.”
She bobbed her head, shooting a quick, nervous glance at Josie. “Yes,” she said, moving aside and using her arm to gesture that the kids move aside as well. “Please come in.” She turned her head toward the stairs and yelled, “Carl?”
Zach and Josie entered, and a second later, a tall man with a blond beard and a receding hairline came down the stairs. “The detective is here,” she said to him. He greeted them quickly and then shuffled the kids and the dog off in a noisy parade of footsteps, clicking dog nails, and loud requests for cookies and juice.