It takes a second for it to register; I guess I have to factor in the whole blood-loss stabbed thing. “What are you talking about?”
“I thought you wanted me to stop talking.” I’m full snot-monster right now, and it’s working. He’s getting agitated. He’ll be all wound up by the time Red Cap gets back.
He glares at me, pressing my shirt harder against his side.
“What did she tell you?”
“Who . . .” His eyes narrow. He hates not being in the know, especially on his own job. I need to keep making him feel small and unsteady. It makes him dangerous because it makes him angry, but it’ll make him slip up so I can slip through.
“Who did you think you’ve been talking to on the phone this whole time?” I tilt my head, the sarcasm grating. “Did she say she was a deputy?”
“You know her.”
I settle back in the chair, all comfy and as relaxed as a girl can get with a bruised throat and mashed-up face. “Um, yeah. I live with her. She’s my marshal. I lied before. I don’t have an aunt here in Clear Creek. The FBI handed me over to witness protection after the whole thing with Raymond and the marshals stuck me up here with her. She is such a pain in the ass.”
“She’s a marshal?”
“You didn’t smell the Fed on her? Are you sure you’ve been in prison?”
He shifts against the wall, wincing and pressing my flannel harder against his shirt. It’s getting redder. He’s bleeding again. I try to twist my wrists against the tape in a subtle way, testing my range of movement.
“I knew she wasn’t a deputy. She talked too smooth.”
“That’s her,” I say. “She’s gonna chase you if you manage to get away with me. She has to. This is a shitshow for her. All she’ll care about is getting me back.”
He’s looking for a trap in my words, but they’re just the truth. There is nowhere in the world he could take me where my sister won’t follow.
I need to paint a careful picture of Lee for him: the bitch of a career woman who’s got tunnel vision. He’ll buy that. He’ll want to get away from her, and it’ll make him screw up. I just need to be there when he does.
“She can’t be very good at her job, if she’s got a shithole posting watching a kid like you.”
“You’ve totally ruined her day with this stunt, which normally would make me happy, but this kind of sucks for me.”
Every time he blinks, it takes a little longer for his eyes to open again. He’s starting to drift. The pain and blood loss and coming down from the adrenaline is getting to him. Maybe he’ll slide into shock and I can get the gun off him.
“This sucks for you?” He laughs, a far too long, drawn-out thing that bares his teeth . . . and is that blood on his lips or just wishful thinking?
He coughs, holding his side. Then he coughs again, and crimson bubbles from his mouth. He reaches up to dab at it and his eyes widen.
“Oh no, did I snip something important?” I ask, digging my own shallow grave because I need to see how far I can push him. “Better hope it’s your spleen or something you can live without. Organs are kind of hard to come by.”
“You—” He lunges like he’s trying to get up, and lets out a surprised grunt of pain instead. More sweat trickles down his face, but there’s no more blood from his mouth. Whatever I hit, it’s not slowing him down too much, but the pain’s starting to kick in. If he stays still, he’ll probably be fine.
Maybe I need to make him move. A lot.
I’m weighing how fast I could get to the door and out into the hall versus how fast he could raise the gun and aim well enough to hit me when the decision’s taken out of my hands.
Duane tries to get to his feet again, and this time, the pain gets the better of him. He gets halfway up and then lets out a string of curses and his eyes roll back and bam, he’s down, and suddenly, the ground’s tilted back toward me.
Plan #4: Get gun. Get Iris and Wes. Get out.
— 41 —
Katie: Spirited, Sweet, Smart Katie: Scared, Violated, Traumatized Katie: Talking, Learning, Healing
Almost Four Years Ago
“How do you want to spend our time today?”
That’s what Margaret always asks me first. I could lie and say I’ve lost count of how many times she’s asked me, but she would call that not being productive and falling into bad habits. （It’s eighty-nine times, because it’s been ninety sessions and she didn’t ask me the first session.）