Okay, maybe the septic tank was eight feet tall. Made more sense-if her guy was at least six feet tall, he could probably have made it out of a seven foot container without the block. But at eight feet, he'd need a few extra inches, give him leverage to boost the lid open.
When she was a kid, she'd seen two kinds of lids on tanks like these. Big, thick concrete plugs-no way he'd use that, not until he was certain he was finished with her-and slimmer metal or resin hatches that resembled manhole covers. It'd have to be one of those, something he could open from either side.
If he could do it, so could she. Only she'd need more than a few inches to reach it.
She stood the cinder block on its short side, doubling its height. The floor was level enough that it didn't wobble too much. But climbing onto the tiny platform wasn't easy, even with the walls to brace against. She balanced both feet on the eight-inch square and stretched …
Twice she ended up falling on her ass; once she caught herself before falling but skinned her shin on the edge of the block, and finally, breathing slow, concentrating on her feet planted just so, raising her hands bit by bit over her head … she found the ceiling.
The small victory thrilled through her. She had enough room to plant her palms flat with a bend in her elbow-good, she'd need the extra leverage once she found the hatch.
It couldn't be far. Even if the block had slid to the side after he pushed off it to climb out, the hatch had to be near the center of the tank. Her fingers swept through the darkness. She forced herself to look straight ahead-couldn't see anything above her anyway, and tilting her face up was messing with her precarious balance.
She found two breaks in the flawless concrete: large eyehooks screwed into the concrete about six inches from each other. Stretched her fingers a few inches more and caught the lip of a round structure.
She'd found her escape route.
Now
5:57 p.m.
Gravity always wins, Lucy's father had told her when he'd taught her how to ride a bike. He'd said it with a smile as he helped her up off the pavement and back onto her two-wheeler. Dad didn't believe in training wheels, he believed in finding your own way, always getting up no matter how many times you fell.
Never surrender, never quit the fight. Lucy had adopted his motto for her own after he died of lung cancer when she was twelve-fighting until his very last breath.
He hadn't told her gravity was also a bitch-she'd figured that out herself over the years. And right now that bitch stood between Lucy and her family's safety.
She released a scream born of frustration and pain. Or tried to. The only noise she could make with her swollen vocal cords was a muffled whoosh. But the dog's howling from the back of the Jeep more than made up for it.
A man's face appeared at the windshield. Followed quickly by two more men-both teenagers, one wearing a Sheetz uniform. "You okay?"
"Break the glass," she ordered. It emerged as a whisper. She wasn't even sure he'd heard her over the noise of the truck idling a dozen feet away. "Get me out of here."
They turned away, talking among themselves.
One of them, probably the truck driver, older and stouter than the two boys, climbed up to yank on the driver's side door. He got it open, the entire vehicle shaking and shuddering. Cold air rushed inside, chilling parts of Lucy's body that had finally just thawed.
The clock on the dashboard blinked and changed its reading. 6:01. No time to waste.
The dog snarled and growled at the man. His eyes went wide as he looked behind Lucy to the rear compartment. "That dog safe?"
"No. He's not." She felt like snarling herself. It took all her strength to twist her head to look at him, given that she was hanging on her side, only the seat belt digging into her flesh to keep her from falling. "I'm FBI Special Agent Lucy Guardino. I need to use your phone."
Damn, she could barely hear herself. The harder she tried to shout or yell, the more muffled her voice.
"You hurt? Look pretty banged up. What's all that blood on your shirt?"
"Just give me the damn phone!"
"Hold on, the rescue squad's on their way." He vanished from sight.
"I don't need the rescue squad, I need a phone," she cried out in frustration. The last words vanished into the night, inaudible gasps mingled with tears.
At least he left the door open so she could freeze to death. She'd just have to get out of here herself. She grabbed the edge of the doorframe with her good hand and gritted her teeth. This was going to hurt like hell.
She unbuckled her seat belt, letting gravity have its way with her. Bracing her good foot against the center console, she pushed her shoulders and head through the door.
Plan worked too well. She hadn't realized the Jeep wasn't only resting on its passenger side, it also was lying on an incline angled back end down. First rule of close-quarters combat: wherever the head goes, the body follows.
Gravity, the fickle bitch, knew that rule all too well. As soon as Lucy's shoulders cleared the car, she slid headfirst out and over the side, landing in a wave of pain so intense everything went black.
Then
11:43 a.m.
Lucy scrambled back down to the floor of the concrete tank and carefully repositioned the cinder block directly beneath the hatch. She climbed back up, found the septic tank's lid again, and explored it with her fingers.
It felt like resin-good, it wouldn't be as heavy as a metal cover. No hinges on this side; it appeared to rely on gravity to keep it in place. Gravity and anything her captor had placed on top of the tank. For all she knew there could be a dozen feet of dirt or several inches of concrete sealing her inside.
No, she thought with determination. He wasn't done with her yet, so he wouldn't have cut off any chance of his reaching her. She hoped.
She pushed against one edge of the cover. Was rewarded as it gave way. A thrill of anticipation fueled her efforts, and she pushed harder. All she needed was to lift the cover above the rim so she could slide it aside.
It can't be this easy. The devil's advocate inside her head sounded a warning. It must be a trap, some kind of trick.
Lucy ignored the voice, excited as she tilted the cover up far enough to catch on the top of the tank, releasing a narrow crescent of light into her prison.
She shifted her fingers to the opposite side of the hatch, sliding them into the small gap she'd created, and pushed the cover away from the opening. A few minutes later she was staring into the pale winter sun almost directly overhead. The blue sky surrounding it and cotton-puff clouds floating past were welcome sights.
Okay, now for the fun. Time to see if all those Pilates and core workouts were worth it. She reached through the opening and grabbed onto the rim. It was about two feet wide, plenty of room. Abandoning the security of the cinder block, she swung her legs up to brace against the nearest wall. Then she pulled with her arms as she pushed with her legs, leveraging herself up and out of the black pit.
Sweat covered her, leaving her instantly chilled by the colder temperatures outside. She rolled onto the septic tank's concrete roof and took a moment to blink at the sky, listen to the birds in the distance, and breathe in the crisp, sharp scent of winter.
A shiver rocked her to her feet as she took in her surroundings. She stood in the middle of an empty snow-covered field. Trees surrounded the field on all sides, the closest at least a quarter mile away. The only sign of civilization, other than the septic tank, was a Quonset hut – style barn about a hundred yards away. The barn was large enough to block any view beyond it, but she guessed that out of her sight, on the far side, there would be a road or some kind of drive leading up to it. Which meant civilization.
Her suit jacket lay crumpled at the edge of the packed snow surrounding the buried septic tank. No signs of her parka or bag, but below the jacket she found her socks jumbled up with Megan's Paracord bracelet. She sat, put the jacket on, shoved Megan's bracelet into a pocket, then worked the socks on to her numb feet. Immediately felt better.
She took a step into the snow where the sun glinted off something bright. Her wedding ring, which she slipped on with a kiss to the cold gold-her good-luck ritual-but no signs of her necklace or earrings or boots. No bag, no watch, no phone, no belt, no weapons.
She pictured her takedown-at least how she imagined it had happened. Grab her, inject her with fast-acting sedative, remove any weapons, restrain her, dump her in the trunk of her own car. Less than two minutes' work if you knew what you were doing.
Drive the car to a place where it wouldn't be found, exchange it for another vehicle, drive here.
Yes, there were the tire tracks in the snow leading from the barn to the buried tank. Looked like an SUV or truck. Boot prints and snow packed down-where he must have dumped her while he removed the restraints and did a more thorough search, taking her jewelry, jacket, and socks before replacing the restraints and lowering her into the pit.
Those eyehooks secured to the tank's ceiling-crude pulley system? Maybe it was just one man behind this after all.
She catalogued all the evidence in her mind's eye, but her feet were already protesting the cold, so she sped up to a jog, heading toward the barn. Rolling hills filled the horizon, no signs of a cell tower, no sounds of traffic or civilization. The barn and whatever lay beyond it were her only hope.
A phone. All she needed was a working phone. She had to call Walden, her second-in-command. He'd take it from there. Walden, a wizard of efficiency, would mobilize the local police and get her family into a secure location.