Lethal Confessions Read Free

terror, but she kept enough wits about her to know that noise attracted attention, and there was always a chance that someone might hear. The bastard had grimaced as he watched her yell for a minute or so. But then he left, mercifully flicking off the cruel overhead light before he slammed the door behind him. A while later, when she stopped long enough to hear something besides her own shrieks, she could make out the whirr of a vacuum cleaner in another room.
    What the fuck?
He was cleaning? Who the hell was this sick asshole?
    Albert Poole. That’s what his team ID card had read. When he rang her doorbell last night, wearing a Hammerheads tee shirt and baseball cap, she wasn’t going to answer. Not after midnight. Even though he looked a little familiar—through the distortion of the eyehole—she ignored him. But, instead of leaving, he’d held up his card and shouted that Matt had been in a bad accident. Carrie’s heart had started to pound like it was going to jump right out of her chest, and she’d thrown open the door without another thought.
    Dumb
.
Dumb. Dumb.
    Poole said her husband had been in a car wreck in Viera about an hour earlier, and had been taken to the hospital up there in critical condition. She’d believed him. Hell, under those circumstances, what woman wouldn’t have opened the door to a man who looked like he was with her husband’s team? Especially when the guy looked so young, and was so obviously worried about Matt.
    As she closed the door behind him, Carrie had asked for the name of the hospital. Those were the last words spoken. The guy was strong, and he threw her easily to the floor. She tried to scrabble up, but he slammed her down and stuck something sharp into the back of her neck.
    She had no clue how long she’d been unconscious. Even now, she couldn’t really tell the passage of time. The room had no windows and the only sound—besides that fucking vacuuming—came from the whirring blades of an ancient ceiling fan that barely moved the stifling air in the small room.
    Carrie yanked against the leather straps, feeling panicky and on the verge of suffocation. Sweat pooled on the skin of her stomach and in the cleavage between her breasts. A horrible stench, made worse by the heat, assaulted her nostrils—the sickening odor of mold, she guessed, combined with her own BO, musky and rank from the heat.
    Worst of all was the smell and the wet beneath her thighs. She’d peed herself after coming groggily awake in this chamber of horrors.
    The vacuuming stopped.
    Her mind raced, driven by the frantic need to stay alive. Why had Poole picked her? He wore Hammerheads team gear, but she’d met all the guys who worked for the team, and she didn’t know him. He was vaguely familiar, but if he’d been with the team she’d have recognized him. She was sure of that.
    Why
had
he kidnapped her? Was it for ransom, or was he some sick pervert intent on raping and killing her? Her heart pounded uncontrollably at the thought of what he might do.
    The worst of it was that no one would even know she was missing. Matt might try to call her in the morning, but even that was a long shot. They’d had a terrible fight when he called yesterday afternoon. She had yelled awful things, bitter words that might be the last he’d ever hear from her lips. Grief and remorse choked her, making it hard to breathe.
    Heavy footsteps approached. She started to struggle again, yanking uselessly again on the straps. It made no sense, but she couldn’t stop herself. Her body thrashed around on its own, refusing to lie inert in the face of danger and evil.
    Poole left the door open as he entered the room and flicked on the powerful overhead bulbs. “Through with the screaming?”
    Carrie jerked her head to the side, her eyes assaulted by the sudden burst of light above her.
    He carried a small, metal case in his left hand. In the crook of his arm, he squeezed a big bottle of Dasani water. His bicep bulged. The