The Bones Will Speak Read Free Page B

like . . . yeah, rain on leaves. She couldn’t hear any street noise. So she had to be somewhere outside of Missoula.
    She took a deep breath. His trunk was dirty. Gritty sand and gravel bit into her bare arm. He’d partially covered her with a stinking tarp. Edging her feet forward, she nudged the metal again with the sole of her sandal, then used her big toe to explore the shape. Slightly curved, a point at one side . . . a shovel.
    No! Her brain screeched the word as she lurched away. Another drip struck her ear, then slid in like a cold tongue.
    Stupid! She’d been so stupid. Everyone said she could always spot a crazy. How’d she get sucked in by this one?
    She lifted her face and the tarp slid to her shoulders, allowing a gentle, cedar-scented breeze to flutter her hair. Blinking rapidly, she tried to see around her.
    This wasn’t the trunk of a car, more like some kind of compartment inside a car or truck, and the top was open. Did he make a mistake? She bent her legs and tried to roll over. The tarp slipped more, letting the rain splash down her back, soaking her flimsy top. She rocked back and forth again, pushing, straining, almost, almost— please, I gotta get up!
    â€œYes,” she whispered, then froze again to listen. Rain sliced through the leaves, water rushed to her left, making her want to pee, and frogs croaked in the distance.
    Twisting to her knees, she scrabbled at the rope binding her ankle. It was so tight! She concentrated, exploring the knot, tugging at a different angle. It moved—a tiny bit—but it moved.
    Furrowing her brow, she clawed at the knot like a starving alley cat in a Dumpster. Sharp jabs from fingernails broken to the quick added to the burn of her arthritis. The blood and rain made the rope slippery.
    The drizzle fused with hot tears. Come on, come—
    â€œI shouldn’t have left you alone.”
    She jumped and banged her head. Sparklers flashed in her brain. A brilliant light blinded her, and she closed her eyes against the onslaught. “Ah, ah, ah . . .” She tried to form words.
    â€œI’m sorry.” His voice was deep and rich. “I should have told you.”
    She cringed from the voice. Told her? He was a crazy. He’d played her like a pro.
    He cleared his throat. “Look.”
    Keeping her eyes shut, she shifted back farther.
    â€œLook,” the voice insisted.
    She cracked open an eye. He aimed the flashlight at his hand, holding a roll of cash. A hundred-dollar bill showed on top. The hand gently swayed from side to side.
    Licking her lips, she watched, mesmerized.
    â€œI should have told you I enjoy a little fantasy.” He turned the cash upward. More hundred-dollar bills.
    Her tongue snaked over her uneven teeth, her gaze riveted on the money.
    â€œI’m going to untie you now. I’ll pay you very well for your, uh, discomfort.”
    â€œYeah, you should’ve told me,” she said, then flipped her hair off her face and gave him a let’s-party smile. That was better. She’d make a bundle tonight.
    Effortlessly he lifted her out and untied her hands and ankles. She swayed as the blood rushed to her feet. He gripped her upper arm and steadied her against him. Warmth seeped from his body, and it felt good. She shivered.
    â€œYou’re cold.” He slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She pulled it close. It smelled of wood chips with a hint of cologne. Very male.
    â€œBusiness first.” She held out her hand, and he placed the thick roll in her palm, folding her bent fingers around the money and squeezing slightly. It hurt, and her grin slipped. She struggled to replace it.
    He let go, and she quickly slid the money into the pocket of her skirt. “So, whatcha want?”
    â€œOh, I’ve paid for quite a lot, don’t you think? So let’s not rush.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “How old are you . . . Sherry, is