Part 20 (1/2)

”A cab?” She looked around. What happened?

”Let's walk down to Jefferson Street. There's always one coming by looking for tourists.”

”But...”

He helped her to her feet and held her jacket as she first stepped back into her shoe. When they reached Jefferson, a cab was just driving by. Tyler hailed it and put Nona inside.

She hardly knew what had happened when she found herself alone, once again. Here she thought Tyler was interested, s.e.xy, and willing...yet she'd gotten the b.u.m's rus.h.!.+

What's wrong with the men in this town?

Hannah worked the duct tape on her hands, trying to stretch it, to loosen it, to get it to move, somehow, with no luck. She was exhausted. Her legs and arms had gone numb from the way they'd been tied, a numbness she knew would turn into deep shooting pains if she couldn't stretch or otherwise help her circulation.

Hours had pa.s.sed since Tyler was last there. At least when he was with her, she could hope to talk him into letting her go. Hope that she'd get out of here and not be abandoned. Where was he?

Her biggest worry was that he'd find the baby. She didn't understand how he'd figured out that Stan was the one she'd gone to. Stan was a just a customer. If every customer she'd ever talked to was tracked down, it would have taken months to find Kaitlyn. What went wrong?

Perhaps she gave something away in how she'd talked with Stan. Was that it? Had she been too obvious in her interest in the man, or had Stan been too obvious in his interest in her? She remembered the way Stan's sweet brown eyes had settled on her with so much warmth, and how she'd felt the color rise in her face because of it.

What was Stan doing now? What was he thinking about her being gone so long? Did he still have Kaitlyn, or had he sent her off to Social Services because her mother had abandoned her? Somehow, she didn't think Stan would do that. He'd wait. He'd give her time to come back for the baby. He knew she wouldn't abandon Kaitlyn.

She prayed he knew it, at any rate, and that he'd wait for her to return.

Her throat was parched and her stomach ached from emptiness. Was that part of Tyler's plan? To wear her down with hunger?

He'd pour her water from a gla.s.s jug when he came in, nothing more. After that, he'd badger her with talk.

He almost made her believe she should give her baby up. But when she thought about losing Kaitlyn, she couldn't bear it.

He'd called her selfish.

Was it so selfish to want to raise one's own child?

The cellar was dark and empty. She'd seen how empty it was when he came in with his flashlight and lit the battery lantern. When he was gone, it was darker than night.

She remembered the words from Louis Armstrong's ”What a Wonderful World.” Something about the bright, blessed day, and the dark, sacred night.

She'd never see the dark as sacred again. It was evil. The evil of death.

It reached out for her. Would she ever see her child again?

She could feel herself growing weaker. It had been bad at first when the hunger pangs struck, but they were gone now, replaced by a dull, constant ache.

Where was he? What if he never came back? No one would know she was here. She'd die of thirst, a slow awful death. She licked her lips. They were starting to crack.

The water bottle was kept on a shelf.

A gla.s.s bottle....

It gave her an idea. If it worked, she'd be free. But if it didn't...She wouldn't think of that now.

She scooted along the wall to a corner, then twisted herself around and rocked back and forth until she was able to get up onto her knees. Using the walls to brace herself, trying time and again, she managed to maintain her balance and lift herself up to a standing position.

She pressed close to the wall so she wouldn't fall and moved by sliding her feet, first toes, then heels, toward where the jug sat.

When she reached it, she felt the jug with her nose, then used her head to shove it off the shelf. It fell to the cement floor with a crash. Gla.s.s shattered around her.

Carefully, she lowered herself to the floor once again and felt in the rubble for a large piece of gla.s.s. The entire bottom of the jug had stayed intact. It was exactly what she needed.

She braced it against the wall and lowered the duct tape onto a sharp edge, then slid the tape slowly back and forth over the gla.s.s until the tape broke in two.

After tearing the tape from her wrists, she grabbed the gla.s.s and used it to cut through the tape at her ankles. Blood streamed from her hands, lots of blood, but it didn't matter. Freedom was near.

Sense and feeling pushed aside the overpowering despair and numbness she'd felt, but still it took several moments for her to be able to walk.

She stumbled toward the door, knowing it would be locked. The good news was that it was just a normal interior door. Nothing especially thick or strong.

She kicked it. It didn't budge. Fury filled her as she thought of how he'd tried to kill her, as she thought of never seeing her baby again, and she kicked harder, again and again.

A panel on the bottom half of the door cracked. She aimed her foot at the crack and struck until it split wide.

She worked at it, kicking, grabbing it with her hands, rocking the wood back and forth until she made an opening, then tearing at it more until the opening became large enough that she could squeeze her body through it.

It was amazing, she realized when she calmed down enough to think about it, that no one had heard her breaking the door. No one came to investigate the pounding and crying, for only after it was over had she realized she'd been screaming with fury.

The need to move slower struck. Freedom was so close, so precious, that she didn't want to do anything in haste that might jeopardize it.

After she felt her way to the stairs, then up them, a door at the top caused her heart to sink. It might be locked and far more solid than the one she'd just fought through.

It opened.

The main floor of the building had windows that were cloudy with dirt and grime. Only a little light shone into them. It must have been nighttime, she surmised, and the lights were street lamps.

The building appeared to be filled with old machine parts. She found a door and opened it just a crack, then peeked out. The street was dark and empty. She slipped into the night, staying close to the building as she went, until suddenly it felt safe to run.

At the corner stood a street sign: Battery and Filbert. She was near the Embarcadero, near the waterfront, but more importantly, she was less than two miles from Stan's apartment. She could make it.

Up ahead was Broadway Street. It'd take her around Telegraph Hill, and from there she could quickly climb to the top of Russian Hill and Kaitlyn. Tears filled her eyes as she went, staying close to the buildings, not wanting anyone, not any of the night people, to delay her.

But then she stopped. The question that had bothered her the entire time she was tied up struck. How had Ty found her? She had just rounded the corner from Stan's apartment building when she was grabbed. A rag was placed over her mouth-it must have had chloroform or something similar because she was soon out cold.

When she awoke, she was being pulled from the car. She was too woozy to understand where she was or what was happening.

Had Stan given her away? Was he involved in this? Or was it Angie? Ty had talked about her. Angie led him to her, he'd said. Had it been a mistake on her part? Or did she do it on purpose?

No! Angie was a good person, like Stan.