First Chapter

This is the first chapter. I welcome any feedback.

“Don’t move,” he said, his arm around my neck, gun against my temple.

I suppose he was used to fear and obedience because his attack was lazy. His arm was loose, he hadn’t pulled me tightly to him, and his gun was touching but not pushing against my temple.

All big mistakes.

I elbowed him high in the diaphragm. Not a light little jab either. This wasn’t some movie where you hit the bad guy ten times and he still keeps coming. I gave it all I had, and let me tell you, that’s a lot. The result is typically stunned pain and breathlessness and this was no exception.

Before he had time to recover I smashed the back of my head into his nose and felt the satisfying give of bone and cartilage and knew it was broken. I crushed his instep with my foot, high heels being particularly effective, while grabbing the gun and twisting his hand inward till he released. Before he had a chance to catch his breath I spun away, faced him and hit him hard in the temple with the gun, knocking him out.

My breath was steady and heart rate only slightly elevated. It had been two years since anyone had threatened my life but some things you never forget.

I grabbed him under the arms, pulled him down the hall to the kitchen, and dropped him on the rug. I got a roll of duct tape from the junk drawer and taped his hands together behind him. His legs I taped together mid calve down to his toes then rolled him on his side. I didn’t want him taking the easy way out by choking to death on his own blood.

I like duct tape better than rope. First, everyone has duct tape. It’s a little suspicious to carry enough rope around to tie someone up. Second, it’s much harder to get out of, especially when taping a much bigger area than is really needed, say halfway up the leg or arm. No one is getting out of that without a knife.

I never considered calling the police. They had their way and I had mine. My way was more effective in getting to the bottom of things. No warrants or probable cause. But there was a call I did need to make and I couldn’t do it from my phone. If my instincts were right, and they usually were, this man on the floor would have an untraceable cell, either on him or in his rental car. The rental car was an assumption on my part, but again, I tend to be right about these things. I searched the man’s pockets and bingo, found the prepaid cell and some keys from a rental car.

Using his phone, I dialed a number I had memorized two years before.

“Check 8734CharlieTangoWilco,” I said.

“Hold please.”

“Speak,” a voice commanded.

“Am I compromised?”

“No.”

I hung up. There was no need for more than that, but the answer confused me. If I hadn’t been compromised, then who was trying to kill me?