and once they had that on film, nobody would question what they'd done before. She glanced at Sidowski, who was watching attentively. She didn't think he could hear what she and Ethan were saying, but she couldn't be sure. "What should I do?" she asked Ethan in an even lower whisper.
"I truly don't think you're in danger," Ethan said. "Just don't keep riling them."
"I'm not," she protested.
"Keep away from me Do whatever they say. But as soon as it gets to be dawn—
as soon
—demand to be released: that's the time to make a fuss. Once they realize they've killed a mortal man, they're going to know they have to cover up."
Kill the witness,
was what he meant. Kerry was finding it hard to breathe.
"My name is Ethan Bryne," he repeated. "I live at my uncle's house at 3747 Brockport—Bergen Road, but he's out of the country. Nobody's going to miss me until I don't show up for classes for a couple days."
Kerry bit her lip, forcing herself not to cry. Ethan was making plans for her, trying to see to her safety because there was no hope for him.
But Sidowski saw her. "What the hell is he telling you?" he demanded, sliding off the counter.
"Nothing," she and Ethan said simultaneously.
Sidowski took a step forward, but Roth saved Ethan for the second time that night. Roth announced, "Marcia's pulling up."
Chapter Three
T HE NUMBER OF bad guys in the room was about to increase. If she was ever going to do anything, Kerry knew that now was her last chance.
As Sidowski turned and headed for the back door, she whispered into Ethan's ear, "Lean forward," and shoved against his shoulder to get him as far away from the laundry tub as she could. Ethan was between her and the door, some protection against Sidowski's seeing what she was up to. But if Roth turned from the front window, it would be all over.
The razor blade nicked her fingers again as she got it unwrapped from the paper towel and out of her pocket. No time to think of that. She could hear a car pulling up in front of the laundry.
Behind Ethan's back, it was a case of good news / bad news. The good news was that the laundry owner had secured Ethan to the tub's leg by wrapping a rope around the first rope, the one that already bound his wrists. This meant all she had to do was cut through the rope that held his hands behind his back, and the other would automatically fall free. The bad news was that whichever one of the men had tied Ethan's wrists together in the first place had wrapped the rope around both wrists three or four times, crisscrossing in between.
There wasn't time. There just wasn't time to cut through all that rope. Kerry froze, staring at the impossible mess.
She heard Roth, at the front window, mutter, "Geez, Marcia, give it a rest." He rapped his knuckles loudly on the glass. "Just park the damn thing!" he shouted, and Kerry took in the fact that she hadn't heard the car engine turn off yet.
She's having a hard time parallel parking,
Kerry realized. She could sympathize. But even better, Marcia was going by daytime-everything's-normal parking rules and didn't want to block the fire hydrant.
Maybe there was a chance after all. Kerry began sawing at the rope where it passed over Ethan's right wrist. She ran the risk of cutting him badly, but if she worked at the tangle of strands in the middle, there was no chance at all.
The car engine turned off, just as Kerry made it through one thickness of the rope. Only three more to go.
A car door opened, then another one, so rapidly afterward that Kerry guessed the laundry owner had come around the front and was opening the passenger door to get the long-awaited video camera.
Halfway through the second rope, both doors slammed shut. She pressed harder and the blade slipped, gouging Ethan's wrist. He jumped but didn't make a sound. She froze. Blood, a shocking amount of it, ran down his hands and onto the floor. Slitting their wrists was a way people committed suicide. How long did it take for them to
"I truly don't think you're in danger," Ethan said. "Just don't keep riling them."
"I'm not," she protested.
"Keep away from me Do whatever they say. But as soon as it gets to be dawn—
as soon
—demand to be released: that's the time to make a fuss. Once they realize they've killed a mortal man, they're going to know they have to cover up."
Kill the witness,
was what he meant. Kerry was finding it hard to breathe.
"My name is Ethan Bryne," he repeated. "I live at my uncle's house at 3747 Brockport—Bergen Road, but he's out of the country. Nobody's going to miss me until I don't show up for classes for a couple days."
Kerry bit her lip, forcing herself not to cry. Ethan was making plans for her, trying to see to her safety because there was no hope for him.
But Sidowski saw her. "What the hell is he telling you?" he demanded, sliding off the counter.
"Nothing," she and Ethan said simultaneously.
Sidowski took a step forward, but Roth saved Ethan for the second time that night. Roth announced, "Marcia's pulling up."
Chapter Three
T HE NUMBER OF bad guys in the room was about to increase. If she was ever going to do anything, Kerry knew that now was her last chance.
As Sidowski turned and headed for the back door, she whispered into Ethan's ear, "Lean forward," and shoved against his shoulder to get him as far away from the laundry tub as she could. Ethan was between her and the door, some protection against Sidowski's seeing what she was up to. But if Roth turned from the front window, it would be all over.
The razor blade nicked her fingers again as she got it unwrapped from the paper towel and out of her pocket. No time to think of that. She could hear a car pulling up in front of the laundry.
Behind Ethan's back, it was a case of good news / bad news. The good news was that the laundry owner had secured Ethan to the tub's leg by wrapping a rope around the first rope, the one that already bound his wrists. This meant all she had to do was cut through the rope that held his hands behind his back, and the other would automatically fall free. The bad news was that whichever one of the men had tied Ethan's wrists together in the first place had wrapped the rope around both wrists three or four times, crisscrossing in between.
There wasn't time. There just wasn't time to cut through all that rope. Kerry froze, staring at the impossible mess.
She heard Roth, at the front window, mutter, "Geez, Marcia, give it a rest." He rapped his knuckles loudly on the glass. "Just park the damn thing!" he shouted, and Kerry took in the fact that she hadn't heard the car engine turn off yet.
She's having a hard time parallel parking,
Kerry realized. She could sympathize. But even better, Marcia was going by daytime-everything's-normal parking rules and didn't want to block the fire hydrant.
Maybe there was a chance after all. Kerry began sawing at the rope where it passed over Ethan's right wrist. She ran the risk of cutting him badly, but if she worked at the tangle of strands in the middle, there was no chance at all.
The car engine turned off, just as Kerry made it through one thickness of the rope. Only three more to go.
A car door opened, then another one, so rapidly afterward that Kerry guessed the laundry owner had come around the front and was opening the passenger door to get the long-awaited video camera.
Halfway through the second rope, both doors slammed shut. She pressed harder and the blade slipped, gouging Ethan's wrist. He jumped but didn't make a sound. She froze. Blood, a shocking amount of it, ran down his hands and onto the floor. Slitting their wrists was a way people committed suicide. How long did it take for them to
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