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me…for the next three wonderful weeks. And I’ll be praying they turn out wonderful for you and your wife.”
    “Thanks again.” Lee hurried down the hall and keyed in the number on the card that Detective Ramirez had given him.
    This could be the first big break in the case, but how would the police react to it coming from Lee’s personal investigation? They would probably get mad and reprimand him. But would they believe him? Listen to him? If so, how quickly would they respond?
     
     
     
     

8
     
    For what seemed like hours, Jennifer lay on the floor trying to loosen or break the restraining band around her wrists. She had only succeeded in rubbing her wrists raw. The stinging grew intense and the restraints grew sticky against her wrists. Her wrists…they were bleeding. She’d long since given up on the double restraints around her ankles.
    She could see the room in more detail than an hour ago. The edges of the heavy curtains were lined with light. Not direct sunlight, perhaps the light of dawn. But her search of the dark room revealed nothing she could use to cut or abrade the restraints.
    Jennifer’s stomach growled, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Food and water. She would have to steel herself against the deprivation of both. Her captors were anything but compassionate people.
    Footsteps sounded outside the room. Jennifer shot a prayer for strength heavenward, and prepared for something unpleasant…or worse.
    Two strong-looking men entered. The one in front brandished a large knife, and he carried it like he meant to use it. Probably for intimidation. That’s how she preferred to interpret his posture and his grip on the knife.
    The overhead lights came on. She squinted to shield her eyes against the brightness. Then she smelled the food. The second man carried a plate with some kind of a meal and a glass of water. So they meant to keep her alive. That meant they would probably—she shoved the disquieting thought from her mind.
    “Looks like our million-dollar baby is awake,” the man with the big knife remarked while his eyes studied her body.
    Mack…Mack the knife. That’s what she would call him.
    The second man set the plate on a dresser. “Let’s see if she likes my cooking, Mack.”
    Mack…with a knife. She almost laughed. I’m getting good at this. Guessing her captors names—it was something she had no desire to do, let alone excel at.
    The cook. She named him Cook and hoped he deserved his name.
    “Just a minute,” Mack said. “I need to tell her the rules.” He sneered at her. “And the penalty for breaking them.”
    Jennifer lay on her side on the floor and prepared for intimidation of the worst sort.
    Mack bent down and pushed the point of the knife to her throat near her jugular vein. “I’m going to remove the tape from your mouth.” He paused, then swiveled and knelt behind her.
    The knife also moved. Its point pricked the skin on her lower back. She felt pressure, then a burning pain.
    Mack spoke. “That was only a sample. If you speak or make any sound above a whisper, this knife will sever your spinal cord. And you’ll be…frankly, a worthless piece of sub-human flesh.” His voice rose in volume and intensity. “Do you understand?”
    Jennifer nodded. This guy was good at intimidation. He was also making her angry. She stifled the anger before it could bring her more trouble.
    “Good,” Mack said. “Now this will probably hurt. Cowboy up, baby, and be quiet.”
    Cowboy up?She filed the regional phrase away for future reference.
    Mack ripped the tape from her mouth.
    The sting felt like he’d ripped the skin from her face. She gasped and clamped her mouth shut to protect her stinging lips. Jennifer lay on the floor, clenching her jaw and breathing hard through her nose. As the pain subsided, she opened her mouth to breathe more fully.
    “Look at those lips. The rest of her face, too,” Cook said.
    “Cool it, Cookie. You can’t have her. Now,