Turning to the side again, she tried to maneuver her arm free but couldn’t quite decipher how it was tied. When she attempted to move her legs, it became clear that she wasn’t going to be able to untie herself until she had the use of that right hand.

Assets, Julianne. What are your assets? What can you use to get free?

The light that came through a rusted-out section of the car near the lock didn’t reveal much. She tried to focus on what lay inside the trunk with her: a pile of rags, a first aid kit, a tire iron, so—

Wait. The first aid kit. Maybe there’s a scissors or a blade of some type in it.

The man outside the car began to mutter to himself, something about how this one was different from the rest, how this one was special.

She scooted over as far as she could, and it took three tries and tremendous effort, but finally she was able to nudge the first aid kit to her good hand.

Working with her arm behind her, she managed to wedge the kit in place and pop it open. She felt her way past some bandages, a roll of gauze, some first aid tape, and then—yes. Her fingers closed around the blade of a scissors.

By the size and shape, she guessed it was a fabric scissors, the kind paramedics use.

From outside the trunk, she heard more muttering and then footsteps and a door—but not the rattling garage door—creak open and then close.

Do it now. You have to do it now. You have to get free.

She managed to turn the scissors so that the blades angled against the rope. It was too thick for her to close the blades, so she worked them back and forth to try sawing through it.

A few moments later, the man returned, the door closing creakily behind him.

Julianne felt her heartbeat skidding forward, faster and faster.

The strident footsteps approached the car, and then he threw the trunk open.

She was on her side, and before she could turn to see him, he placed a strong hand on her shoulder, holding her firmly in place.

“Look at you,” he said in that odd, indistinguishable voice. “What have you found?”

He roughly tore the scissors from her hand. When she pulled on the rope, she realized she hadn’t been able to sever it.

“I don’t think it would be fair of me to take these from you, as clever as you were getting them out of that kit there. So here you go.” He tucked the scissors under the rope around her thigh, out of reach from either of her hands. “I’ll leave these here for you, sweetie, as a little reminder of how close you came to getting away.”

“I’m going to kill you,” she seethed. “You are not going to get away with—”