BooksBarbecue
Back Nana Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. Title page
  2. Prologue
  3. Part One
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. Part Two
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. Part Three
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. Get on the Mailing List!
  69. Also by Brandon Massey
  70. About Brandon Massey

“I don’t think she’s completely human, Sullivan,” Troy said softly.

The detective was quiet.

For a heartbeat, Troy worried that Sullivan was going to declare him insane and hang up on him. Then he realized he didn’t care.

“I’ve been dancing around the acceptance of that fact,” Troy said. “But I can’t ignore it any longer. I don’t know what she is. She’s got human DNA mostly, but there’s something else there, something uncharted. I don’t know if we’ll ever know because she doesn’t seem inclined to tell anyone the truth.”

Sullivan still hadn’t responded, but Troy heard the guy breathing hard, perhaps struggling to comprehend their situation.

Troy went on: “I’m convinced she’s assumed multiple identities over the years, too. This name, Grace Bolden, is only her current incarnation. If we researched further, dug deeper, I’m convinced we would find out more.”

“Does it matter?” Sullivan asked. “All of this is damned strange, maybe unexplainable, but your wife’s in danger. We can both agree on that, Doc.”

“Damned straight.” Troy sat up and punched a search into his phone. “I need to get my hands on a gun. Monica always argued against me keeping a firearm in the house but I can’t think of a better time.”

“Think you’ll need backup?” Sullivan asked.

54

Monica grabbed the glass of water off the nightstand, liquid spilling over the rim as she strained against her bonds. She drank much of the water in three thick swallows.

With her thirst satiated, she assessed her predicament.

The ropes around her neck, and both ankles, severely restricted her range of motion. The noose about her neck prevented her from bending forward far enough to reach the ropes knotted around her ankles. The bonds on her ankles ruled out standing on the bed and getting ahold of the knot at the base of the ceiling fan.

But she still had the use of her hands.

She seized the rope tethering her to the fan. Clenched it in both hands and pulled, trying to use all of her weight. Her shoulders ached in protest, and her fingers throbbed.

Dust motes drifted from the fan blades, and the unit creaked softly, but it held firm.

This isn’t going to work. Besides, do I want the ceiling fan to collapse on my head?

She wiped dust off her brow, drew a couple of deep breaths. She leaned forward as much as she could, the noose tight around her neck, and extended her left arm while bending her right leg, attempting to bring her ankle within reach of her hand.

Her limbs shook from the effort. But her reach was several inches too short.

She let her body relax. Perspiration seeped into her eyes, and she brushed it away with the corner of the bedsheet.

She needed a sharp object, such as a knife. Something that could slice away the rope.