Chapters (51)
- TITLE PAGE
- DEDICATION
- EPIGRAPH
- CHAPTER 1
- CHAPTER 2
- CHAPTER 3
- CHAPTER 4
- CHAPTER 5
- CHAPTER 6
- CHAPTER 7
- CHAPTER 8
- CHAPTER 9
- CHAPTER 10
- CHAPTER 11
- CHAPTER 12
- CHAPTER 13
- CHAPTER 14
- CHAPTER 15
- CHAPTER 16
- CHAPTER 17
- CHAPTER 18
- CHAPTER 19
- CHAPTER 20
- CHAPTER 21
- CHAPTER 22
- CHAPTER 23
- CHAPTER 24
- CHAPTER 25
- CHAPTER 26
- CHAPTER 27
- CHAPTER 28
- CHAPTER 29
- CHAPTER 30
- CHAPTER 31
- CHAPTER 32
- CHAPTER 33
- CHAPTER 34
- CHAPTER 35
- CHAPTER 36
- CHAPTER 37
- CHAPTER 38
- CHAPTER 39
- CHAPTER 40
- CHAPTER 41
- CHAPTER 42
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- NO TIME FOR GOODBYE
- MAY 1983
- ALSO BY LINWOOD BARCLAY
- COPYRIGHT
“I’m going to toss these to you,” she said, “and I want you to put them on your other wrist, then put the other cuff on the railing.”
“What?”
“I need to be able to get by you on the stairs, Zack. I can’t trust that you won’t try to hang on to me.” She tossed the cuffs and they landed by my foot.
“I’m not putting them on,” I said.
Without saying a word, Trixie disappeared around the corner where I guess the fridge that held the coffee was, and returned a moment later with a gun in her hand.
“Trixie, you wouldn’t.”
“You’re probably right, Zack, but I’m in a rather desperate situation at the moment, and I don’t think you should test me.” She raised the gun and pointed it at me.
I stared at her a good ten seconds, then bent down, picked up the cuff with my left hand, moved it close to my right hand, which I used to apply half the cuff. Then I slipped the other cuff around the railing and closed it.
“I need to hear it close,” Trixie said. I squeezed it, and she heard the telltale click. “That’s good.” She produced two keys from her jeans. “I’m going to leave these right on the table here, so that when someone comes to rescue you, you’ll be able to get those off right away. And promise me you won’t start yelling your head off as soon as I leave here. I need some time to get away. If you’re going to yell, I’m going to have to leave you gagged.” She nodded at some red balls attached to straps that were hanging on the wall with the other S&M equipment.
“That won’t be necessary,” I said quietly.
Still holding the gun, she came up close to me. “Where are your car keys?”
“What?”
“Zack, just tell me where they are.”
“Front pants pocket,” I said, and Trixie came alongside me and slid her slender fingers down into the pocket of my jeans as I once again tested the cuffs on the railing.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m only going after your keys.” She found them, gave them a shake. “I’ll just take the car keys, not your house keys. I figure they know what kind of car I’ve got, so it’s better if I get a running start in yours. You can have my car. I’ll leave you my set on the kitchen counter.”
“Trixie, you’re making a big mistake. Let me help you through this.”