Grissom (In the Company of Snipers #26)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Tuesday came to beneath a thin blanket of snow with a blinding headache. Snowflakes fell into her eyes and on her face, enough that ice crystals had welled in her eye sockets. Tiny icicles coated her lashes. She wasn’t cold, though. Cold in Virginia was nothing compared to far-off Resolute Bay, Nunavut, Canada, the coldest inhabited place in the world. She’d gone there once, to photograph the Haughton impact crater on nearby Devon Island. Now that—was cold.

Blinking as more frosty goodness crashed silently over her, she elbowed her torso up and off the ground, then flopped back when she couldn’t maintain her balance long enough to sit. What on earth? She was laid out like the letter L, beneath what had to be the only deciduous tree in Grissom’s tree farm. At least, she hoped that was where she was. Her ankles were tied together. Her thighs and butt were positioned flat against the trunk. The soles of her slippers faced skyward.

By now, Grissom, Tanner, and Luke had to be worried out of their minds. Forcing herself to stay calm and to think, to analyze her predicament, she took quick stock of her surroundings. Plenty of tracks littered the thin layer of snow around her. Good. They weren’t deep. Neither was the snow. Which meant she hadn’t been unconscious very long, just long enough to be dragged into the trees and leashed to a really big tree by some jerk.

Her brain connected the dots quickly. Whoever’d done this came prepared. Only one rope restrained her, one end tied to her ankles, the other end slung over a very high branch, then wrapped around the trunk of a nearby pine. Too bad that nearby tree was too far away to reach.

A brick, probably the one she’d been hit with, lay a good yard away. That explained how the jerk got the rope over that high branch. Whoever he was, he’d pulled the rope tight enough she couldn’t sit up far enough to reach the knots at her ankles.

Yet. The fool didn’t know who he was dealing with. It was times like this when Freddie’s staunch counsel came to mind. Head up. Shoulders back. Never let ’em see you blink. Never back down.

Tuesday knew what she was up against—an idiot. The rope was just rope. Nylon, not invincible, and that knot was nothing a kindergartener who knew how to tie his shoes couldn’t untie. And she was the one and only Tuesday Smart, making this kidnapping just one of many obstacles life had thrown at her. Okay then.

Summoning her willpower and every last bit of her strength, Tuesday crossed her arms over her chest, curled her torso upward, and began the arduous process of lifting her stiff body and clenched butt off the ground and into a reverse Uttanasana yoga pose. Her thighs burned when, at last, she touched her nose to her knees. Flattened upside down and against the trunk like she was, and if she stretched, her fingers could, at last, reach the simpleton’s knots.

If she wanted to. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around the stretch of rope above her feet, and, inch by inch, with her biceps flexing and every strand of muscle on fire, with her lungs burning and the taste of blood on her tongue, she pulled her body straight up that tree. Keeping her legs stiff. While upside down. Shaking, because upside down was not how she’d ever trained. Like a crazy ninja in the most bizarre full-body press of her life. Not bending her knees. Not giving up—ever.

Tuesday hadn’t overcome the crap life had continually dished out by sniveling, crying herself to sleep, or by quitting. But by keeping her eyes forward and working her hardest to survive. To overcome.

At last, her slippered feet, then her knocking knees, passed the sturdy branch the rope now hung loosely over, its slack looping down beside her in thin air. The goal was not simply to escape, but to escape with style. To always—always!—go above and beyond expectations. To show that jerk how much better than him she would always be.

Sucking in a gut full of ‘I can do this!’ at the same time her endurance began to falter, she levered the leg closest to the branch over and—finally—hooked her trembling knee over the sturdy branch. Lifting her other leg over the branch came easier, since her full weight was already fully supported.

A last. Whew! She pulled herself upright and sat on the branch. Looking down at the ground, Tuesday sucked in a deep breath of wintry air, then searched the surrounding landscape for Grissom’s house. Whoa. It was farther away than she expected.

Dropping her hands and arms to her sides, Tuesday let them swing loose until the adrenaline that had powered her escape eased up and her jackhammering heart rate settled closer to normal rhythm. Didn’t take long, which was good because there wasn’t time to waste. She blew out another gut full of determination, breathing hard and dizzy, but successful. And mindful.

Whoever’d accomplished this kidnapping was no mastermind. They’d just gotten lucky. First by unexpectedly running into her with that darn brick. Secondly, by the weather. The snow made moving her easy. Well, she was awake now and she was pissed.

It took mere seconds to undo the childish knots binding her ankles. Jumping back to Earth, she landed on both feet and one clenched fist. Three points. Like a Marvel superhero.

The kidnapper hadn’t really wanted her, or he wouldn’t have left her behind. Her kidnapping was a sham, a hastily planned, poorly executed attempt to pull Grissom away from his house. The only reasons that came to mind were Tanner and Luke.

Worried for their safety now, Tuesday followed the compressed, smooth trail back toward the house, until she realized those bright red dots in the snow were not lady bugs. Surprised, make that shocked, she lifted a hand and gently touched two fingers to her aching forehead. Her fingertips came away wet and bloody. She had a deep gash above her eye. Ouch. That hurt.

Another slice trailed down her cheekbone, cutting into her lower jaw. Bricks were sharp. Ow. It was no wonder her head was buzzing and her footsteps, that should’ve crunched the frozen ground, were muffled, as if she were walking underwater. Darn. She might have a concussion. Shocked she hadn’t felt any pain until then, Tuesday ran the rest of the slick trail, back to the boys she adored.

Where was Grissom? Surely he’d be searching for her by now.

At last, the rear of his house came into view. Darned if someone wasn’t standing at the deck’s sliders. She was nearly on the top step when Grissom’s alarm shrieked one painfully long blast. She faltered, clapping both hands over her ears to keep her poor head from splitting apart. Didn’t matter that the sliders were now ajar or that the guy had gone inside. She didn’t care how big or mean he thought he was. She would go through him to save those boys. She had to. Who cared if she didn’t have a weapon? She didn’t. But she did need that blasted siren to cease and desist. Sound waves at the right decibel were destructive, and her aching head was feeling every last bit of those fierce waves now.

That short, squatty guy in black was inside Grissom’s house, facing Tanner and Luke, both still in their red and green Christmas pajamas. Luke held a small plastic bag in his hand. His eyes were squeezed tight, probably from the alarm. His cheeks were puffed and red. Something gooey dripped down his chin. Tanner was reaching around Luke to get the bag. Luke had the hand with that bag stretched away from Tanner, while he held his other arm stiff behind him, keeping Tanner at bay.

And that person in black was…

Tuesday borrowed Grissom’s favorite cuss word. “Fuck!”