Nancy turned her head, scraping her cheek against something rough and cold. Then she felt the water wash against her thighs again, and realized that her feet were tied too. She peered down, trying to see where she was.
The night breeze was warm, but Nancy started shivering violently when she realized that she’d been tied, hand and foot, to one of the pier pilings, a rough, wooden pillar shooting straight out of the water. She was somewhere in the middle of it; if she tilted her head back far enough, she could just see the lip of the pier. But what made her shiver, what made her want to scream, was that she could also see the waterline on the piling. It was a foot above her head. Already the water was lapping against her thighs. Soon it would be at her waist, then at her shoulders. The tide was coming in, and Nancy was trapped in its path.
She heard a low, moaning sound and realized it was coming from her. Scream, she told herself. You got hit on the head, not in the throat. She tried to take a deep breath, and that’s when she felt the gag in her mouth and the tape on her cheek. There was no way she could scream; the only sound she could make was a soft moan nobody would hear. She’d been tied, gagged, and left to drown.
Chapter Nine
Nancy fought to keep from panicking, but she lost the battle. She’d never been so trapped; the feelings of terror and helplessness were overwhelming. She was at the end of the pier, which was far enough out in the water to give her a tantalizing view of the bonfires around the bend in the beach. She could even see the shadows of the people around those bonfires, and every once in a while she heard shouts of laughter.
Frantically Nancy pulled and twisted against the ties that held her to the pier. She didn’t know how long she kept it up, but when she finally stopped, she was limp with exhaustion and her skin was burning from being scraped against the piling. If she could have screamed, her throat would have been raw.
If they wanted to kill you, she thought tiredly, why didn’t they just dump you in the middle of the ocean while you were still unconscious? Why put you through this kind of torture? They’d even tied her hands with the sash of her sundress. An extra-evil touch.
Evil. That’s what Maria had called them, and she’d been right. For a moment, Nancy wondered what had happened to the frightened girl. Ricardo must have gotten her, she thought. Then, as the water washed up, hitting the middle of her back, Nancy began struggling and twisting again. But she was too tired and too sore to keep it up for very long. Sagging against the piling, she rubbed her forehead on the back of her wrist and closed her eyes.
Breathless, half-covered with water, Nancy thought of how she must look—like a huge barnacle in a dress. The thought made her want to laugh. You’re getting hysterical, she warned herself. Her head was throbbing violently, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that the dark mist was closing in. If she passed out, she knew she’d never make it.
Nancy closed her eyes again, and that’s when she heard the footsteps on the pier. Looking up, she saw two faces bending over the edge, staring down at her. Nancy blinked, fighting back the mist, and realized that she recognized the faces. One belonged to the handsome “maintenance” man from Kim’s hotel room; the other was the guy who’d delivered the flowers to the hospital. Not bothering to wonder what they were doing there, Nancy moaned as loudly as she could, begging them with her eyes to help her. The two faces lingered above her for a moment, then faded away like ghosts into the darkness.
Ghosts, Nancy thought. That’s what they were. You’re so far gone, you’re hallucinating. She let her head drop and felt a wave splash high on her back, hitting her shoulder blades.
Then Nancy felt something else, something that made the dark mist evaporate—her feet were loose. Whatever they were tied with had stretched, and Nancy was almost able to uncross her ankles. If she could do that, she could get her feet free. What she’d do then, she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t care. One thing at a time, she told herself, and started to wiggle her feet, ignoring the scrapes on her knees and the ache in her arms.