A Time to Run Read Online Free Page A
Author: J.M. Peace
She had been just about sober, sheâd felt in control of herself, hadnât even considered how quickly she could be reduced to helpless and vulnerable.
Sammi pressed her hip against the floor, on the off-chance that she had slipped her phone in the pocket of her pants instead of her handbag. Nothing. As far as she could remember, she had nothing at all in her pockets. She wiggled around a bit, but doubted he had left her handbag with her. He had thought this through, maybe even done it before.
Dim light came through the cracks where the canopy joined the tray of the ute, drawing thin lines through the darkness. Dawn was breaking outside. If Sammi left the pub about 4 am and sunrise was about 6 am, she had probably been unconscious for at least two hours. Or possibly a whole day and night.
She paid attention to the pressure of her wrists taped against each other. Her arms were positioned one on top of the other, her left hand rested on her right forearm, and the back of her right hand pressed against the inside of her left forearm. She could still feel her watch band around her left wrist but it did her no good behind her back.
Sammi rolled onto her back, squashing her arms under her. She wiggled around, pushing her shoulders down to see if she could slide her bound wrists past her bottom to get them to the front of her body. It was no use. She craned her neck left and right to try to make out some shapes inside the ute. She still had her shoes on, strappy heels, which she kicked off. Leaning against the rear tailgate of the ute, she tentatively stretched her feet forward, sliding them along the floor. Her toes ran across the hard thing that had pushed against her back when she woke up. She recognised the patterned rubber of a tyre and slid her foot along spokes to a front fork. It was too big and heavy for a bicycle. There was a motorbike in the back of the ute. It did not move with the jolts that bumped her against the sides of the tray, suggesting it must be strapped down. Judging by the size of the tread on the tyres, it was a dirt bike.
To the side, wedged in place under the motorbike straps, were plastic storage boxes with lids on. There could be anything in there. It would be next to impossible for her to get the lids off.
What did she know about the man in the ute?
His name was Don, he was a barman at the Lionâs Head Tavern so he was sane enough to hold down a job. He was about thirty-five to forty years old, and he drove a white Toyota Landcruiser with a closed-in tray.
And what did he know about her? He didnât know her name or where she lived. Sammi didnât even think she had mentioned Candyâs name.
Then she realised he would have her handbag. She closed her eyes to make a mental inventory of what was inside. Heâd have her driverâs licence, credit card and mobile phone, along with a handful of bills and coins. She had not taken her purse with her so she didnât lose everything if it got lost or stolen. Her address was on her licence.
But she knew she wasnât in the back of his ute because he wanted to rob her. This wasnât about what he could steal out of her bag. So she was sure she had one thing in her favour, something he wouldnât know. Sammi was quite certain there was nothing in her handbag to tell him she was a cop.
Saturday 6:40 am
Gavin hardly slept. It was probably unresolved anger that had kept him tossing and turning all night. That and the empty space in the bed. Usually, the only time he slept alone was when Sammi was on night shift.
Heâd dozed for a couple of hours before the wan light of dawn woke him. He hadnât moved since he woke, staying under the covers. The first thing he did was grab his mobile phone off the bedside table to check for a message that he knew wouldnât be there. Now his phone was clutched in his hand under the doona, just in case it rang.
A sense of unease had kept his mind active all night. He was
Sammi pressed her hip against the floor, on the off-chance that she had slipped her phone in the pocket of her pants instead of her handbag. Nothing. As far as she could remember, she had nothing at all in her pockets. She wiggled around a bit, but doubted he had left her handbag with her. He had thought this through, maybe even done it before.
Dim light came through the cracks where the canopy joined the tray of the ute, drawing thin lines through the darkness. Dawn was breaking outside. If Sammi left the pub about 4 am and sunrise was about 6 am, she had probably been unconscious for at least two hours. Or possibly a whole day and night.
She paid attention to the pressure of her wrists taped against each other. Her arms were positioned one on top of the other, her left hand rested on her right forearm, and the back of her right hand pressed against the inside of her left forearm. She could still feel her watch band around her left wrist but it did her no good behind her back.
Sammi rolled onto her back, squashing her arms under her. She wiggled around, pushing her shoulders down to see if she could slide her bound wrists past her bottom to get them to the front of her body. It was no use. She craned her neck left and right to try to make out some shapes inside the ute. She still had her shoes on, strappy heels, which she kicked off. Leaning against the rear tailgate of the ute, she tentatively stretched her feet forward, sliding them along the floor. Her toes ran across the hard thing that had pushed against her back when she woke up. She recognised the patterned rubber of a tyre and slid her foot along spokes to a front fork. It was too big and heavy for a bicycle. There was a motorbike in the back of the ute. It did not move with the jolts that bumped her against the sides of the tray, suggesting it must be strapped down. Judging by the size of the tread on the tyres, it was a dirt bike.
To the side, wedged in place under the motorbike straps, were plastic storage boxes with lids on. There could be anything in there. It would be next to impossible for her to get the lids off.
What did she know about the man in the ute?
His name was Don, he was a barman at the Lionâs Head Tavern so he was sane enough to hold down a job. He was about thirty-five to forty years old, and he drove a white Toyota Landcruiser with a closed-in tray.
And what did he know about her? He didnât know her name or where she lived. Sammi didnât even think she had mentioned Candyâs name.
Then she realised he would have her handbag. She closed her eyes to make a mental inventory of what was inside. Heâd have her driverâs licence, credit card and mobile phone, along with a handful of bills and coins. She had not taken her purse with her so she didnât lose everything if it got lost or stolen. Her address was on her licence.
But she knew she wasnât in the back of his ute because he wanted to rob her. This wasnât about what he could steal out of her bag. So she was sure she had one thing in her favour, something he wouldnât know. Sammi was quite certain there was nothing in her handbag to tell him she was a cop.
Saturday 6:40 am
Gavin hardly slept. It was probably unresolved anger that had kept him tossing and turning all night. That and the empty space in the bed. Usually, the only time he slept alone was when Sammi was on night shift.
Heâd dozed for a couple of hours before the wan light of dawn woke him. He hadnât moved since he woke, staying under the covers. The first thing he did was grab his mobile phone off the bedside table to check for a message that he knew wouldnât be there. Now his phone was clutched in his hand under the doona, just in case it rang.
A sense of unease had kept his mind active all night. He was
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