A roaring in my ears has me twitching uncomfortably. Something hard holds my arms down at an awkward angle, and my head lolls back and forth. It’s impossible to get comfortable—
My eyes snap open, blinking into a brightly lit room.
"Ah, you’re finally awake."
The familiar, unfamiliar voice has me rolling my head slowly in its direction. It’s like my body’s underwater. It takes a lot of work to finally squint in the direction of the speaker.
My vision slowly clears with every blink, and I see Firefighter Jim. Only, he’s not a firefighter anymore. He’s dressed all in black, sharpening what looks like an honest-to-goodness medieval dagger.
Very strange. Especially when I finally take in our location.
Not some dingy warehouse or stone dungeon. It kind of looks like a really, really nice hotel room.
"You kidnapped me."
"Yes."
The glint of metal catches my eye as Jim inspects his dagger. My brain screams danger, but my limbs feel like lead weights. I can’t even flinch when his face looms close, his breath hot on my skin. It smells oddly like sulfur.
"How are you feeling?" His tone is oddly friendly, like we’re old pals catching up over coffee.
My thoughts swim through molasses. "My head hurts."
"Sorry about that." He has the audacity to look sheepish. "Might’ve knocked it a few times bringing you here."
A random thought bubbles up. "My groceries?"
Jim laughs, the sound jarring in this surreal situation. He strolls to a mini-fridge, casual as can be. "Left them in the elevator."
"Those were expensive," I mumble, my priorities clearly scrambled.
"I’ll reimburse you." He pulls out a water bottle, the plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet room.
As he moves, I realize I can twitch my fingers now. The fog in my brain starts to lift, reality crashing in. I’m tied to a chair. Kidnapped. By a man with a dagger.
"Are you going to kill me?"
Jim’s eyebrows shoot up, genuine surprise on his face. "Of course not."
My heart pounds, adrenaline finally kicking in. "Then why am I here?"
He uncaps the water bottle, taking a long swig before answering. "You’re a person of interest, Nicole. To some very powerful people."
"What people?" I struggle against my bonds, but they hold firm.
Jim shakes his head, a wry smile on his lips. "Now that would be telling. Let’s just say they’re curious about your... unique qualities."
A chill runs down my spine. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"Oh, I think you do." He leans in close again, that sulfurous scent making me gag. "Catalyst."
How does he know? Stupid question. Clearly he’s with all the crazy people doing crazy things to my life.
"Who are you really?" I demand, fear giving way to anger.
Jim’s smile widens, revealing teeth that seem just a bit too sharp. "Just a humble servant, doing my job."
"Some job," I spit. "Kidnapping innocent women."
He laughs again, the sound grating on my nerves. "Well, sometimes the ends justify the means."
"What ends?" I press, desperate for any information.
Jim taps the side of his nose. "All in good time, my dear. For now, why don’t we make you more comfortable?"
He moves behind me, and I tense, expecting pain. Instead, I feel the ropes loosen. Blood rushes back into my arms, bringing pins and needles.
"There," my captor says, stepping back into view. "Better?"
I flex my wrists, eyeing him warily. "Why untie me?"
He spreads his arms wide. "Consider it a show of good faith. Besides, where would you go?"
For the first time, I take in my surroundings properly. The room is opulent, all gleaming surfaces and plush fabrics. But there are no windows, and the door has a suspicious-looking number pad next to it.
Do I need a code even to get out? That’s creepy.
"What is this place?" I ask, rubbing feeling back into my hands.
"A safe house, of sorts," Jim replies, settling into a nearby armchair.
"How long do you plan to keep me here?"
He shrugs. "No idea. It depends on your little police crew."
I push myself up from the chair, my legs wobbling like a newborn fawn’s. The room spins, and I brace myself against the armrest. Pins and needles shoot through my calves as I try to rub some life back into them.
"Easy there." Jim’s voice comes from somewhere to my left.
I take a shaky step forward, and suddenly the floor rushes up to meet me. Strong hands grip my arms, steadying me. The sulfurous scent of Jim’s breath makes my stomach churn.
"Thanks," I mutter, wondering if it’s normal to thank your kidnapper.
He offers me his water bottle, condensation beading on its surface. My throat feels like sandpaper, but I can’t bring myself to drink from it. I’m not thirsty enough to share kidnapper cooties.
"No, thank you."
A faint smile plays at the corners of Jim’s mouth. "Ah, I forgot. Humans don’t like to share."
He saunters over to the mini-fridge, but my mind is stuck on the casual way he said ’humans’. What is he, then?
A bottle comes flying at me. My reflexes are shot, and it slips right through my fingers, clattering to the floor. Cheeks burning, I bend to retrieve it, nearly losing my balance again.
The water is blessedly cool as it slides down my throat. Before I know it, half the bottle is gone. Guess I was thirstier than I thought.
When I lower it, I find Jim watching me with an odd expression. His head is tilted, eyes narrowed in curiosity.
"You really have no idea what kind of predicament you’re in, do you?"
Tempering my sarcasm is hard. "Let’s see. I’ve been kidnapped, drugged, and tied to a chair. Now I’m at the mercy of a psycho with a dagger. I’d say my predicament is pretty clear."
Jim’s brows snap together, and he almost looks hurt. "That seems a bit unfair, don’t you think? After everything I’ve done for you?"
"Done for me? You mean the chloroform?"
He waves a dismissive hand. "Details, details. Tell you what—how about we watch some TV? Might help clear things up."
Before I can protest, he’s grabbing a remote and flicking on a massive flatscreen I hadn’t even noticed. The local news snaps into focus, and my breath catches in my throat.
There, plastered across the screen, is my face. A photo from my work ID, looking far more put-together than I feel right now. The anchor’s voice filters through the shock:
"...still at large. Nicole d’Armand is wanted in connection with the murder of Officer Nancy Stewart. She is considered armed and extremely dangerous. If you have any information on her whereabouts, please contact..."
The room spins again, but this time it has nothing to do with the drug in my system. I stagger backwards, collapsing onto the edge of the bed.
Yes, of course I knew they suspected me. But after complete silence over the last couple weeks, I really thought they might be looking into the panther.
"No," I whisper. "No, that’s not possible."
Jim clicks off the TV, his expression unreadable. "I’m afraid it is, Nicole. You’re in quite a bit of trouble."