MORIANI HOME
Claire
slips out the driver's side
door of her car, her gaze focused firmly on the house several hundred feet
away. She parked out here so she could watch the house without being spotted
-- so she could follow Nick in case there were a last-minute change of
plans.
Tim didn't want me to go to the
pier, she thinks. He wanted to keep me as far away from this whole
thing as possible -- as far as I'd let him keep me, that is. She sighs
and looks down the road again. There haven't been any cars going in or
out of the Morianis' driveway in the half-hour that she has been sitting
here. Nothing. This entire little assignment is nothing.
She walks the distance to the foot
of the driveway and stops. There are no vehicles in the driveway, but that
doesn't necessarily mean anything. She wanders up the driveway, closer
to the window where she overheard Nick making his plans for tonight.
Nick's not here, she tells
herself. He's off at the pier like I knew he'd be. And I'm here doing
nothing when I should be--
The annoyed thought meets a quick
end. She feels herself being grabbed from behind. A hand clamps over her
mouth, stifling the cries that almost immediately leap from her chest.
She squirms and tries to wriggle free, not giving up on the muffled shouts.
But her efforts are only enough to stall what is happening, not save her
from it.
As if in slow-motion -- and yet far
too quickly for her to do anything about -- her entire body is dragged
backward, her heels digging into the gravel driveway and yet doing her
no good at all. Now she is being pulled not only backward, but downward.
Down wooden steps. She refuses to let her feet step down them in the intended
rhythm, so they strike the steps awkwardly, sending surges of pain through
her legs. The pain only intensifies her cries, and she continues fighting
even when she feels the cold steel of handcuffs snapping around her wrists.
The hand, apparently needed elsewhere,
leaves her mouth. "Let me go!" she screams, kicking a foot. A hand, either
the one that was previously on her mouth or another one, grabs her ankle.
Soon handcuffs are binding her ankles together as well.
"What the hell are you--" But she
stops. The whole thing is suddenly too much.
"Comfortable?" Ryan
asks, looking
up at her as he tightens the cuffs around her ankles.
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