Chapter 8 - The Hidden Tool
“My pocketknife... it should be in the center console,” Daniel muttered, shifting his weight painfully against the crushed door.
He reached down, his fingers frantically digging through the debris of spilled CDs, receipts, and loose change.
His fingers brushed against the cold steel handle of his folding pocketknife tucked inside a torn storage pocket.
He pulled it out, flicked the blade open with one hand, and carefully sawed through the thick hemp fibers binding Clara’s wrists.
With a sharp snap, the ropes fell away, and Clara pulled her bruised, raw wrists apart with a sharp gasp of pain.
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“My hands are free,” she whispered, rubbing her circulation back with trembling fingers as sirens began to wail far above on the highway.
“Help is coming, baby,” Daniel promised, kicking his boot against the jammed driver’s side door.
