Free Kill Jill by John Locke

says.
    “Wait here. I’ll get my car and bring it to you.”
    “Are you going to ditch me?”
    “No.” She flashes a warm smile. “I promise.”
    A minute later her car pulls up. She helps him get in.
    “You sure you don’t want to go to the emergency room?” Jill says. “You might have a concussion.”
    “I’m fine. Just a little shaken up, is all.”
    “I’m really sorry about that.”
    “Please. It was my fault.”
    She looks at the expression on his face and everything changes. Forget the plan, forget the money , she tells herself. Some things are more important. Like recognizing a good man when he’s an arm’s length away. I’ve been an idiot, a fool , she realizes. But no more ! From now on it’s going to be no lies, no bullshit .
    Just Jill.
    What changed her mind?
    This man’s a prize. He’s worth fighting for, worth trusting. He’s worth her finest effort.
    She takes his hand, brings it to her lips, kisses it.
    “You’re a good man,” she says.
    “But not a better person than you,” he says, smiling. “Remember telling me that at the club? I still agree with you.”
    She says, “If we’re being honest, you’re a much better person than I am.”
    She starts the car and gasps. Looks down, trying to fathom what caused the sharp pain in her thigh. Sees Jack holding a hypodermic needle. Feels a cold rush as the liquid fills her bloodstream and makes her so groggy she can’t put the car in gear. She tries to reach down, pull the needle from her thigh, but has no control over her hand. Her eyelids grow heavy. She feels her body going slack. Works to form a single word.
    Why?
    But can’t.
    Jill wants to explain she was planning to take him home, give him what he wanted. She was going to open her heart, take a chance on him. But even if it turned out he didn’t want her, she still fully intended to make sure he left her house happy and satisfied tonight. Because while two grand would have given her a new start, five grand gives her a new life.
    And speaking of the five grand?
    She remains conscious long enough to see him put the cash envelope and her Emma Wilson driver’s license in his jacket pocket.

“Where are we?” Jill says, in a voice made thick from the drug.
    “Memphis,” Jack says.
    “Why?”
    “Think about it.”
    Jill wants to scratch his eyes out, grab him by the throat, strangle him to death. But she’ll settle for grabbing the car keys and trying to make a run for it.
    Except she can’t.
    Her wrists are above her head, handcuffed to the headrest.
    What about her feet? Maybe she can kick him till he pulls over or crashes into something. But no, her feet are bound with his belt, and hooked to something below the seat that restricts her movement.
    “I need to pee,” she says.
    Jack laughs. “There it is. The go-to comment.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “They always say that.”
    “Who?”
    “Women. When they’re trapped. It’s the first thing they say.”
    “You’ve trapped a lot of women in your life?”
    “Transported is a better word.”
    “What is it you do , exactly, Jack?”
    “I’m a bounty hunter.”
    “You’re joking.”
    “Dead serious, actually.”
    “What does that have to do with me ?”
    Jack says nothing.
    Jill says, “I really do need to pee.”
    Jack says, “No one’s stopping you from peeing, Jill.”

“Where are we?” Jill says, coming around for the second time.
    “Hour north of Jackson, Mississippi.”
    “Why?”
    “Think about it.”
    “You’re taking me back. To La Pierre, Louisiana.”
    They ride in silence a few minutes before Jill says, “How much is he paying you?”
    “That’s confidential.”
    “Please don’t take me back,” she says. “I’ll do anything.”
    “So you say.”
    “Name it, Jack. Anything you want.”
    “Look at me.”
    She does.
    He says, “This business about you being a hooker? It’s bullshit.”
    She starts to say something, changes her mind. Then says, “What tipped you