Free Eleven Hours by Paullina Simons Page A

turned away and spoke to Officer Charles. “Why are you looking for every possible explanation except the obvious? Her nose bled, she met a friend, the cell phone’s dead, she forgot about our lunch date, blah, blah, blah. Everything. God, can’t you see what must have happened?” He was choking on his words. “My wife is missing. My pregnant wife—she’s probably been taken by force—” The words were larger than his throat. “What can we do now?” He looked around and walked back a few steps to sink into the wooden bench. “What do we do now?” he said and buried his face in his hands.

4:00 P.M.
    The man kept a steady pace on the road. They had just passed Midlothian, twenty miles south of Dallas.
    â€œWhat are the rules of our game?” Didi asked.
    â€œRules?” Pleasure showed on his face. “Okay, how about this? We do it in three guesses and I give you three clues.”
    â€œSounds good,” said Didi, licking her lips. She liked it better when he wasn’t sullen.
    â€œMy name,” said the man, “is the name of a great country singer.” She said, “Kenny?”
    â€œKenny?” he exclaimed. “Gosh, no! I said great, didn’t I? Not a hack. No, a great, incredible country singer. Two more guesses left.”
    â€œWell, then,” said Didi, “I need two more clues, don’t I?”
    He thought about it, saying nothing for a while. He drove. The sun beat hot on the car. Didi was panting. She needed cool air.
    â€œOkay, how about this—he’s tall.”
    Shaking her head, Didi said, “They’re all tall, tall is not a good clue. Sort of like, they’re all men.” She thought she’d gone too far. Like she was insulting his clues or something.
    It was clear he thought the same thing, because he said to her, “Are you trying to get smart with me?”
    â€œNo, no,” she quickly said. “I mean, maybe something a tiny bit more specific.”
    â€œI was married recently,” he said, and Didi couldn’t be sure if he was in character or talking about his own life. “And now I’m not anymore.”
    â€œWhy not?” said Didi.
    â€œBecause my wife was a hopeless slut and wouldn’t settle down,” he said harshly.
    She guessed he was in character. “Lyle Lovett,” Didi said. “Lyle.”
    He looked at her sideways with amazement and maybe even admiration. “Wow. Two guesses. My name is Lyle. That’s incredible. Very fast. Lovett is not my last name, though.”
    â€œNo, of course not,” Didi said. And then, “Lyle is a nice name.” Sucker-upper, she thought. You’ll say anything to save your life, won’t you?
    She must have looked stricken, because he said solicitously, “What’s the matter?” and placed his right hand on her knee.
    It was difficult not to cringe and pull away from him. Wiping her face quickly, she said, “Can I have that drink now? I’m really very thirsty.”
    â€œWell, hold on, hold on,” said the man named Lyle. “I have to guess your name now, too, don’t I?”
    â€œI can just tell you my name,” Didi offered.
    â€œNo!” He stuck out his hand. “I want to guess. Please. I was having so much fun with this at Dillard’s. Let me see … what do I get if I guess in three?” And he leered at her, smiling suggestively and pursing his lips. She wanted to open the door and fall out of the car onto the embankment. She would have done so if she hadn’t had a baby inside her.
    â€œI don’t know,” she said helplessly. She did not add, what do you want?
    â€œHow about a little kiss?” he said, reaching out and placing his hand on her leg, just below her dress line. His hand on her bare leg made her emit a retching sound.
    Lyle took his hand away. “Yes,” he said, not smiling. “Maybe we’ll