Tuesday. Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. Washington, DC.
KELSEY'S BOTTOM WAS GOING numb. She'd already tried shifting, but her bonds were so tight the best she could do was alternate which way she leaned. Her mind kept supplying her with that disturbing headline she'd read about a man having to get his legs amputated because he fell asleep on a toilet and cut off circulation to his feet.
She didn't want to lose her feet.
That wasn't all she stood to lose right now.
One of the beefy guys that didn't speak much English strode down the center aisle of the plane. She stilled and stared at the seatback to her left.
Why had they secured her to the leg of a chair? Why not give her a little courtesy and tie her sitting in a comfy chair? Was this intentional? Some sort of psychological trick?
The man passed her without a glance.
She peered after him, but her line of sight was hindered by a partial wall that sectioned off the rear galley.
Where was Dixon?