Page 51 of Booked for Kidnapping

“We might be able to find out who was behind it if we can locate the bone donor. Somebody got foot bones of the right type and a match for Janette somehow. Either there’s a corpse somewhere missing parts of their right foot or there’s a recent amputee who’d donated, but Dr. Mansfield made it pretty clear there is a trail if we can find the donor. She’s freaking out because what if somebody got offed to give Janette a new foot?”

Ew. I didn’t want a fixed foot if it had cost someone their life. “I don’t like that option.”

“There is another option,” Mickey announced.

When the research-obsessed librarian with a magic fetish got started, we all ran a high risk of learning something new. “What other option?”

“You’re the donor.”

My eyes widened, and I twisted around to stare at my blanket-covered feet. “What? How?”

“Your left foot. A lot of those bones can be, with some adjustment by a skilled bone mender, used as seed material to grow a new bone. That’s how the bone mender was hiding the gunshot wounds, through the instant recreation of the victim’s skull bone. If they can close a bullet hole to the skull in a split second, using a sample of your bone to grow healthy replacement bone is absolutely possible, and if they’re regrowing the bone outside of the body and introducing it via transplant, it would be much easier on you.”

My mouth dropped open, and I continued to stare at my covered feet. “But then why the pins and rods and all that stuff in my foot?”

“I bet they were going to remove them as they were able to restore more of the bones in your feet. Or it was better for the stability of your foot. Either are options. If they hadn’t intended for you to go missing on them, they could have been preparing you for another round of surgery.” Mickey made a thoughtful sound. “I’m just glad you have a functional foot.”

With a well-timed shove, Bradley dumped me onto my side of the bed, and I yelped at the unexpected relocation. He then pounced, grabbed my feet, and inspected them both. “She does have a new scar on her left foot, Mickey.”

“She could be her own donor, then. It would have been trivial for them to remove a small section of healthy bone, heal the damage, and use the removed bone to rebuild her damaged foot, especially if the infection had compromised the integrity of the bone. And that’s healthier for her. But it also elevates the odds our serial killer really likes Janette for some reason.”

Once satisfied he’d examined both of my feet carefully, Bradley went to work massaging my left foot. “My pillow threw me off,” I complained.

“Yes. I wanted to see your feet. Mickey, at what point will foot massages be okay on her right foot?”

“Ask a real doctor. I just read a lot and have an overabundance of curiosity. If she can walk on it, she can probably handle you rubbing it gently. I recommend whispering sweet nothings. That confuses the strong, independent women and makes them somewhat pliable.”

I giggled. “Beatrice, has Mickey been taking advantage of your poor person again?”

“He’s all quiet and shy, but then suddenly, he’s there, with roses and sweet nothings, and the next thing I know, I’ve lost my bra,” she replied, and I could imagine her shrugging. “I’m still missing a bra somewhere. I think I threw it behind our couch, but honestly, I’m not sure. I’ll find it eventually. Or my mother will. Or worse, his mother. She’s rather conservative about pre-marital sex. I’ll get around to marrying him once I’ve confirmed we both enjoy the goods for an extended period of time and won’t kill each other immediately following marriage.”

“I’m getting mixed signals,” Mickey stated. “Am I supposed to be tossing bras around our living room and inviting my mother over now? And anyway, we’re living together. Surely they can’t be that dense. But if they are that dense, I suppose I can throw a few of your bras around our living room.”

“I will pay for you to do that,” my favorite enemy stated. “I’ll even say please.”

“And now that we know too much about your sex life, how about we focus on work,” I said, trying to free my foot from Bradley’s grasp with no luck. “Why would someone out to kill a bunch of unsavory politicians want to heal my foot? I keep getting in the way of their kills. Twice now. And I don’t even remember the second time. I literally didn’t even know I’d gotten shot until I read about it in a news article at the library. I completely missed it. After the goats, I remember waking up in a pile of blankets and pillows chained to a bunch of pipes with a fuzzy handcuff. They were monitoring me to a certain extent, the main room I was kept in had some obvious camera points, but they left me alone in the bathroom. Apparently, my modesty seemed to be important to them for some reason. The chain gave me full reach of everything in the room and bathroom, too. Illusions disguised the windows and may have changed the size and perception of the room, but I have no way of knowing. They used some form of illusion on the outside of the house, though only on what could be seen through the windows. I found the window I escaped out of by feel, and while I’d found a window in the bathroom, I’d been too scared to try it since I couldn’t see anything out of it. I had no idea how high it was from the ground. The window in the main room wasn’t as well guarded; I was able to see through it if I put my face right up against it.”

“That matches how the serial killers operate,” Mickey replied. “But why heal your foot? That doesn’t make any sense to me whatsoever. It’s not cheap keeping someone alive for so many months while also giving them extensive health care. Even if they had the skills to do the work themselves, they’d still need the drugs to keep you sedated, they’d have to provide care to keep you from developing sores, and there’s a lot of work involved keeping someone unconscious or comatose for a long period of time. Mr. Tawnlen? How long would it have taken her arm to heal without her being aware of it?”

“Skin abrasions can heal in as quickly as ten days,” my boss reported. “But considering how ill Janette was at the time of kidnapping, I would call it closer to a month, especially if it were to become infected, which would be a high possibility considering the circumstances. The wound seemed fairly deep, which takes longer to heal. By now, there would be a noticeable scar. Is that correct?”

“There’s a scar,” I confirmed. I twisted my arm for a better look at my new decoration. “It doesn’t seem that bad, but I guess it’s bad enough. It’s a few inches long.”

“That supports it taking longer. The original wound was a full penetration, so you should have two dimes instead of a solid scar. A solid scar implies they cut the wound open, probably to remove or lance out infection. It might have been even longer than a month under those circumstances. We have no way of knowing unless your father is willing to use his magic to check, Bradley.”

Bradley stilled. “I’ll ask him about it once he’s out of the tub. He wanted to find out if the tub was truly capable of devouring the will of human adults.”

I laughed. “It’s the perfect tub for reading. We might lose him forever in there. A pity. I actually like your dad.”

“I like him, too. Maybe we should rescue him.”

“Maybe if he doesn’t come out before I have to use the bathroom? He might be tired of listening to you complain I was holding you hostage as a pillow.”

“Why are you assuming I would be complaining?”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t letting you go anywhere, like the bathroom.”

“Do you need to go to the bathroom?”