Miracle Jones Read Online Free Page B

fault that she’d assumed the worst? Blasted all, the man had paid for her, hadn’t he?
    “We’ve got to get out of here,” she said desperately, more to bolster her own resolve than in any hopes he might actually hear.
    “You stabbed me,” he mumbled thickly. “You had a knife.”
    Miracle’s pulse leapt. He could talk! “I – didn’t know you were –” she cut herself off. There would be time later for explanations. “We must leave,” she said urgently.
    “Go,” he said.
    “Not without you.”
    She wriggled from beneath him, hurting inside at the groan that escaped his lips. Scrambling to her feet, she glanced around the small room. There was no way out! She ran to the door, testing it. It moved about an inch when she pushed against it, but it was latched by a hook. Downstairs, the sounds had quieted. But upstairs, in the grain room next to hers, she heard the unmistakable sounds of a man taking his pleasure.
    She shuddered and bit down on her lower lip, frowning in thought.
    Harrison rolled to his side. In her frantic state it took her several moments to realize she saw the butt of a gun sticking out above his belt buckle. She ran back to him, crouching at his side.
    “You have a gun!” she said excitedly.
    His answer was a grunt.
    “I need it!” She reached for it and yelped in surprise when his left hand grabbed her wrist with hard strength.
    He squinted at her. “Whad’re you gonna do with it?”
    “Get us out of here.”
    She grabbed the butt of the gun, sliding it carefully into her grasp. It was a small pearl-handled revolver. Miracle checked to see if it was loaded. She had no idea whether she would actually be able to shoot someone if she had to, but this was no time to be faint-hearted.
    “Can you get to your feet?” she asked swiftly.
    “Yes.”
    His voice was quiet, tense. He didn’t move for several moments; she could tell he was gathering his strength.
    “Let me help,” she said, sliding an arm around his back. His skin was warm beneath his shirt, too warm, almost feverish. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. Miracle had never felt so guilty in her life.
    “Okay,” he said through his teeth. Then, with a lurch and a groan that was torn from the depths of his soul, he staggered to his feet, leaning on Miracle heavily for support. Anxiously, she led him toward the door.
    It was arduous going, each step taking its own toll. His breath rasped harshly in her ear. Miracle swallowed. It seemed they moved with painstaking slowness. Her nerves were screaming to hurry. When they finally reached the door, Miracle glanced back – and saw both her knife and the smaller one he’d used to saw through her bonds lying on the rumpled blanket.
    He leaned his right shoulder against the wall, panting, his eyes closed. Throwing him an anxious look, Miracle swept back for the knives; a gun was fine, but she’d learned well the advisability of having extra weapons.
    “Here,” she said, slipping the smaller knife into his pocket. Refusing to look at her own bloodstained weapon, she shoved it into a pocket of her skirt, then lifted the revolver with both hands, aiming at the door.
    “You plannin’ to shoot that lock off?”
    She glanced at him. His eyes were slits. Nodding, she swallowed against a throat that felt filled with sand. She was angry and alarmed to see how badly her hands shook. Why, why, could she feel so calm and cool in her mind, yet her body shook like a newborn lamb?
    “Hand it to me.”
    She glanced at him in dismay. “The gun?”
    He nodded, lifting his left hand for her to give it to him. Miracle hesitated.
    “Do it,” he ordered through his teeth, and this time she turned the butt of the revolver his way.
    She had barely stumbled backward when he fired. The explosion rang in Miracle’s ears. Shards of wood flew like arrows. Cordite filled the air. Miracle’s arms flew upward to protect her face, but now she waved away the smoke. The lock had broken off, taking a