Willing Hostage Read Online Free Page B

from her ulcer. What was he watching for?
    The Siamese stepped off her chest, turned around three times, and curled up, using her armpit for a pillow.
    Damned useless animal. Why couldn’t he have been a Doberman pinscher?
    Raindrops plopped on the roof. Lightning snapped. Thunder rolled in close behind. The man added wood to the fire in the stove.
    Leah’s hands and feet were without feeling, the muscles in her back, legs, and arms stretched to the limit.
    The man left the window to rustle around on the shelf. And then he stood over her, lighting a candle stub in a saucer.
    Holding the saucer, he sat on the bed, his thigh against her thigh, and put the gun to her head.

Chapter Five
    Leah closed her eyes and waited. She thought of the violent way her mother had died a week ago.
    Tears pushed beneath her eyelids. This couldn’t be happening. No!
    Burning juices surged up her throat and lay rancid on the back of her tongue. She choked against the gag in her mouth …
    â€¦ and felt it being loosened … and then removed.
    â€œNo screaming.” The gun proded emphasis at her forehead. “When your friends come, Sheila, you’re my hostage. When were they supposed to get here? I saw you talking to Charlie.”
    The candle reminded her that it was her birthday, probably her last. Her tears cleared and the flame narrowed, undulated. Leah opened her eyes and saw two flames.
    â€œSheila?” His voice sent both flames into a frenzy.
    â€œMaalox. The bottle on the table that was … in my purse. Please!”
    Her stomach gurgled dangerously in the silence. The cat lifted its head and looked at Leah’s middle.
    The candle moved closer until she could feel the heat of the flame. “Are you on something?” he asked.
    â€œNo. I’m sick. Oh, please.”
    The flame and the cold metal moved away. Now was the instant to scream … and to be shot while helplessly tied to a bed. At least her mother had made a play for dignity by doing it herself.
    The man and his candle returned with the Maalox. He tasted it and spit, cleared his throat, put the bottle to her lips. The candle and the gun were in the same hand.
    Leah drank the last of the thick chalky fluid. The cat lay warm across her stomach.
    The man sat against her again. “Now—”
    â€œI’m not Sheila. I don’t have any friends coming. My name is Leah Harper.”
    â€œI know. And a damned poor cover. What’s happened to old Welker? He could have done better.”
    â€œI don’t know any Welker. I’m—”
    â€œAn innocent bystander, I know. We don’t have time for this, Sheila. When’s Charlie due? He couldn’t have been far behind me.”
    A car on the road behind the cabin, its headlights brightening chenille. He lowered the candle and she could see the scratches her nails had left above the stubby beard line.
    His head turned with the sound of the car’s passing, his eyes in shadow because of the slight overhang of his forehead, the thickness of his eyebrows. Something desperate in the tense way he sat listening to the car. It made him seem all the more dangerous.
    â€œWe’ll just wait then. I’ve got you, at least.”
    â€œYou won’t have me much longer if you keep me tied so tightly.”
    He bound the wet gag across her mouth, felt her hands and feet, and loosened the bonds. He’d used her clothes for ropes. Her feet were tied with a blouse and a button clanged against the metal bedstead as he worked.
    Leah moved her hands and feet up and down and around to warm them. She lay in that degrading position and watched him blow out the candle and sit on the other bed to wait for “her friends.” The cat left her stomach and crawled up beside him. He stroked it automatically.
    Rain pelted the roof, dripped somewhere on the floor. The cat purred.
    Leah drowsed because she didn’t dare to, fought it off, drowsed again, slept,