Held Read Online Free

strapped diagonally across me, and in fact my arms were free, though I felt very weak. I could tell from the sounds and the motion of the vehicle that I was no longer on the plane. Had there really been a plane?
    It was intensely hot in the vehicle, and I couldn’t remember ever being so thirsty. “I need water,” I said. My voice came out in a raspy whisper.
    I was handed a bottle of water and I gulped it down without caring whether it was drugged or poisoned. If I didn’t have water I’d die anyhow.
    Try to escape, I reminded myself. But I knew it was hopeless; I couldn’t even hold on to the empty water bottle and it slid to the floor. At least the hat and wig were gone. I wondered what that meant.
    “Where am I?” I asked.
    “In a van. We’re almost there.” It was the same man; he was clearly the one in charge of this part of the abduction. I noticed again that he had a British accent, along with his other accent—Greek, or maybe something else.
    The heat in the van was making me sweat and the blindfold began to slide down my nose. “My blindfold is loose,” I said. I was afraid it would fall off by mistake, and I’d see my hostage-taker. I knew from hundreds of movies and TV shows that if you saw criminals, they had to kill you.
    He reached over and tightened the blindfold. As his hands touched my hair, I had one of those flash memories—a mother at a birthday party tying a blindfold on my eyes for Pin the Tail on the Donkey. For a split second I could smell the birthday cake, and I even remembered the dress I was wearing: dark-pink satin with black buttons.
    If only this were a game too, and any minute now someone would pull my blindfold off and laugh at the joke they’d played on me.
    I felt more helpless and vulnerable than I would have believed possible. I didn’t even know what country I was in—what if we were in Iraq? Or some other distant, war-torn place?
    I began to cry uncontrollably. I was sure it was over for me. No government ever released prisoners under pressure from hostage-takers—it would only encourage more hostage-taking. My hostage-takers would fail, and they’d kill me. That is, if their intention really was to free a prisoner. Maybe it was something even worse. I thought of Mom, and what it would be like for her to lose me. I was unbearably sad for her, and for my grandparents, and of course for myself.
    The man handed me a tissue and said, “We’re not in a war zone. You’ll be safe.” How did he do that—how did he read my mind? My face must have betrayed me, just like Angie’s. Or else he was experienced and knew exactly what hostages went through, step by step, detail by detail. Because he’d done it before. And I was only the next victim.
    A hundred thousand women disappear each year —Mom had said that in the airport. She was warning us to be careful, not to trust strangers, not to take chances. We’d both laughed. And even Mom had smiled at her overprotective, overly anxious warning.
    And now it had happened to me. I had disappeared. I wondered when Angie would realize that I’d vanished, when she’d call the police. I said I’d be home by noon, and she knew I’d never change my plans without telling her. Even if I lost my phone, I’d find a way to reach her. She must have tried calling me all day. She’d have contacted her parents by now, and I was sure they’d call the police. Not that it mattered. It was already too late.
    Poor Angie! She’d blame herself. She was such a sensitive and emotional person—how would she cope? I thought of all the TV shows we’d watched together in which police detectives had to find serial killers before they tortured their next victim to death. Angie always covered her eyes when there was any sort of violence or suspense. Even if she knew there’d be a happy ending, she couldn’t bear to watch.
    At least I’d left her that note. It would be a million times worse if she thought I’d gone off on my own because I was