Read Online Hostage by Willo Davis Roberts - Free Book Online Page B

home.
    He pulled a wicked-looking knife out of a scabbard on his belt and cut off a length of clothesline. I yelped when he tightened the rope around my wrists. “It hurts!” I protested, but he didn’t loosen it.
    â€œTough,” he said. “Get used to it.”
    He was close enough to me so I could smell him more than before, an acrid, sour smell of nervous sweat.
    â€œCome on, Bo!” one of the others shouted, and he gave me a threatening look as hewound the rest of the rope around a table leg so it and the chair and I were secured together.
    â€œDon’t try anything or you’ll get hurt,” he threatened before he left me there.
    I didn’t have any confidence that I wouldn’t be hurt no matter how cooperative I was. From where I sat, I could see the broken glass in a window over the sink, confirming my guess about where they’d broken in. The table wasn’t heavy; I could have dragged it with me toward the sliding doors onto the rear deck, but then what? I couldn’t get loose, and I couldn’t get untied to be free of the chair.
    For a person who’d read so many adventure stories about people who rescued themselves from dangerous situations, I was doing a terrible job of coming up with any kind of solution to my own mess. The rope was digging into my wrists, and I wondered how quickly the circulation would be cut off enough to do real damage. Tentatively, I tried to slide my chair across the vinyl floor. It made a horrible screeching sound, and I stopped, heart pounding, afraid Bo would hear it and come back.
    For a moment or two I heard their voices,and then I figured they’d gone out the front door and were either too far away or were being quiet to avoid attracting attention.
    It was very quiet in the house. I tried to control the hammering of my heart, tried again to think clearly. There must be something I could do that would help.
    A shadowy movement at the sliding door that opened onto the back deck brought my head around so fast that my neck cracked painfully.
    There was a figure out there, small and in a flowered dress. The woman pressed her face against the glass, her hands up on each side so she could peer into the kitchen more easily.
    Mrs. Banducci!
    I sucked in an excited breath. “Help!” I called out, hoping she could hear me. The sliding door wasn’t the glass that was broken, however, and I didn’t think I’d caught her attention. It was shadowy in here, and bright sunshine outside, making it hard for her to see into the kitchen.
    Then I realized she hadn’t seen me. She tried the slider, which of course was still locked. I was afraid to yell any louder for fearof attracting the attention of the thieves. “Run for help!” I urged, unsure of whether or not my voice could reach her.
    The old lady pulled back from the glass with a scowl on her face and turned away with no indication that she’d spotted me there, tied to a chair. I didn’t dare yell any louder. I could hear the men coming through the house. I could even make out their words.
    â€œWhat are we going to do with that kid?” one of them asked. “She’s seen our faces. She can describe us to the cops.”
    I shook my head at Mrs. Banducci, hoping the movement would make it easier to see me. “Run!” I said, but softly because I didn’t want them to hear me. “Get help!” But I knew she didn’t hear me or see me, either one.
    She withdrew from the sliding-glass doors and disappeared, leaving me ready to fly apart in all directions.
    The voices were coming nearer. “Are we going to have to shut her up permanently?”
    My throat closed, and I was begging silently, Please, God, please God, let her have seen me! Let her get to a phone!
    â€œNobody has a gun,” the reply came, just outside the kitchen door. “How you want to do it? Drown her in a bathtub? Burn the house down around