fishermen of some kind, though, and she knew enough to know that there were several marine knots that would have been better.
Maybe he was a landlubber. Maybe he liked sex games and the handcuff knot was all he knew. Whatever the case, she was grateful. She wasn’t sure she could untie the overhand knot with one finger, but she had a better chance than if he’d known what he was doing.
M aggie picked at the overhand knot for what felt like hours, but probably wasn’t. With the windows boarded, she had lost confidence in her sense of time.
Her hands, like her, were small, and her fingers short and deceptively delicate for a woman who could work the oyster beds and fire several weapons accurately. Her middle finger wasn’t quite long enough for her to gain any purchase underneath the overhand knot, so somewhere along the way she’d switched to picking at the threads of the rope itself to try to dig herself something that she could manipulate.
If she could get the simple overhand knot loose, the handcuff knot itself would become expandable and she could be free. To do something she wasn’t sure of yet.
Sky and Kyle dropped in and out of sleep, and Maggie herself nodded off for a few minutes at a time. She was groggy and she was slightly nauseous, and she wondered if she had a mild concussion from either the gun butt to the head or her fall on the stairs.
The man, too, had slept for a few minutes here and there, his chin falling to his chest before he jerked it up again and quickly checked to make sure she was still where he’d left her.
At one point, she had found herself trying once more to engage the man in conversation, more to keep herself awake than anything else.
After looking over at the kids to make sure they were asleep, she had quietly cleared her throat, and he’d looked over at her.
“Why don’t you just take me outside and shoot me? Why sit here all night? You could just be done with it and walk back to town.”
His upper lip had curled just slightly, like she’d put a plate of salad in front of him when he’d asked for a steak. For some moments, she’d thought he was going to ignore her again, but then he spoke.
“Because I ain’t here for me. I’m here on someone else’s part,” he’d said.
“Whose?” she’d asked, though she hadn’t really expected an answer.
He’d glanced over at the kids before he replied. “You’ll know that soon enough,” he’d said, then he’d tried to make his call for the hundredth time.
He’d slapped the phone down after a few seconds. “Damn storm.”
Then he had walked over to look at her bookshelves again, and she’d gone back to her rope.
Maggie hadn’t realized that she’d dropped off again until the noise woke her. The plywood was wrenched violently from the kitchen window, then banged against the side of the house as it was blown away.
Apparently, the man had fallen asleep at some point, too, for both he and Maggie jerked their heads up, and he jumped out of his chair. He looked just as surprised as she was to see daylight. Somehow, Maggie had started to believe it would always be night.
As the man looked out of the kitchen window, the kids roused, and Maggie checked her rope. She had managed to dig herself a ragged little hole in one part of the overhand knot, but she hadn’t yet managed to pull the knot any looser. She dug what was left of the nail of her middle finger into the niche and went back to work trying to pull it loose.
Her best hope was that once she did loosen the ties, she would have a moment while he used the bathroom or was otherwise occupied somewhere else in the house. He seldom left the main room, but he had wandered on occasion. If she were quiet enough, and fast enough, she might get to one of the weapons that he had left strewn on the kitchen counter last night. His .22 was still in his waistband, and she wondered why he didn’t just switch it out for her Glock. She would.
He turned away from the kitchen
Maybe he was a landlubber. Maybe he liked sex games and the handcuff knot was all he knew. Whatever the case, she was grateful. She wasn’t sure she could untie the overhand knot with one finger, but she had a better chance than if he’d known what he was doing.
M aggie picked at the overhand knot for what felt like hours, but probably wasn’t. With the windows boarded, she had lost confidence in her sense of time.
Her hands, like her, were small, and her fingers short and deceptively delicate for a woman who could work the oyster beds and fire several weapons accurately. Her middle finger wasn’t quite long enough for her to gain any purchase underneath the overhand knot, so somewhere along the way she’d switched to picking at the threads of the rope itself to try to dig herself something that she could manipulate.
If she could get the simple overhand knot loose, the handcuff knot itself would become expandable and she could be free. To do something she wasn’t sure of yet.
Sky and Kyle dropped in and out of sleep, and Maggie herself nodded off for a few minutes at a time. She was groggy and she was slightly nauseous, and she wondered if she had a mild concussion from either the gun butt to the head or her fall on the stairs.
The man, too, had slept for a few minutes here and there, his chin falling to his chest before he jerked it up again and quickly checked to make sure she was still where he’d left her.
At one point, she had found herself trying once more to engage the man in conversation, more to keep herself awake than anything else.
After looking over at the kids to make sure they were asleep, she had quietly cleared her throat, and he’d looked over at her.
“Why don’t you just take me outside and shoot me? Why sit here all night? You could just be done with it and walk back to town.”
His upper lip had curled just slightly, like she’d put a plate of salad in front of him when he’d asked for a steak. For some moments, she’d thought he was going to ignore her again, but then he spoke.
“Because I ain’t here for me. I’m here on someone else’s part,” he’d said.
“Whose?” she’d asked, though she hadn’t really expected an answer.
He’d glanced over at the kids before he replied. “You’ll know that soon enough,” he’d said, then he’d tried to make his call for the hundredth time.
He’d slapped the phone down after a few seconds. “Damn storm.”
Then he had walked over to look at her bookshelves again, and she’d gone back to her rope.
Maggie hadn’t realized that she’d dropped off again until the noise woke her. The plywood was wrenched violently from the kitchen window, then banged against the side of the house as it was blown away.
Apparently, the man had fallen asleep at some point, too, for both he and Maggie jerked their heads up, and he jumped out of his chair. He looked just as surprised as she was to see daylight. Somehow, Maggie had started to believe it would always be night.
As the man looked out of the kitchen window, the kids roused, and Maggie checked her rope. She had managed to dig herself a ragged little hole in one part of the overhand knot, but she hadn’t yet managed to pull the knot any looser. She dug what was left of the nail of her middle finger into the niche and went back to work trying to pull it loose.
Her best hope was that once she did loosen the ties, she would have a moment while he used the bathroom or was otherwise occupied somewhere else in the house. He seldom left the main room, but he had wandered on occasion. If she were quiet enough, and fast enough, she might get to one of the weapons that he had left strewn on the kitchen counter last night. His .22 was still in his waistband, and she wondered why he didn’t just switch it out for her Glock. She would.
He turned away from the kitchen
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