Free Army of Two by Ingrid Weaver Page B

cupboard open.
    But neither of the men remarked on it. There was a clatter as something fell to the floor. Paddles, by the sound of it. She started as an object thumped against the back of their hiding place. From the corner of her eye, she could see the flash of a red life jacket. Mitch returned his hand to the gun.
    The man with the large boots came back. He picked up the life jacket. The canoe creaked, as if he was sitting against it. There was a rustle of cellophane and a metallic click. A lighter. A few seconds later, the smell of cigarette smoke wafted past her nose.
    Dodson laughed. “So that’s why you didn’t complain about checking this place again.”
    “Those stairs are a bitch. Gotta have a rest before we start back up.”
    “Give me one of those, will you?”
    Chantal didn’t have a hope of calming her pulse. It was racing out of control. Instead she concentrated on breathing as silently as possible. It seemed the men had decided to take a smoke break. Here. Beside the very canoe she and Mitch were concealed beneath.
    Mitch rested his cheek on the back of her head. Even through the layers of clothing that separated them, she could feel the increasing tension in his body. He was trying to keep most of his weight on his knees and elbows, but he was a large man. She was conscious of every inch of him. His chest pressed into her back with each breath he drew. That, and the cigarette smoke, made it hard for her to get enough air. She angled her face toward a gap in the floorboards, hoping for a fresh draft. She got a lungful of musty air tainted with diesel fumes instead.
    “What are you going to do with your share of the take, Dodson? Get yourself another tattoo?”
    He snorted. “I’m going to Vegas.”
    “Can’t wait to lose it all again, huh?”
    “No way. I’ve got a system. All I need is a stake.” He shifted. The canoe creaked more loudly. “What you going to do with yours?”
    “Figured I’d go down to South America. I heard they’ve got beaches where the chicks go topless.”
    “You better keep your cash in a nice, fat roll.”
    “Why?”
    “So you can store it down your pants. That’s the only way the babes’ll notice you.”
    “That’s crap. Babes love me. Didn’t you see the way that chick up there couldn’t stop looking at me?”
    “Which one?”
    “The little redhead. She reminds me of a stripper I knew in Chicago.”
    They were talking about Rhonda, her summer student. She was the only redhead among the hostages.
    “Yeah, she’s hot. We’ll save her for the last.”
    “I don’t care what Knox says, I say we do that kid first. He’s getting on my nerves.”
    Do? she thought. What did they mean?
    “Knox needs him to keep the mother in line.”
    There was a sucking sound as Taddeo drew hard on his cigarette. “I’ll bleed the kid in front of them. That’ll keep them all in line.”
    Realization dawned. Do. They’d meant kill. They were discussing killing Henry as casually as they’d spoken about spending their money. There had been no change in their tone. They continued to smoke and chat like a pair of ordinary workers on a coffee break. She pressed her lips tightly closed, fighting for control. Her chest spasmed.
    Mitch took her hand again and squeezed. Hard. This time he didn’t let go.
    Dodson crushed his cigarette butt beneath his boot and stood. “Whatever. We can’t start taking them out yet anyway, Taddeo. Knox said three more days. We gotta follow his plan.”
    “He’s wasting our time, if you ask me. That fat dude ain’t gonna screw with us.” The canoe slid an inch backward as Taddeo pushed to his feet. His cigarette butt bounced on the floor and rolled toward Chantal’s face. “He’ll do what he’s told.”
    She stared at the burning tip of the cigarette. Smoke curled from the dust around it. She thought about the wooden floorboards she and Mitch were lying on, the log walls around them and the oil slick the sunken launch had left on the water