Free Willing Hostage by Marlys Millhiser Page B

was bright with moon and stars and he didn’t use the flashlight.
    Finally, he stopped and drew her back against him. A darkened building loomed ahead in a small clearing, its roof sloped steeply on both sides like a capital A. His bundle hit the ground with a soft thump and his other hand covered her mouth. They stood in this fashion, listening to each other breathe and to little rustlings in the trees.
    He picked up the bundle and they moved slowly toward the clearing, stopping again at its edge. Glade pulled her toward the building, unlocked the door with a key from his pocket, and ordered her inside.
    Leah faced a wall of window in the same A-shape as the roof. The moon flooded a room that was a combination bedroom, living room, kitchenette, and bar. Her tired tennis shoes sank into thick-piled carpeting.
    He turned on a dim light in a cubbyhole bathroom, told her he’d give her three minutes, pushed her in, and closed the door.
    When she opened it, he was mixing himself a drink using only the moon for light. She went to her duffel for a gulp of Maalox.
    Glade ordered her to take off her sweater, sweat shirt, and shoes and to lie on the bed. Pulling a rope from his bundle, he tied her wrists and ankles leaving a foot-long connection of rope between. He pulled the covers to her chin.
    She watched, hating him, as he stood at the window and finished his drink, took something white from his bundle, and disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the shower running, the thumping of his elbows against the shower stall. Leah worked frantically at her bonds.
    But she was still tied when he stepped out of the bathroom, looking darker in white T-shirt and jockey shorts, rubbing his hair down with a white towel.
    Glade pulled back the covers and crawled into bed beside her.

Chapter Twelve
    Leah felt along the rope that bound her ankles. Where was the knot?
    The man had sprawled on his stomach and fallen asleep the minute he’d hit the pillow. He’d turned the back of his damp head to her and now he smelled like a wet dog. Leah was still trying to locate the knot and making grandiose plans for escape when she too fell asleep.
    She awoke to daylight, sounds of small animals skittering on the roof, and to find herself snuggled up to Glade’s warmth.
    Easing away to the cold part of the bed, she hoped the hungry rumble in her middle wouldn’t awaken him. The knot must be around her wrists somewhere … and then in disbelief, Leah realized that during her quiet struggle one ankle had come free. The rope was under her heel. This careful man had slipped up and that renewed her confidence.
    She slid the foot out and then the other ankle from the loosened loop. Elated, she crept from beneath the covers and edged over the bottom of the bed to the floor, her wrists still tied.
    It was a small but elegant bachelor’s pad, complete with stereo and moss-rock fireplace and even.…
    Leah stood shivering and incredulous … a telephone sat atop one of the boxed stereo speakers.
    Glade still had not moved. For someone on the run, he slept like the dead. Leah stepped carefully toward the telephone, the rope dangling from her wrists. She picked up the receiver … and heard a dial tone. Her luck was finally changing.
    She glanced over her shoulder and froze with her finger in the O on the dial.
    Leah hadn’t been able to describe the color of Glade’s eyes to the young patrolman or the sheriff’s deputy at Walden. But she could have now. Because they were open. And directed at her.
    They were as dark and deadly as the rest of him.
    He sat up, blinking away sleep. “Do you know?” he said with a yawn. “You are a real honest-to-God, first-class pain in the ass.” It was the longest sentence she’d ever heard him speak.
    For his size, he moved with incredible speed to cross the room and cradle the telephone receiver.
    They studied each other silently, Leah forcing her eyes to meet his.