Free The Runaway Bride by Carolyn Keene Page A

friend’s sleeve and dragged her toward the corner of the building. “We’ve got to hide!”
    George obeyed instantly. A second later the security door was flung open and Mad Dog came stomping out. He was dressed in jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt. He glared at the rain, pulled his hood over his head, then started across the lot on foot.
    â€œI want you to follow him,” Nancy whispered to George. “I’m going to search his studio. So keep an eye on him, and make sure he doesn’t come back right away. If he does, you’ll have to distract him long enough for me to get out. Okay?”
    â€œOkay, boss,” George said, and set off across the lot.
    Nancy set her umbrella down, then got her credit card out of her purse and started working on the lock. The door clicked open and she walked in.
    Inside was a dimly lit concrete hallway. Off to the right was a red door, and to the left was a metal staircase. Nancy figured that Mad Dog’s studio was on the second floor, since she’d heard him coming down the stairs.
    She proceeded quietly to the second floor. At the top of the stairs was another hallway, and halfway down it, another red door. Nancy went up to it and tried the knob. Not surprisingly, it was locked—and with a complicated bolt lock to boot.
    She reached into her purse for her lockpicking kit, glancing around nervously as she did. Shenoted that the hall was a dingy tan color with badly peeling paint. A few bare bulbs hung from the ceiling, bathing everything in a sickly yellow light. What a depressing place, she thought.
    Nancy started to work on the lock. She hadn’t gotten very far when she heard a strange noise coming from inside the studio. She froze and listened. There was a long silence—then, a few seconds later, the noise started again. It was a faint tapping sound, like that of fingers drumming against a tabletop.
    Nancy moved closer to the door and pressed her ear against it, pushing her rain-drenched hair away from her face as she did. Then, before she knew what was happening, two powerful hands seized her shoulders, wrenched her away from the door, and flung her against the wall.
    Pain shot through Nancy’s back as it met the hard concrete. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to recover from the impact, then glanced up quickly. She found herself staring into Mad Dog’s blazing eyes. His black hooded sweatshirt was soaking wet and clinging to his bulging chest and arms. George was nowhere in sight.
    Mad Dog grabbed her shoulders again and pinned her tightly against the wall. “What do you think you’re doing breaking into my studio?” he growled in a low, menacing voice.
    â€œLet go of me,” Nancy said in as calm a voice as possible.
    His hands tightened on her shoulders. “Tell me what you’re up to—now!”
    Nancy’s mind raced frantically, trying to find a way out of her predicament. And where was George? “I was coming to see you, to talk to you about Midori—” she began.
    Mad Dog cut in angrily, “You were coming to see me with a lockpicking kit. Well, you’re not the only one who carries useful tools.” He pulled a Swiss army knife out of his jeans pocket and flicked open a small, sharp blade in one swift motion. He held the blade to Nancy’s throat. “You tell me what you’re up to right now, or I’ll—”
    â€œStop it!” someone shouted.
    Mad Dog’s knife fell away from Nancy’s throat. Nancy turned her head to see who had spoken. Mad Dog’s door was open and a familiar figure was standing there.
    It was Midori.

Chapter

Ten
    M IDORI’S GAZE was fixed on Mad Dog. “Let go of her,” she said sharply. “She’s my friend.”
    Nancy was flooded with conflicting feelings—happiness, shock, relief. “Midori!” she burst out. “You’re okay! But what are you doing here?”
    Mad Dog loosened