Courage Dares (6 page)

He leered at her, his voice with its cruel overtones turning her stomach to ice. Throwing up her hands, Mary backed away.

He followed and grabbed for her hair, missing as she ducked. "We've got all night."

"No!" Mary screamed. She threw herself behind Judd, shoving his unyielding bulk toward Ramone. "Keep him away from me. Please!"

Frantically, she clawed at Judd’s arm, her knuckles white as she clutched the slick fabric of his coat sleeve. "You're the boss. Stop him."

He stared at her in disdain. "Why?"

Mary cringed as Ramone fingered the wooden back of the old chair with a sensuousness that had nothing to do with the feel of the grain. He stroked it as if it were the softness of her skin.

Bile rose, strong and bitter. Time stopped.

Outside the isolated farmhouse the rain beat down, the rising wind forcing water through the cracks in the shattered windows. Inside the three candles sputtered in protest, sending dark smoke trails twisting upward, casting long web-like shadows across the moldy walls.

"Keep him away," Mary repeated, clutching Judd's arm.

With an oath, Judd grabbed her hand and threw it aside. " I don't baby-sit my men."

"But you must. Stop him," she demanded, panic rocketing upward, overwhelming her. The room swayed and grew darker as the blackness invaded her mind. "Don't you understand?"

"Stop him yourself," Judd said with a snarl.

Mary cringed, unable to break away from Ramone's gaze. His face became the only object in the room.

"No!" She stepped backwards, one hand reaching out to hold back the unthinkable. “No!" She kicked a cardboard box aside roughly, and backed up four more steps. Five. Six.

Ramone stalked her easily, his intent evident. He licked his lips and walked closer, his fingers beckoning her.

Then someone grabbed Mary from behind, and Ramone stopped, scowling in anger. “Keep outta this,” he snarled.

Mary glanced over her shoulder at Ira's knife-scarred face and close-cropped, military-style haircut. He held his knife in his right hand, its blade gleaming as it moved like a deadly cobra. His grip tightened and she struggled, crazed with terror as her mind clicked back to the men who had attacked her mother.

The room swirled. She collapsed into blackness.

Entering through the kitchen, Connor dropped the buckets of water, instantly alert. Something was wrong. He could see the worried indecision on the thugs' faces.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Mary's voice— and yet it wasn't. It sounded like a child's terrified cry.

Connor charged into the main room where Ramone and Judd stood opposite Ira and Mary. The lanky killer stood behind Mary, a knife in one hand— held away from her, but there, nonetheless.

She sagged across his arm, her head bobbing like a rag doll when he shook her gently. Her face had paled to a deathly white.

"Mommy!" Mary cried out.

Connor winced. "Hang on!" he yelled, running to her. He grabbed Ira's knife hand and pushed it away. "Let go of her, you coward! You're scaring her to death."

"Watch yourself," Ira warned, but allowed Connor to take the shivering woman into his arms.

"Can't you see what you've done?" Connor accused him, gently shifting Mary higher in his arms. She wasn’t a dead weight, which meant she was still conscious. But her high pitched keening sent tremors through him. He wanted to kill Ira with his own knife.

He had to tell them about Mary so they would be more cautious— if it wasn't already too late.

Ira stared at him. "What's wrong with her?"

"Her mother was murdered in front of her. The killers used knives. Mary was nine."

"I was holding it away from her. I didn’t threaten her."

"You didn't need to."

"She was running from Ramone. All I did was stop her—"

"Ramone?" Connor exploded. "If you let that maniac loose on Mary—"

"Don't worry. He'll leave her alone." A fierce warning accompanied the growl of Ira's voice as he spat a look of hatred toward Ramone. “He knows better than to mess with me.”

"She's already living on the edge. If he pushes her over, she won’t return. Then she'll never lead you anywhere."

Connor paused, feeling her slight weight sagging against him. Why had he ever left her, even for a second? Anger flared, this time at himself. He had never felt so helpless. Talking his way out of things wasn’t his method, but he had to to keep Mary alive.

He glared at the men. "You have to treat her with care. That means keeping that scum-bag under control."

Mary huddled in upon herself. She could feel Connor's arms supporting her, keeping her on her feet. Safe arms. She burrowed into them, her hand clutching the ivory dragon on its chain. The jagged edge dug into her palm, the pain returning her to reality.

She had to resist the past to stay in the present.

"Hang on, Mary." The deep rumble of his voice— Connor's voice— the low-pitched tones, soothed her. She could feel the black cloud receding. "Mary? Can you hear me?"

She managed to nod. "Connor." She thought the word. Had she said it? "Connor." This time Mary heard herself say it. She opened her eyes. Cautiously, she peered about.

Ira stood in front of Ramone, one hand raised to warn him off. Then Judd grabbed the dark-haired predator, spun him around and shoved him into the kitchen.

“It’s all an act,” Ramone protested, trying to shake off Judd’s hand. “It’s as phony as she is. Let go of me.”

"Keep him away from her," Connor demanded. "Far away." His voice dropped, became gentle as he added, "It's okay, Mary. You'll be okay."

Mary pushed herself closer against Connor, her legs still unable to hold her up.

"Take some deep breaths," he suggested.

She did. It helped. She wanted to cry, but squinted hard instead. She put her head against his chest, seeking to stay within the shelter of this stranger who had become her fortress.

Mary knew what was wrong, having fought the cold, clammy fear before. She gulped in more air.

"Keep him back, Connor," she begged.

"I will. That's a promise. Right now, Judd's got him. He'll hobble him."

"Judd didn't sound,” she paused to gasp, “like he cared what Ramone did."

"I think he's convinced."

Releasing the front of Connor's coat, Mary hunched her shoulders, crossing her arms tightly while she allowed her mind to clear completely. Several more deep breaths and she could stand alone, although Connor continued to hold her. She lifted her head to gaze into his eyes.

He smiled at her, a smile of genuine thankfulness that she had returned from the darkness. His smile helped fortify her. She tried to smile in return, letting out a long sigh.

Ira stepped closer, his knife now sheathed. "What happened when you were a child?" he asked. "I'd like to avoid
that
again." He glanced around. “We all would.”

She looked at Wes, Judd, and Ramone, all standing within hearing distance, intent upon her answer.

That day.
The doctors always made her talk about it, saying it helped to bring it out. The images remained vivid, but each time she described it, the impact lessened.

"We were... in the Middle East. My Dad worked there. Some soldiers came, late in the afternoon. Drunk."

She paused, gathering strength from Connor's arms wrapped so securely around her. That day remained burned on her mind, as vivid as the day it happened. The one event she’d like to forget refused to fade into the past.

"They broke down the door. Mom hid me in a large wicker basket— my toy box. Threw some clothes over me. But I could see, through the cracks, and hear it all. Everything that happened. They trapped her in my room." She shuddered, feeling again the terror of that day. "Just a few feet away."

She raised her eyes to stare woodenly at Ira. "They carved her up with their knives. Ones like yours."

He wore two, one in his boot and another in a webbed shoulder sheath. He held up the knife he had used to kill her neighbor and rolled it over slowly in his hand.

She trembled at the sight of the double-edged blade which came to a spear-like point at the tip. A knife made for death.

"I don't use my knives on women," he said, his voice solemn. "You have my word on that." He turned away, leaving Mary hanging onto her sole support. Connor.

"It's okay, Mary," Connor said again. "Everything's okay now." She wished it were true.

She felt like throwing up, and fought against the urge. Courage. She squeezed the dragon harder.

"After they killed my mother, they started ransacking the place. When they went into another room, I jumped out the window and ran.

“I didn't trust anyone. I hid in abandoned houses— like this one—" She shuddered and stopped, staring at the far wall, with its torn and dirty wallpaper.

"Why don't you make up that supply list?" Judd said.

"Now?" Mary shook her head slowly. It was the last thing she wanted to do. "It's after nine. Why not in the morning? You'll have to wait for the stores to open up, anyway."

"I thought it might take your mind off—"

"Maybe. But right now I’d probably forget something vital. Tomorrow's better."

Connor let Mary step away from him, and immediately felt the loss. He wanted to pull her back into his arms. He didn’t know who posed more of a threat to him and Mary— Ira with his knives or Ramone. Or Wes. None of them could be trusted. Ira sounded sincere, but Connor couldn’t believe the word of a killer.

He watched as Judd walked around the dirty room. Going over to a large cardboard box, Judd peered into it, then kicked it against the wall. Empty, it flipped upside down.

"Where's the food, Wes? I'm hungry."

"Don' ask me, Boss. Ramone had the van. You told him to git some while we did the phone calls."

"That's right. Ramone?"

"What?" The predator, still seething, snapped a reply.

"Where's the groceries?"

Casting a surly look at Judd, Ramone swore loudly. "I didn't buy any. I told you, I'm not paying for you. If you want food, get it yourself."

"I suppose you ate already."

"So sue me."

"Easier to shoot yuh," Wes declared. "I'm hungry."

"And I'm broke," Ramone claimed. "Send out for pizza."

"There's plenty of money at the end of this. You'd get it back," Judd reminded him.

"I said I was broke."

"Why don't I believe you?" Judd stepped threateningly toward the smaller man.

"You'd better." Ramone fumbled at the gun in his shoulder holster and Judd slapped his hand down, then shook him hard.

"Next time I send for supplies, bring some back. Understood?" He slammed Ramone against the wall, making the boards crack in protest.

"Sure." The answer, although grudgingly given, seemed to satisfy Judd.

Bad blood ran among the men, Connor decided. They were like dogs, surly and snapping at each other. Perhaps he could get them to fight each other so he and Mary could escape. Maybe tomorrow, when one or two went for supplies.

Mary asked Connor to move her sleeping bag beside his. When he did, she smiled in evident relief. Her soft, glowing gaze transformed her face, changing her from pretty to beautiful.

His heart did a quick flip.

He had to get her away from these men— especially Ramone. He had to be ready to take advantage of anything chance.

They allowed him to use the bathroom before they retied him— at least it had a door on it—and he fretted when Mary asked to go. Ira stepped forward, one look stopping Ramone in his tracks.

Ira seemed to have appointed himself her guardian, at least as far as Ramone was concerned. But if they ever got the chest, what then? Ira wouldn’t keep Judd from killing her.

The four took turns, one standing guard while the others slept in their light-weight sleeping bags on two old mattresses.

Connor followed Mary's example and let himself sleep. The floor felt hard, but at least he and Mary would get a full night's rest. Her father's large sleeping bag, although well-worn, was filled with goose down— too hot to zip up in the farmhouse. He’d appreciate it on the trail.

He had barely drifted off when Mary sat upright next to him, gasping and muttering, her incoherent words shocking Connor fully awake.

"What is it?"

"Help. Stop. Mommy...." She threw herself toward him, her upper body landing next to his. Her voice sounded like a frightened child again. His heart sunk. His mother had said that only Mary’s father had kept her in the real world.

"It's all right. Mary. They're gone."

She might not recognize his name in her nightmare, so he tried her father's. "It's, um, daddy. Warren. You're okay."

"Ummm." As he continued to talk, she quieted down, her head nestled in the cradle of his arm and shoulder. He had become her touchstone to reality.

His mother had said that Mary had approached the edge once when her father was killed, once when she saw a knife-thrower at a carnival, and earlier as a teen-ager when her date tried to come on to her. Her reaction had frightened him to the extent that he had driven her to the emergency room.

Mary was courageous, but her mental condition remained fragile. The sooner they escaped, the better.

He rolled sideways, shifting his weight away from his hands and felt the ropes with his fingers. He had pulled his hands slightly apart as Ira tied him, and had been able to make the bonds looser. He hadn’t given them a determined try yet, wanting to wait until the men slept.

He started to pick at the knot.

Brilliant sunshine greeted Connor the next morning. The crisp air, vibrant with golden light, lifted his spirits. One or more of their kidnappers would have to go for supplies today. It would reduce the number of guards, opening an opportunity to escape. He grasped that hope, hoarding its beckoning promise.

Freedom. When the chance came, he would act.

Wes took the van and came back with donuts, coffee, and two boxes of cold cereal, also some milk and Styrofoam dishes. They wolfed the cereal down, each eating a half box of the sugared flakes, with Judd taking the lion's share, Mary the least.

They didn’t bother to untie Connor or feed him. He didn’t mind. He wouldn’t be with them after today.

Mary seemed to be back on her feet, Connor thought, as he watched her with admiration. After finishing her cereal, she worked on the list of supplies they’d need, slowly adding items until she had filled three pages.

Trail food, candles, canteens, tents, and clothing— it sounded like Mary had included everything but a snowmobile. Connor hoped it’d take all their kidnappers' money— and most of the day— to buy everything.

"How do yuh know she's putting down the right stuff, Boss?" Wes asked, scowling.

Mary answered for him. "I'm going into those mountains with you, so I'll make sure you get the right things. This list looks long, but there’s certain gear you absolutely must have for winter survival. An army-navy surplus store should carry all these things."

She paused to look from Wes' bruised face to Judd's arrogant one. Her head lifted, appearing confident, as if daring the men to doubt her.

Connor felt a glow of pride. Mary hadn’t stayed down long. Perhaps she wasn’t so fragile after all. Either that, or it helped her to fight back, even in this small way.

"Some of the items I include might not seem necessary," she continued, "but I've been all over these mountains, pulling out bodies of people who went in poorly equipped. It pays to be overly prepared. We're going to need stoves, ropes, tents. Snowshoes. I wouldn’t skimp on any of these things."

Her words made Connor wonder. Was she making the list long to make them shop longer, or because they really needed all those items? He had hiked a lot, and done one session on winter survival. He hoped he lived up to her standards.

It didn't matter. He’d get her away, today, if it killed him. He couldn’t give Ramone another chance.

Wes looked at Mary’s list. “We’ll git it all, won’t we, boss? If I’ve got to go into those woods, I wanna have what I need.” He fingered his cigarette nervously.

“That’s the attitude,” she said. “The avalanche danger is high right now. We’ll be lucky not to get caught. Extremely lucky.”

“And if we do?”

She looked at the list and added some extra items. “Get six avalanche transceivers, one for each of us. They can be set to send or receive signals, and will beep under the snow so the rest of us can dig out whoever gets caught. Unless we all do. We’ll also need a couple of collapsing poles—to probe with.”

They loosed Connor for a few minutes to use the bathroom, then re-tied his hands and feet. He had pulled his bonds tighter during the night. Fire burned through his fingers as the blood again flowed freely through his hands. He welcomed the pain, knowing it meant they’d recover.

Mary stood up and stretched.

"Finished?" Judd asked.

"Yes."

"The stores should be open soon. Ramone, you stay here and guard these two."

"Right." Ramone's lecherous gaze immediately swung to Mary, and Connor stiffened.

"Not wise," Ira countered, shaking his head. "Someone’s got to guard Ramone."

"Good idea, Ira. You stay, too. What's your boot size?"

"Twelve. Narrow."

"Ramone?"

"Ten and a half."

"See you." Judd picked up the list and folded it in quarters, carefully matching the edges. "You be good, Ramone."

Ramone snorted and stalked outside.

"Watch him, Ira."

"Of course."

"And watch him." Judd pointed toward Connor, then he took Wes and left. Soon Connor heard the van rattle away. It was time to start putting together an escape.

Mary remained untied. Maybe she—

"You need anything before I tie you?" Ira asked her.

Connor saw her glance his way before replying. "A drink."

"Use one of those Styrofoam bowls," Ira said, waving her into the kitchen. "Cups are gone."

She hesitated at the entrance and motioned toward the dirty dishes that had attracted flies. "What if I clean up some of this? It's enough to make us all sick."

"Don’t bother. We’re not coming back."

He followed her into the kitchen and Connor shifted to where the head of a nail protruded from the wall. If he had have spotted it last night, he could’ve tried to untie himself with it.

He worked the ropes up and down against the nail head for a full minute before Ramone came inside carrying an iPod. The gunman moved the lone chair to a point across the room and set it down. Then, his lips curling back into a sneer, he strolled over to Connor.

Connor tensed, keeping his hands still. Ramone was highly unpredictable, capable of kicking him in the head just for sport.

At that moment, Mary entered and asking if she might sort and re-pack her supplies. Ira shook his head, frowning, then motioned for her to rejoin Connor. Ramone grabbed the rope and hastened to tie her, touching her face and sliding her hair across his open mouth. He laughed gleefully as she cowered from him.

"No!" Mary cried, her desperation tearing Connor apart. Never before had he been unable to defend himself or others. He raged silently against his bonds.

Ira strode forward, his voice a low growl. "Not!"

Ramone frowned, fuming, yet the single word seemed sufficient warning. Shooting Ira a surly scowl, he pushed Mary down beside Connor, then stalked away.

With a low, muttered curse he put in the earphones and sat down across the room. Still fuming, he felt around for a cigarette, lit up, and retreated into his own world.

Seeing him settled, Ira stepped outside into the bright sunshine, picked up a small piece of wood and began to whittle on it. Connor noted that Ira positioned himself so as to see through the open door.

Ramone's dark eyes continued to drift over Mary. Connor didn't want her to dwell on it.

"Why offer to do their dishes for them?" he asked quietly, wanting to divert her attention. Ramone had the music cranked loud enough Connor could hear it. Therefore Ramone couldn't hear him. "I sure wouldn't help them."

"Anything but sit and wait. Besides, dirt bothers me. I must have things clean. "

"I see." Dirt meant a sloppy mind to him— a disregard for cleanness equated to a disregard for rules. He’d never fly with anyone who wasn’t meticulous.

She looked around. "I've always dreamed of having a small country home— sitting with my husband and three children around the fire, popping corn, playing board games. This poor house, long ago, might’ve been a decent place."

"Could you stand it? It's isolated," he said.

"I could stand anything as long as I had my husband with me. The nights are the hardest. I’ll never marry anyone who couldn’t be home at night with me."

It reminded Connor of the nightmare she had just had. If they escaped— when they escaped, she might never sleep peacefully again.

"I hoped you might’ve seen a kitchen knife, to cut me free."

"Good thought. But I didn’t see any."

"Ira tied me loosely this morning. You could untie me if we got a few minutes alone."

"Not much chance of that."

"You're right. If only we could get a knife. I’d be able to handle the two of them, at least long enough for you to escape."

They sat in silence for a moment, Connor running over possibilities in his mind. He could ask Ramone to retie him, complaining his bonds were too tight, but Ramone would call Ira in first. Once they saw Connor’s ropes were loose, they’d tighten them.

The nail didn't offer much to work with, but it was better than nothing. He had most of the day to try to undo the knot— Mary's list had seen to that. He had to make his movements small enough that Ramone wouldn’t notice what he—

"I have a Swiss army knife." Mary's softly spoken words broke into his churning thoughts like a shaft of light.

"You do? Where?" Connor could’ve kissed her and then scolded her for not mentioning it sooner.

"In my pack. In a small outside pocket along with toilet paper and some matches."

"Wonderful." At last he could act. "You have to get it, Mary. This clothesline rope they're using can be cut in a second.”

“All right.”

“We could wait until they're distracted, but our best chance is now, with just the two of them watching us. Give some excuse to open your pack. Something they can't question."

Glad to have an outlet for her churning thoughts, Mary bowed her head. "Let me think," she replied, wondering what excuse she should use. She chewed on her lower lip as she considered different possibilities, but only one seemed certain to work.

"I've got it." She looked up. "Ira," she called, raising her voice.

"Yes?" He stopped whittling. Both men stared at her.

"I need to use the bathroom. Please."

"Sure." He walked inside and glanced over at Ramone. "Out."

"No way. I'll take her," Ramone offered, leaping to his feet, his voice belligerent.

"No."

"If you weren’t so fast with those knives..."

"Move."

Ramone moved, grudgingly, taking his time. Ira watched him all the way out before escorting Mary to the bathroom door. He untied her hands and stood watch outside.

She took the time to use the toilet and wash her face and hands in the bucket provided, then flushed the toilet with the bucket of water. When she emerged, she tried to look embarrassed. "I'm afraid it wasn't quick enough. I need to get some, uh, dry umm things— out of my pack."

"Oh. Oh, sure."

She didn't dare look at Connor as she hurried to where her suitcase and pack were piled with the rest of her gear.

Ira stood near, but not over her, and she rummaged through her things, slipping the knife out of the side pocket and hiding it under her knee while she retrieved a pair of panties from the suitcase.

They covered the knife in her hand as she walked back to the bathroom. A quick change, then she opened the largest blade and slid the knife into her back pocket with the point up. Her sweatshirt covered it from view. She washed her panties with water, then walked back out, squeezing them dry.

"Where can I hang these?" she asked Ira.

"Don't. It's not wise."

"Oh. Sure." She stood still, wondering what to do next.

Ira pointed toward her pack. She put the panties into an outside mesh pocket where they’d dry, then walked over to allow Ira to retie her. As he pulled her hands behind her back, she panicked. Would he feel the bulky knife?

Arching her back, she held her hands out as far behind her as they could go. Ira didn't seem to notice and she gave Connor a wink as she sat down next to him, her back against the wall.

Ira tied her feet at the ankles, then strolled over to the door and stepped outside. "Okay, Ramone. Switch."

As soon as Ira had his back turned, Mary let out the breath she had been holding. As he stepped through the door, she yanked out the knife.

"Here." She held it up behind Connor and felt the pressure as he rubbed his rope back and forth over the blade. She kept it sharp and felt the ropes give before Ramone, insolently taking his time, even entered the doorway.

If they could get free now...

Connor grabbed the knife and reached over quickly to cut her hands loose. She kept her gaze on the doorway, expecting Ramone to walk through any minute. Instead, she heard him complaining to Ira.

"Who gave you the right to be boss around here?"

Leaning forward, Connor sliced the ropes around his feet, then reached for hers.

"I did. Any complaints?" Ira replied, his voice sounding as cold as the February air.

Mary gasped, for Ramone had entered the doorway. He paused, blinking in the dim light. Connor quickly lowered the knife, and froze, as did Mary, holding her breath lest Ramone notice any movement.

They were so close. If Ramone caught them.... But Connor was free. He said he could fight off two men, if he had to.

They’d shoot him rather than fight. Mary knew that by now.

Then Ramone turned back toward Ira, intent on having the last word. "Just ‘cause we were cellies in prison, don’t give you any rights."

Connor thrust the blade under the ropes around her ankles and severed them all with one yank. He sprung to his feet, grabbed her arm and pulled her with him.

Unfettered movement! Freedom!

"Out," he whispered, shoving her ahead of him into the kitchen. "Down the trail."

She heard Ramone yell as she flew out the rickety kitchen door, running as if the house were burning down behind her.

Squinting against the brilliant sunlight in the crystal-clear air, she raced down the only avenue of escape— a narrow pathway hacked through the blackberry patch that surrounded the old house.

Himalayan blackberries, they towered eight to ten feet above her head, their thick thorns ready to catch anyone who ventured close. The brambles formed an impenetrable barricade as effective as any jail bars.

With Connor behind her, Mary ran down the rough path— then stopped, aghast at what lay in front of them.