Island Deathtrap by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton [Pendleton, Don]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780373610563
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 1983-07-28T00:00:00+00:00

11

The fingers of Wilmer Moore's big-knuckled hand closed about Becky's wrist hard enough to inflict pain. Refusing to show any emotion at his cruelty, yet careful not to antagonize the lecherous man, the girl regarded him with dark, watchful eyes.

"You've made your point. What do you want me to do?"

"Just follow along for the time being." He put his words into action and moved in the direction of the rear door of the farmhouse.

"If we're going outside, I'd like to put my sneakers on first."

His laugh was all-knowing, full of mockery.

"Take me for a proper fool, don't you." The fin­gers that imprisoned her wrist turned in a twisting motion.

Becky Devereaux flinched at the unexpected in­crease in pain in spite of her resolve. Imagining no alternative that didn't involve another facial bruise, she followed him from the room.

At first she thought the battered old Dodge was their ultimate destination. It proved to be but a stop­ping point where Wilmer gathered a red battery powered flashlight and a pair of wrenches. Seconds later he ordered her to pull open the sliding door of the small barn.

Weathered to the point where not a flake of the original paint remained, the barn leaned as though to avoid a direct confrontation with winter winds. The structure was like those who peopled the desolate area. It was simply too stubborn to give in. It just continued to survive year after testing year.

Once inside, Wilmer thumbed the flashlight to glowing life. The beam circled the dirt floor until it fell upon a length of chain. He tugged the girl forward.

"Sit."

"Here? On the ground?"

"That's what I just said, little lady." He bore down on her wrist to give emphasis to his words.

Becky sat. The earth beneath her was oil-stained and spotted with the drippings and drainings from the crankcases of poorly maintained vehicles.

He shone the light directly in her eyes. Becky's right hand came up to shield her contracting pupils from the glare.

"I'm going to let go of your arm, Becky. I'm going to fit a little iron bracelet around your ankle. It won't hurt unless you make me want to cause it to hurt. But let me warn you, little girl. If you do anything to try my patience, I'll for sure put my boots to you. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"I understand." Her voice was low and contained the hatred she'd vowed to hide.

True to his word, Wilmer released her left wrist in exchange for the corresponding ankle. The sudden­ness of his gesture caught her off-balance. Unable to get either hand behind her quickly enough to support herself, Becky's head thudded onto the hard-packed earth. He jerked her bare ankle upward to the level of his own waist, keeping her unbalanced and unable to do more than attempt to get her hands behind her.

Cold metal bands encircled her slim ankle. A bolt-hinge joined the two pieces of metal just above her Achilles tendon. They met at the front of the ankle. Wilmer slipped a bolt through the matched holes drilled in the free ends of the metal shackles.

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