The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [119]
One could only hope. . . .
“How was your night? I trust you had lots of friends to keep you company?” The voice was light and cheery. “Nothing quite like a good party, is there, Dina?” She paused, then called, “Dina?”
Open the door. Come on, open the door. I’ll take you down in a heartbeat. . . .
There was no answer from within.
“Dina, for heaven’s sake, I know you’re in there, and you know that I know you’re in there. So stop playing games. We’ve things to talk about, you and I.”
But still, there was no response.
Open it. You know you want to. . . .
“You’re really trying my patience; you know that, don’t you?”
Silence.
“Look, you can stay in there until you rot for all I care.”
Tentative footsteps made their way around the shed, as Dina’s captor seemed to be circling the small building and studying it as if it were a puzzle.
Hesitation. Confusion.
The footsteps retreated.
“Well, that was effective,” Dina muttered. “I guess I showed her, all right. . . .”
Dina processed the little information that she had. Her captor was apparently a small woman, judging by her light step. Though hungry and thirsty, Dina was otherwise strong and in excellent physical condition. Adrenaline made her stronger still. She felt confident that she could take her captor one-on-one. Unless, of course, she was armed. . . .
Was she armed?
Dina heard the sound of a car engine, tires squealing as if making a tight U-turn.
Then, nothing.
Silence had apparently been the wrong approach.
Dina paced the small room, rubbing her wrists with hands from which the blood still ran in places and dripped onto the floor. The air was close and stale, and the temperature was beginning to rise.
She looked around for something she could use to break out another pane of glass to permit more fresh air into the dusty confines of the shed, but there was nothing. She took off one shoe and jumped up to bang it against the glass, then tried to shield her face from the splinters that rained down.
“Damn,” she muttered, gingerly shaking glass from her hair. “If I keep this up, I won’t have to worry about what weapons she might have. I’ll just bleed to death.”
With the end of her T-shirt Dina mopped up the blood from several slices on her right cheek that had been made by falling glass.
“All in all, worth it,” she said aloud as she examined the shirt. “At least now there’s a little more air in here.”
Dina jumped up again at the window, hoping to break out at least one of the upper panes, but found them beyond her reach. She put her shoe back on, then went back to the window to look out.
The window itself was set high in the wall, too high for Dina to see much beyond the trees that bordered the fields. She knew the property only by reputation but knew it was a very large tract. The house had been empty for at least six months, and it was unlikely anyone would be making a social call anytime soon.
Dina gritted her teeth and kicked at what appeared to be a soft spot in the wood. The clapboard bent softly but did not break.
Okay, maybe over here where the boards were broken . . .
But even her most ferocious kicking left the boards intact.
Damn.
What she wouldn’t give for that bottle of Deer Park spring water that sat in her bag in the Jeep.
Dina tilted her head, listened, and smiled. The car had come back. A car, anyway. Too bad the window looked out over the field instead of the road. She’d just have to wait to see.
But yes, the footsteps drew closer. Her captor had returned.
“Okay, Dina. Here’s how it’s going to be. I’m going to give you one last chance—that was one—to tell me where Jude is. I suggest that you speak up.”
The woman’s voice paused. When Dina did not respond, she asked slyly, “Don’t you want to know the ‘or else’ part?”
“Sure. What’s the ‘or else’?”
“I knew you couldn’t resist.” There was a soft chuckle. “The ‘or else’ is or else I’m going to set fire to your little home.”
“I don’t suppose you