suddenly with a way-too-loud jangle of metal. Jayne fell backward onto her butt in shock and froze.
Had he heard that
?
She’d planned on running, but there was only one way out of this basement. And her captor was up there.
She could try to sneak out. Was the basement door even locked? She’d been chained. Her kidnapper
might
have assumed a lock wasn’t necessary. No. If he caught her on the steps, he’d have the advantage of higher ground, and possibly knock her down the steps. She’d wait. See what he did. He had no idea she was trained in martial arts. She had surprise on her side. What could she do to look even more helpless?
She quickly reached for a bottle of water, opened it and poured it out behind the steps, out of sight, bringing the empty bottle back and leaving it on its side in the dirt. If he’d doctoredthe water, let him think she’d drunk it. The old house had a low basement ceiling. Jayne stood on her toes and loosened the light-bulb in its fixture. Her eyes had adjusted to the gloom. Maybe his hadn’t.
Footsteps neared the basement door. Jayne’s heart thumped at the base of her throat. All her training boiled down to the next few minutes.
But would it work?
She turned to the wall, stuck the hook back in its hole and brushed away the pile of fresh dust on the floor. Squatting down onto her butt, she eased down onto the floor, curling on her side and keeping her feet between her and her captor. Her legs were her strongest weapons. She left some space to maneuver between her body and the wall.
Panic stiffened her neck. She fought the tension and allowed her head to loll onto the dirt floor. Feeling the heavy chain sag on her wrists, she grasped the links between her hands a few inches above the cuffs. She tilted her face down and let her long hair fall across her eyes.
The footsteps came closer. The basement door opened with a rough scrape. Jayne peered through the curtain of hair. Light illuminated the stairs as a silhouetted figure stepped down onto the first tread. Against the bright light of the open doorway, her captor was a shadow. A hulking, black silhouette.
He flipped a switch on the wall and grunted when the bulb didn’t illuminate.
Inside its ribbed cage, her heart pumped frantically. Adrenaline screamed through her veins. Her body protested the stillness, pleading with her to move. She fought her flight instinct and the ragged breaths that hitched from her lungs.
She’d trained for this. She could do it.
But panic still skittered through her head like a desperate rodent bolting for its hole.
The man switched on a flashlight and yanked the door shut behind him. The beam swept the dark recesses. Jayne closed her eyes as it passed over her. His boots rang as loud as gunshots on the wooden treads as he descended.
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs with a rustle of nylon. Jayne’s heart stuttered when he trained the bright beam directly in her face. Unsure how much her hair covered, Jayne forced her facial muscles to relax.
Through her lids, the light flickered and dimmed.
Her captor hesitated, as if deciding if he should approach her. Jayne peered through her lashes and forced lungs that wanted to pant in terror to maintain a slow, even rhythm. She grew light-headed from the effort and perceived oxygen deprivation.
He took a few steps forward—close enough that she could smell the mix of evergreen and sweat his body emitted. His foot stopped next to her hip. He nudged her with the toe of his boot. Jayne let her body go lax; her head lolled.
He shifted his weight as if still uncertain. He pulled his leg back and kicked her sharply in the thigh. Pain shot up Jayne’s leg. She couldn’t hold back a soft moan as she rolled to her back, drawing her knees up to her chest as if in agony.
The beam from the flashlight flickered again, then went out. He tapped it in his palm.
Taking advantage of the momentary diversion, Jayne grabbed the ankle next to her hip. She
Had he heard that
?
She’d planned on running, but there was only one way out of this basement. And her captor was up there.
She could try to sneak out. Was the basement door even locked? She’d been chained. Her kidnapper
might
have assumed a lock wasn’t necessary. No. If he caught her on the steps, he’d have the advantage of higher ground, and possibly knock her down the steps. She’d wait. See what he did. He had no idea she was trained in martial arts. She had surprise on her side. What could she do to look even more helpless?
She quickly reached for a bottle of water, opened it and poured it out behind the steps, out of sight, bringing the empty bottle back and leaving it on its side in the dirt. If he’d doctoredthe water, let him think she’d drunk it. The old house had a low basement ceiling. Jayne stood on her toes and loosened the light-bulb in its fixture. Her eyes had adjusted to the gloom. Maybe his hadn’t.
Footsteps neared the basement door. Jayne’s heart thumped at the base of her throat. All her training boiled down to the next few minutes.
But would it work?
She turned to the wall, stuck the hook back in its hole and brushed away the pile of fresh dust on the floor. Squatting down onto her butt, she eased down onto the floor, curling on her side and keeping her feet between her and her captor. Her legs were her strongest weapons. She left some space to maneuver between her body and the wall.
Panic stiffened her neck. She fought the tension and allowed her head to loll onto the dirt floor. Feeling the heavy chain sag on her wrists, she grasped the links between her hands a few inches above the cuffs. She tilted her face down and let her long hair fall across her eyes.
The footsteps came closer. The basement door opened with a rough scrape. Jayne peered through the curtain of hair. Light illuminated the stairs as a silhouetted figure stepped down onto the first tread. Against the bright light of the open doorway, her captor was a shadow. A hulking, black silhouette.
He flipped a switch on the wall and grunted when the bulb didn’t illuminate.
Inside its ribbed cage, her heart pumped frantically. Adrenaline screamed through her veins. Her body protested the stillness, pleading with her to move. She fought her flight instinct and the ragged breaths that hitched from her lungs.
She’d trained for this. She could do it.
But panic still skittered through her head like a desperate rodent bolting for its hole.
The man switched on a flashlight and yanked the door shut behind him. The beam swept the dark recesses. Jayne closed her eyes as it passed over her. His boots rang as loud as gunshots on the wooden treads as he descended.
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs with a rustle of nylon. Jayne’s heart stuttered when he trained the bright beam directly in her face. Unsure how much her hair covered, Jayne forced her facial muscles to relax.
Through her lids, the light flickered and dimmed.
Her captor hesitated, as if deciding if he should approach her. Jayne peered through her lashes and forced lungs that wanted to pant in terror to maintain a slow, even rhythm. She grew light-headed from the effort and perceived oxygen deprivation.
He took a few steps forward—close enough that she could smell the mix of evergreen and sweat his body emitted. His foot stopped next to her hip. He nudged her with the toe of his boot. Jayne let her body go lax; her head lolled.
He shifted his weight as if still uncertain. He pulled his leg back and kicked her sharply in the thigh. Pain shot up Jayne’s leg. She couldn’t hold back a soft moan as she rolled to her back, drawing her knees up to her chest as if in agony.
The beam from the flashlight flickered again, then went out. He tapped it in his palm.
Taking advantage of the momentary diversion, Jayne grabbed the ankle next to her hip. She