Courage Dares by Nancy Radke Page A

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