Deadline

Fifty-one

The chain round her neck was choking Emma so badly she could hardly breathe as he dragged her through the hallway. The cellar door was still open and he pushed her towards it.

Oh God, she couldn't go back in there again, not having come so close to freedom. And she knew that if she went back in, this time she definitely wouldn't be coming back out. Not alive, anyway. She went limp in his arms, and he cursed.

'Come on, move it,' he snapped, angry now, pressing the blade of a penknife he'd produced earlier against her ribs.

She stayed limp, and started to make horrible choking sounds, as if she was dying.

'If you're fooling me about . . .'

He let her drop to her knees and loosened the chain a little.

'Water,' she gasped.

'All right,' he said, hauling her to her feet and manhandling her through the hallway in the direction of the kitchen. 'You can have some water. Then we'll have some—'

He suddenly stopped as they reached the kitchen door and he switched on the light. She felt him go tense.

'Where is it? Where the fuck is it?'

He shoved her roughly inside, letting go of the chain and sending her sprawling to the floor.

'The bag!' he yelled, his voice filling the room. 'The bag with the fucking money! It was on here!' He pointed a gloved hand at the empty kitchen table. 'Where the hell is it?' He paced about inside the room, rubbing a hand over his face beneath the balaclava, his eyes wide and angry. 'I can't believe this. Someone's taken it. Someone's taken my money.' He stopped and slammed his hand down on the table, hitting it so hard the legs wobbled. 'My fucking money!' he roared at the ceiling.

Emma cowered, terrified, pushing herself into the corner of the room, away from his rage and frustration.

'I'm going to find whoever's done this,' he muttered. 'I'm going to find him now. And when I get hold of him . . .' He shoved the penknife he was holding back into the pocket of his jeans, then yanked open one of the drawers, took out a huge kitchen knife and ran a finger along the blade. 'When I get hold of him, I'm going to fillet the bastard.'

He turned and pointed the knife at Emma. The blade shone in the glare of the overhead lights.

'Stay there, all right? Don't you dare move an inch if you ever want to see your mum again. OK?'

She nodded, trying not to sob. 'OK.'

He swung round and stormed out of the door, knife in hand.

And immediately cried out in surprise.

The next second he was flying back through the door with another man hanging on to him and shouting something that filled her with sudden and delirious relief: 'Armed police! Drop your weapon!'