Retriever Ransom

Chapter Seventeen

Unfortunately I'd had it right the first time. My phone was still out of service range. It was Denise's that had just rung. If I got out of this alive, I’d definitely need to switch carriers.

Denise awakened with a start and fumbled to answer. "Hello?"

She listened for a moment, then said, "Hang on, I can barely hear you. I'm putting you on speaker."

I thanked my lucky stars for stupid criminals.

“Can you hear me now?" Mr. Thompson's voice rang out loud and clear.

"Yes, that's better," Denise answered with a relieved sigh. "Now what were you saying?"

I pretended that I wasn't paying attention by focusing my gazing toward the window. Really though, I sat taking in every single word.

"We really got lucky running into Russo like we did," Thompson said on the other end of the call. “Dennison’s already agreed to resign as long as we let the girl go."

"We agreed to that?" Denise questioned; her words slurred from drink.

"I made sure not to state those exact terms," Thompson added with a cruel laugh.

Denise laughed, too, but it didn't seem to reach her eyes. Was it possible she could be undergoing a change of heart?

I could only hope.

Thompson continued. "He'll be going on the five o'clock news to tender his resignation live. One last publicity stunt before he goes out with a bang,” he added, placing eerie emphasis on that final word.

Denise squirmed uncomfortably.

"You have the gun, right?" Thompson asked after a brief pause.

"Yes," she said, quietly pushing herself to her feet. "It's been right here beside me the whole time." She began to search the cabin for what I assumed was the weapon in question.

"Good. Keep it on you in case she gets feisty. You never know with that one.” Thompson paused, but his wife didn't say anything in response as she continued her search.

"I'm going to stay nearby to keep watch,” he informed his partner in crime. “Just in case that fool Dennison tries to contact someone for help. I've already threatened to expose his false kidnapping, but he might still be stupid enough to try and double-cross us. Speaking of, keep a close eye on that door. He may try sneaking back to the cabin to grab the dog, and if he does..."

His words trailed away, and Denise picked up where he’d left off. "If he does, then I’ll welcome him with my gun.”

"Good girl," Thompson said, irritating me with the way he addressed his wife. They exchanged a quick I love you before saying goodbye.

Once Thompson was off the other end of the line, Denise finished her search at last, extracting the gun from where it had been hiding.

She picked the semi-automatic up and studied it in her hands. "I was hoping things wouldn't get violent," she said, not realizing the irony of her words.

Not only had they attacked and physically dragged me here, but they also planned to kill me before the day was through. Not violent, indeed. "

You don't have to do what he says, you know," I whispered quietly, hoping to fill this woman with a sense of sisterhood. "Just because he's the man, that doesn't make him in charge."

"Of course he's in charge," Denise replied with a firm shake of her head. "It's always been that way, but I don't mind."

"All right,” I acquiesced.

And then a short while later started in on a different tact. “Tell me about your kids," I suggested.

They had to be around my age. Maybe if I could get her to make that connection, it would warm her to me. Maybe it would save my life.

I’d already decided it was worthless trying to appeal to her husband's sense of humanity. He’d made it clear that when he came back, I'd be taking the long goodbye.

But Denise…

With Denise, I had hope yet.

She rambled on about her two sons and their many, many great accomplishments.

“The boys are both lawyers, like their dad, although they’d both moved out of state after college,” Denise explained as her eyelids began to lower.

Yes, this was good. If I could just make her a little sleepier, then maybe I’d have a fighting chance.

"Now that you told me about your sons," I said, keeping my voice at dull and even cadence, “let me tell you about my family. First, there's Nan..." I went into great detail describing every memory I could think of that concerned my grandmother, listing out every single hobby she'd ever expressed even a passing interest in. I hadn't even reached my teen years by the time Denise had nodded off again.

Thank you, Nan. It seemed she was with me in spirit even if she wasn't here physically.

With Denise back asleep, I returned to tugging at my bonds once more. A part of me wished in vain that Denise had left a bit of "painkiller" for me.

As I worked on the rope, I surveyed my surroundings.

Marco dozed happily by the fire. Would waking him up also awaken Denise? Could I convince him to help me even though I didn't have any reason to trust him the way I trusted my own animals?

I just didn't know what to expect from the food-motivated pup, especially since he'd been raised by an owner with exceedingly questionable morals.

That left me to my own devices.

Denise had a gun.

There was also an empty bottle, which could be smashed open and used as a weapon. The dog treats on the mantle may be able to help me control the golden retriever.

And then there were the jagged window shards that still lay scattered along the floor.

Could I lean back far enough in my chair to grab one without tipping over and use that to cut the rope that bound me? Yes, that was my best shot. I just had to take it really slow and hope for the best.

Using the tips of my boots, I pushed my way across the cabin floor, struggling on the carpeted parts, until at last I reached the wall. I used one hand to hold tight to the windowsill, praying it would be enough. If I lost my balance and went crashing to the floor in this chair, that would surely wake Denise—and when she realized what I was doing, I’d be done for.

Maybe she'd even call Thompson who would move up their murderous plans. Not good for me at all. Leaning back, I pushed with my toes and strained with my fingers while leaning back as far as I could. I’d have to let go of the windowsill if I wanted to grab a piece of glass. But would I be able to make it?

First, I had to test everything carefully. Could I take it far enough without toppling over?

Oh, I hoped so.

After what felt like an eternity of maneuvering, testing, and trying, I finally decided to make the grab. I took several deep breaths and forced myself to focus on the task at hand.

This was life and death—and I definitely knew which one I preferred.

I closed my eyes and leaned back toward the floor, only opening them again when I felt the tips of my fingers brush the ground. That was when a heavy figure flew through the window and landed right on my chest, pushing me to the floor amidst the broken shards of glass. Fresh cuts opened on my hands and arms, while the sound of the crash sent Denise jumping to her feet.

What had just attacked me?

Had Thompson come back already?

Was this really the end?

Only one way to find out…