Tony Hill u Carol Jordan 08 - Cross and Burn

memorise these unremarkable features. But in a split second her determination gave way to dismay. She’d watched enough crime series on TV to know that if they let you see their face, it was because they were planning to kill you. A wordless moan came from behind her gag and this time he slapped her hard. ‘If you did what you were told, I wouldn’t have to hit you, would I?’ His tone was reasonable, as if he were explaining to a child why they shouldn’t stick their hand in the fire.
    He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her into a sitting position. Then he gripped her upper arms and yanked her to her feet. She heard a metallic rattle as she struggled upright and looked down. A shiny metal cuff was secured to her ankle with a heavy padlock. A sturdy-looking chain trailed backwards from the padlock. He forced her forward and the chain came too, a heavy drag on her ankle.
    From somewhere, Bev dredged up a shred of determination. What about all those cases where girls and women had been taken captive and ended up escaping? She could be one of those. She wasn’t a quitter, she was a survivor. Whatever it took, she could find it in herself. Without making it obvious, Bev checked out the room she was being marched across. Cement floor, workbench, blank walls covered with hooks that held tools and garden equipment. A garage, then. He was pushing her towards a door that stood ajar in a side wall. He shoved her hard through the door, making her stumble and fall. Polished stone tiles, wooden cupboards, a fridge. A kitchen, then. Bev tried to get to her feet, but with her hands fastened behind her, it was impossible. She heard the rattle of the chain then slid across the floor as he pulled on it. The skin round the cuff tore, giving her a new centre of pain.
    When she came to a standstill, he kicked her thigh, so hard she felt the muscle numb. ‘You’re mine now,’ he said. ‘Do you understand? You’re my wife. If you do what you’re told and you behave like a good wife should, everything will be fine. But if you give me any grounds for complaint, I will hurt you. Is that clear?’ He spoke with an educated Northern accent, at odds with his working man’s outfit. She couldn’t pin his origin down precisely. Never mind. It was something else to store away for the future. Bev didn’t know how, but it might be useful.
    He picked up the slack in the chain and waved it at her. ‘You see this? The other end is chained to the wall. There.’ He pointed to a solid metal eye screwed into the door frame. ‘Don’t even think about it. Four screws, each one three inches long. You’ve got free range for the length of your chain. There’s no knives within reach. Nothing you can hurt me with. And I’ve got this.’ He took a slim black object from his trouser pocket. ‘It’s a taser. That’s what I used on you when I took you out of your kennel. Remember how that felt? Well, that was just a taster. A taster of the taser.’ He smiled at his own cleverness. ‘I can disable you from twenty feet away.’
    All at once, her hands were free. He stepped smartly clear of her. Bev looked round to see him dangling a pair of pink furry handcuffs, the novelty kind sold in sex shops. His lips were turned up in a parody of a smile. ‘Don’t be under any illusion, Bev. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you make me, I will.’ He backed away from her, putting some distance and a breakfast bar between them. He pulled out one of the high stools and set it against the far wall. She wasn’t good at estimating distances, but even she knew they were less than twenty feet apart.
    Bev looked around her, trying to work out whether she had any options. A dining kitchen in a modern house. The rear wall had been opened out to lead into a conservatory. All the blinds were drawn and they were effective. She couldn’t even tell if it was day or night. She couldn’t see out and nobody could see in.
    She was shackled at the far end of the room, nearest to the garage door. She could reach the appliances – cooker, hob, dishwasher, fridge. But she wouldn’t make it past the island in the middle of the cooking area. All the doors of the ground-level cupboards had childproof fasteners. There might be potential weapons inside but they would take too long to get at, she reckoned. By the time she’d unfastened the locks, he’d be on her, taser knocking her over, boots flying.
    The worktops were clear of appliances and there was no sign of