to have a daughter who wore a Misses size ten. It might be a wife, but there was certainly no sign of her outside of this room. Whoever she was, Cy wasn’t inclined to explain. The topic of cyanide bubbled up in her brain but she pushed it away.
The wood floor was cool under her bare feet. She padded over to the glass case and squatted down. It took several minutes to spot the small brown ball that wasn’t more than two inches long. The frog’s skin was satiny and spangled with black freckles. As she moved to get a side view, the frog startled forward. It bent its long, almost translucent legs to hop, but fell over instead, landing on its side on the mossy floor of the cage.
She could see the gold eyes watching her. Maria’s throat constricted. How helpless it must feel, exposed, terrified, unable even to make it to the sheltering corner a few inches away. “How did you get hurt, little frog? What will happen to you?”
She knelt next to the cage until a chill made her legs stiffen. When the light was out, she lay in bed, shivering against the cold sheets. With the tiny lamp turned off the room settled into quiet darkness, broken only by the whoosh of rain against the walls. Poor frog. Was her mind still active, trapped in a lifeless body? Tears wet her pillow until she dashed them away. Not now, Maria. You’ve got enough to deal with. Pray. It’s all you can do.
“Thanks, God, for keeping us safe tonight and providing us with shelter and warmth. Please give me the courage to face tomorrow.” Her eyelids grew heavy. “And please, God, take care of the frog, too.”
Her eyes snapped open. She lay there, heart pounding, wondering what had awakened her. The darkness was complete; her watch told her daybreak was still hours away. It came again, the soft crunch of a footstep outside. She bolted to a sitting position, blankets clutched around her.
What should she do? Call Cy? She scrambled through her backpack and looked on the floor for the scrap with his number on it. “Oh, no. I must have dropped it somewhere.”
She slid out of bed and hurriedly pulled on the pink sweat suit. Her skin prickled when she heard the sound again, closer this time, as if someone was walking a few feet from her window.
Had Cy locked the doors? Was she easy prey for the men who were looking for her? Her bare feet met the cold wood. As quietly as she could, she tiptoed down the corridor, praying the floorboards would not give away her location.
The house was dark, silent. Her panic increased with each passing step until she reached the kitchen. Sidling up to the window, she peered out into the darkness. The beam of a flashlight just outside the kitchen door flooded her body with terror.
A scream fought its way up to her mouth, and she sucked in a deep breath.
She watched in horror as the doorknob slowly turned.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
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