Courage Dares Read Online Free PDF Page B

her long dark hair and ached with the urgency to get her out of danger.
    He had her trust at last— now that it was too late.
    He must not act cowed by their show of force. Connor raised his head and glared at the lanky man standing in front of the door.
    "What do you want?" he challenged. The act of fighting back, even if only with words, helped push away his fear, leaving him clear-minded. The police were on their way. All he had to do was keep Mary and himself alive.
    The thug nearest the kitchen answered— the same commanding voice, only this time tinged with contempt. "You know what. The chest. Don't try to stall."
    Connor turned toward the speaker, an ox-like man with broad shoulders and a head somehow attached without any neck. He looked to be in his early forties, his dark hair contrasting with a pallor Connor figured came from prison. His dark brown eyes scorned a gentle expression and his thin lips looked to have never known a genuine smile. His huge hands encompassed a Glock 17 which he wagged threateningly as he spoke.
    "There’s no chest here," Connor told him, knowing they wouldn’t believe him, especially since he was here with Mary. That would leave no doubt in the killer's mind.
    And kill he would. None of these men wore masks.
    "We know better. The letters said Warren Brown had it. Where is it?"
    "Not here. Mary’s never seen it. What’s so important about it?" he added, trying to defuse the situation by getting the killer talking.
    The man sneered, malice cloaking the intelligence in his half-open eyes. "None of your business. Now, tell us where it is, or we take you apart, piece by piece. And since we need her to talk, we'll start with you." He turned toward the lanky man. "Ira. Use your knife." Eager anticipation edged his harsh voice.
    "Sure, Judd." The thinnest of the trio stepped toward Connor, unsheathing a long throwing knife. Slim and deadly. Well balanced. Matte gray to prevent shine.
    Connor felt Mary stiffen and knew what she was going to say even before she spoke. With her childhood tragedy, Ira's knife had to be a worse threat than a gun.
    "No! I’ll tell you," she cried.
    Connor clamped his arm tighter around her. "Don't tell them anything," he commanded.
    "I'll tell you. Just leave us alone," she pleaded, not heeding Connor's admonition.
    "As soon as we get the chest," Judd snarled. He spoke with the conviction of someone used to getting what he demanded.
    "No!" Connor repeated. He made up his mind right then to fight them. He would probably get hurt, seriously, but it’d be worth it, if Mary could escape.
    A person had to prepare himself, mentally, to be hurt. Only then could he withstand an attack. Expect pain. Block it out. Move through it, regardless. Don’t give up.
    He hugged Mary to him. "Let me do the talking."
    The knife man chuckled. His straight blond hair, cropped short, revealed a jagged scar that ran diagonally from his hairline— across his right eyebrow— to his upper right cheekbone. It pulled his brow out of line, giving him a twisted look.
    "That's right, miss,” he said. “Just tell us where it’s at and we'll tie you up and leave you alone. All we need is a good head start."
    "Don't believe him," Connor warned, but Mary spoke again.
    "You must promise to leave."
    Connor drew his breath in with a hiss. Why wouldn't Mary listen to him? "Don't tell them—"
    "Shut up," Wes commanded.
    Connor heard Wes move behind him and stiffened, but still wasn’t prepared when Wes jabbed the Baretta in his back, hard enough to drive the air out of his lungs and bruise his spinal column. He gasped in spite of trying to stay silent.
    Prepare mentally to be hurt. Evidently he hadn't done a good enough job. He took himself in hand, willing his mind to ignore the pain.
    "Can I shoot him now, Judd?" Wes asked, his voice pleading. "Save us a lot of grief."
     
    Mary felt the force of the blow through Connor and cringed. She threw back her head, her breath coming in short, quick