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considered lunging sideways, but before he could stir, something hard was shoved into his side. "This is a .357 Magnum. If I were you, I'd get up nice and easy." |
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Although disguised, the voice was vaguely familiar. Philip Rousseau's? Mike knew no one else crazy enough to pull such a stunt. He turned his head slowly but saw only a ski maskand the gun now pressed to his temple. "Got a good look? Good. Now maybe you won't try anything else." |
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There was a quaver in the voice. Maybe whoever it was felt as scared as he did. Philip? Mike wasn't sure. |
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At least there was only himself to worry about. Thank God he'd only imagined he'd heard Abby calling. He didn't know what he'd do if she were there, too. |
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And then, turning slightly to assess his chances of escape, he saw hera small bundle on the ground beside the car. She was in one of her long skirts. Her lovely pale brown hair spilled about her face, and she was not moving. |
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Without thinking, he lunged toward her, only to be brought up sharply as his captor shoved him against the Bronco. |
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"What did you do to her?" he snarled, frightened beyond belief. She was as still as death. He could not see her face beneath her hair. |
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"She tried to play hero," their captor said. "I didn't want to hurt a woman. I never wanted to hurt a woman, but sometimes . . ." The voice lost its low, masked growl and rose in hysteria. Mike was not sure what was more frighteninga cold, |
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