The lone handcuff seems to chaff more now than when they put a pair on my wrists after they first kidnapped us. Maybe it's because I'm past that point where fear is a novelty or distraction. Maybe now, I'm calm enough to notice discomfort and pain.

I am in the dark. He has me in the library for now. I was put here on Ben's orders. One handcuff on one wrist ... the other cuff clasped around the arm post of the couch.  This is, I am sure, considered the royal treatment as I have some movement, even if it is limited.

Ben has been gone for many hours.

I'm supposed to be sleeping. My free hand traces the cover of the novel that Ham gave me, also on Ben's orders. Maybe in the morning I will try to read it ... try to occupy my mind, not think about how I've betrayed and been betrayed.

It is only Ham and I and the leather-faced cohort they call Dibbs.

We're all that's left here at this lodge now.

At least I am no longer gagged.

Jeannette's screams ring in my ear still. I don't think I'll stop hearing them for a while.

His whispers throb inside my other ear. I wipe that ear against my shoulder, as if I can wipe them from my memory that way.

I feel a sob choking me.

I trusted when I should have realized he always was setting me up.

My shoulders shake. I let everything out but I do it silently. I will not take the chance that Ham or Dibbs can hear me ... and that he sits somewhere, waiting on Ham to call him and say I've finally broken down. I have nothing left but my own refusal to show how much he got to me.

After a while, I lean my head back until I feel the couch's back cushion and I sink into the leather comfort. My hand has left the book ... and is caressing the softness of the cushion, gorging on tactile memories ... exhausted, I recognize that I am slipping into slumber and I welcome it.

I dream of this couch.

Of the feel of his body over me.

Of the couch beneath me.

Of him swimming with me in the pool, in the cave. His strong, confident arms holding me. My bargaining done. Wanting him.

I wake with a start. Stare into the darkness. Clench my jaw tightly.

But the truth is ... he is all around me. He is in my every thought, every impulse. I still feel him between my legs. I press my thighs together tightly and feel the physical ache of what we did together. I relax my thighs, move my legs apart.

By far and away, the worst thing is that I cannot stop hearing what he said, those whispers, and I cannot stop the way he made me feel about him, the look in his eyes when he came to my room last night. When he said he'd be leaving today and asked if I would let him spend the night in my bed. The way it felt that he let me choose to open my arms to him.

My breath is ragged. My tears are spent now.

Somewhere out there, Jeannette is about to be safe. But she is in terror ... for me. And maybe he's still with her ... and maybe he's telling her not to worry about me but I know she will anyway. She will not trust him, she will believe he's done something, harmed me in some way or is about to. She will not believe what he told her ... that I am being kept as a hostage while she is being released as a show of good faith ... and that the minute our company successfully negotiates for my release, then he will set me free.

I heard him tell her all this.

From where I am right now. On this couch. I was bound and gagged ... with Dibbs in there, watching me so that I couldn't find any way to signal to Jeannette.

It was just after lunch time that I heard her brought into that central room where we first entered the lodge. Heard Ben offer her something to drink, ask her if lunch had been good ... ask her to take a seat, tell her she was going to be the catalyst for my release.

And if I'd been able to get the gag off, I would have been able to tell her just how much he was lying about. Except as I listened to him, it occurred to me ... of course ... oh, of course ... of course he would not just let me go. Of course he would want money. He's a professional criminal. He does nothing without exacting a monetary benefit to share with his gang.

Like I thought he was telling me the truth? The whole truth?

But I did. And he knows I trusted him.

He explained to Jeannette that the company would have to ransom my freedom. When I heard him say that, I thought I'd heard wrong ... that's not what he'd told me ... he'd never said there'd be a condition to my release ... he'd only said that he'd set me free when he returned and I had assumed it would be because I'd ended up cooperating, giving him the passwords and access to information he needed ... and that I'd willingly agreed to stay as a condition of him setting Jeannette free.

And a part of me had believed he would let me live, let me go free because he felt something for me ... that we'd formed a bond between us, something like ... well, not like love but like ... like an infatuation with each other.

I listened with a sinking feeling over his betrayal as he told Jeannette how the negotiations would take place ... through the personal section of the Tucson paper. He had it all mapped out for her. When the company was ready to deal, they were to put in a message to Red Mountain Man. He would respond with a message from Lady of The Lake. Instructions would follow. He'd thought it through ... and whatever my company's brightest minds might think he'd do after this initial exchange, he wouldn't, I knew that. He'd throw in some wrinkle and they'd never track him. He already knew ... he was that far ahead of us. He always had been.

He'd waited all these days until he'd found my price ... and, then, until I'd finally reacted to him as a person, not as a criminal. But he'd been planning this, setting it in motion all that time. All this time!

Jeannette tried to bargain with him ... to keep her and let me go instead. That if he let me go instead of her, the company would pay more because she was more valuable to them. She appealed to his greed but he was too smart. He chuckled when she said that. Said to his guys who were in there, making a joke of it, that Jeannette must have taken a real shine to one of them to want to stay here so badly. And then they all joined in, laughing, talking crudely about just who it was that Jeannette had her eye on. And how maybe he should come give her a parting gift, show her he wasn't worth it after all.

And there I sat, bound and gagged, listening to her trying to save my life while they all laughed at her. Who deserves friends that true and good? Not me.

When they all got finished laughing, there was silence in the room for a moment before Ben's hard, aggressive voice came through loudly, as if he was suppressing the urge to yell in her face.

"You do what I say," he said to Jeannette, "And you will live. Cross me and you both die. Fuck up the negotiations, and she dies but she won't die easy. I will make her suffer, count on it."

"Can I talk to her ... please? Just let me see her before I go. I want to be sure she's okay," Jeannette asked. "I want ..."

"Did I ever once ask what you want?" he responded. "You just do what I say and be grateful you're gonna make it out of this alive and that I'm giving you a fair chance to save her life. We clear?"

She must have nodded in response. I know Jeannette. She was angry then. Furious. And feeling as if she'd failed to protect me because she's the one in the company who carries the gun and keeps us safe when we're in the field investigating. And she was clear-eyed about Ben. I bet my life on that. She was already picturing revenge.

I had also asked to see her before he took her away. I wanted her to know I was staying voluntarily. That she shouldn't worry ... that Ben had promised he'd let me go. But Ben had smiled at me when I asked. He'd said, softly, that he couldn't do that and that if I thought about it, I'd see why he couldn't. I'd said to him, is it because you think I'll tell her about the robbery ... tell her that she shouldn't believe what she'll hear about Little Rock?

And he had nodded to me ... and then settled in over me, kissing me, spreading my legs. On the mattress in my bedroom where he'd spent the night in my arms and I'd listened to him telling me about his wish that we'd have met at some other time in his life, some other way ... when he could have shown me the man I could have fallen in love with.

Maybe I knew that was just sex talk, the way a man may say foolish things in a moment when he's feeling anything's possible that would keep him feeling mellow and all. It just didn't feel like that to me.

I should be ashamed.

Later, I asked again ... I promised that I would say nothing to her, keep my mouth shut, just let her see that I am okay and let me see that she is okay. And he laid on his back, looking up at me as I played with his hair and maybe I was feeling too mellow, too. Because I didn't look too far into his words when he said that while he couldn't let me see her, he'd let me listen in when he told her what would happen ... and then I could hear for myself that he would tell her I'd be going free, too, just later.

Oh, I heard all right. I heard him telling her. And now I understand why he had me gagged. Because he wanted me to hear so that I'd understand just how bad what I'd done was. That I'd see that I never should have trusted him. I never should have felt anything for him but revulsion because he was a murderer and a horrible man.

I should never have believed I saw anything else in his eyes or words. I should never have betrayed my own friends, my company, my good name.

And once he's laid it all out to Jeannette, once she understood what was happening, he'd had his men drag her out of there. And I'd heard her screaming my name ... over and over ... "Grace! Grace! I'm coming back for you, Grace! Don't give up, Grace!"

He said my face was white.

When he came in after she was outside.

He opened the door to the library, saw me there, motioned Dibbs out of the room. Then came and knelt before where I sat, handcuffed and gagged.

"She's going to be fine," he said softly, playing with the cuffs that were then around both my wrists, like he was concerned they too tight. Then touching at the gag and looking in my eyes. "I'm leaving Ham and Dibbs here. I can't spare any more men. I'm sorry, Grace, but we'll have to keep you cuffed up. With only two boys, they can't watch you and keep lookout at the same time."

I just stared at him. I know he could see how much I hated him. It was in my eyes. I know it. I think it even made him happy to see it there.

"They'll take the gag off and make you a bit more comfortable once we're gone, I promise. And I've told them ... anything happens to Grace, and I will kill them both. They will treat you proper." He licked his lips, shifted in his stance. "Once this job is over, we're going to lay low for a while. I'll let you go, like I said, and then we'll ... we'll do what it takes, Grace, so we're not caught. But you'll be okay because you'll be back in Memphis before long."

He kissed my forehead before he left. It was a lingering kiss ... and his hands held my face, gentle, while he did that.

He did all that to mock what he knew he'd made me feel for him during that night we'd spent after I'd first made love with him near the pool, on the quilt, where he took his time with me.

It's Ham who wakes me in the morning. He yanks on my shirt, the front of it. My eyes snap open.

He makes a show of getting the cuff off. He lets me use the bathroom but the door has to stay open. He watches me. He says I should take a shower and wash my hair because it may be my last chance with warm, running water for a while.

I hang towels up over the shower door so at least I feel I've got just a smidge of dignity. When I'm dry and wrapped up in towels, he gives me a bored look when I ask him to turn around so I can dress.

So much for dignity.

I stare at him while I dress and while he watches. I blank my face out. I see his reaction once he glances up from my breasts. He sees I'm looking at him like he's a bug. I think it amuses him but I hope someday he has a daughter and remembers shaming me this way and wonders how any man could do that to another man's daughter. My father, a non-violent man, would kill him if he were alive, I think.

When I am dressed, he orders me to pack everything of mine into the day pack. We're not coming back here, he says roughly, so take everything or consider it gone forever.

I pack only the clothes I wore in here. If I had known this would be happening, I would be wearing them now and not take anything with me that I didn't have when I came here. I want nothing that smacks of a gift or benevolence from Ben Wade. But I also don't want to have to strip down in front of Ham again. So I leave on the t-shirt and jeans that he gave me after we arrived here.

Dibbs is packing up the kitchen. He's putting food in ice chests and boxes. Ham says to help him when we get downstairs but Dibbs says no, there are knives in here. Put her to work somewhere else. The chore I am given is to help Ham roll up three sleeping bags ... then pack blankets, towels, soap, things like that.

We stop for lunch. Sandwiches made of the last of the eggs and tomatoes.

After lunch, Dibbs puts the handcuffs on me and shoves me in the back seat of the remaining SUV. He blindfolds me before slamming the door shut.

As we drive, they don't chat too much. They talk about the map they have, the compass. They talk about the amount of money Ben ... "Boss," they call him ... has said they'll haul in on this job and the ransom. They do the math on what their cuts could be. Ham almost says something about their future plans, for after the gang returns, but Dibbs hushes him with a nasty, "Shut the fuck up. She's blind not deaf."

And I remember Ben saying that he'd have one of his guys 'accidentally' talk about Little Rock so Jeannette would overhear and believe she'd gotten a clue they wouldn't realize they'd given to her. So I figure this could be the kind of thing he'll have them do for me. I'll have to stay aware of that if they ever do say anything about where they're going or what they'll do.

We've been driving long enough that I have become accustomed to the constant rough road. Then suddenly, we are on smooth pavement. I am very disoriented not being able to see. I wish I could look at my watch to be aware of the correct passage of time. I wish I knew where we were going, what the plans are.

Dibbs says, "Another 52 miles before the first turn-off."

Ham says, "It's nice to be able to go a good speed."

"Just don't get pulled over for a ticket, Ham."

"She needs to lay down back there. Someone passing by sees her with a blindfold on like that, they'll know something's not right. And what if by some chance we pass a highway patrol?"

"Hey, you, Grace. Get yer head down on that seat. Now!"

I lean to the side. My head hits a box. Dibbs must be watching me because suddenly the box is shoved away and my shoulder is pushed firmly down until my ear is on the seat.

It is even more disorienting riding this way. But something about this position, even awkward, lulls me to sleep over the droning of the tires on asphalt.

When I awake, I moan. It feels as if we have been jerked to the left then right. Then up, down. And I realize I've been dreaming of flying in a plane but that the car I'm in has left the highway and we are now barreling along another rutted, gravel road. I grit my teeth at the next jarring shudder.

"Can I sit up?" I ask.

"Shut up," Dibbs says.

"Jesus, Dibbs. Boss said to treat her ..."

"I know what the fuck he said. He's not here, is he?"

"He will be."

"What? You think I'm scared he's going to shoot me because I made her obey us? Nah, I think he'll say not a fucking thing as long as she's in one piece when he gets back. He ain't gonna care about anything else. You watch."

"Don't come crying to me when he cuts your balls off if you mistreat her."

"Once he's got the money, she's worth nothing."

There's a long pause. I picture them both staring out the windshield. Both feeling macho and that they are the one who knows what the Boss really wants. Like they are his chosen confidant.

And then Ham says softly, "Yeah, you can sit up now. Just keep your mouth shut unless one of us asks a question."

"Sure," I say softly. "I just want to get through this. That's all."

"The way you do that, is you don't cross either of us and you don't cross the Boss when he gets back."

"I understand. That's exactly what I am doing."

But inside me, I am focused on only one thing ... getting them to drop their guard so I can escape. I am determined to thwart them all if I can. I may not be able to stop them robbing the transport in Atlanta but maybe I can keep them from getting any ransom money. And maybe I can help get them captured. The only way I can see doing that is if I get away before the rest of them get back.

But to do that, I know they need to believe I am not going to ever challenge them. That I am beaten down, cowering, afraid, unable to move ... and robbed of any will to take a risk and run away.

I volunteered to stay so Jeannette could go free.

I promised Ben I would stay. That I would await his return to be set free.

Well, everything is different now.

Or maybe it's that I realize this is what I should have been doing all along. But back there, I had Jeannette's life to worry over. I couldn't run for fear I'd put her in danger. I'm sure she reasoned the same way. But now, the stakes are all different ... now I have only myself and I have no problem risking me.

When at last the car stops, I feel like we have been on the road for hours. I cannot wait to look at my watch. The car slows, Ham says in a tired voice, I'd forgotten how ugly this place is. Dibbs says, well, take up the accommodations with the Boss when he gets back. Ham says something about at least it won't be long here.

And I don't know but I suppose that means that when the rest are back, they are going to take off again, on the run, heading to a place of safety. I'd guess Mexico because I think it's the logical choice.

They both kind of grunt when the car finally lurches to a stop. They leave the doors open after I feel them get out. I wait for Dibbs to yank me out but I hear their footsteps walking away.

It is quickly very hot without the car's air conditioning running. I sit there, patiently, without protest, continuing my pretense of cooperation and general meekness. The only sense I use right now is hearing ... I listen so hard and that is why I hear the scoot of one of them walking back toward the car. I will myself not to brace for my door to open ... so when it is suddenly whisked open, I flinch and jump.

"Calm down. Lean over here so I can get the blindfold," Dibbs says curtly. I do as ordered and blink hard at the flood of sunlight that greets my eyes. He makes an impatient motion for me to give him my hands and he takes off the cuffs. "Over here. Inside."

I look around and see ... a shack. Jesus.

When Ham said no running water and all, I wasn't quite expecting this.

But Dibbs does not take me inside the shack. Instead he walks over to an enclosure of barbed wire that is held up by wooden posts that are very weathered. It looks like a pen of some kind to me. I won't ask him anything, remembering the order to stay quiet unless they ask a question. I want, above all things, to be obedient and to not even once object to anything. I want them to grow complacent about me.

He opens the pen's gate, which swings open with a groan of rusty hinges. He jerks his thumb to order me inside. The pen is maybe big enough for one horse, I suppose. Maybe at one time, it was used for that. There is a short, stubby pine tree that provides shade in one section. This is where Dibbs goes. Get over here now, he growls out to me. When I am right next to him, he puts one handcuff on my left wrist and the other one around the middle barbed wire strand, which is about at my waist level.

"Get used to it," Dibbs said as I stand there mutely, wondering what is going on. "You'll be here a while. Sit if ya want."

"Sit?" I ask, looking down at the rocky dirt.

"You see me talking to anyone else?"

And with that, he's walking away, leaving me cuffed to a strand of barbed wire that stretches between two posts that are maybe ten yards apart.

I stand there watching him as he exits the gate, shuts it up ... and goes back to the SUV. He opens the back and grabs a cooler and a box, walks off into the shack. When he comes back out, he's joined by Ham who's zipping up his jeans.

"Jesus Christ, Dibbs," Ham says, looking over at where I'm standing pathetically. "Take her inside the cabin, for fuck's sake."

"She's fine."

"You can't leave her there, man."

"She's fine. She'll be safe. Barbed wire'll keep everything out that can kill her."

"Not snakes or scorpions."

"Then she'll have to yell if she sees one come near," Dibbs says to Ham. Then raises his voice, calling to me, "You hear that? You see a snake or scorpion, you call us and we'll come kill 'em."

I'm looking at Ham now, wide-eyed. He's shaking his head and I think maybe he's even amused at this.

"Fair enough for you?" Dibbs asks Ham, taking another box to carry inside.

Ham shrugs his shoulders and says, "For now."

I stand silently as they unpack the SUV. On the second to last trip in, Ham tosses my day pack close enough that I can just barely reach it with my toe and haul it in. When they're inside for about a half hour, I begin using my feet to scrape away the small rocks in all the areas I can reach, dragging the handcuff along the barbed wire between the two posts.

This will be the extent of where I can reach. Now there is only bare sandy dirt beneath me. I sit down, my pack at my side. And then try to covertly scout all around, memorize where everything is ... the shack, the SUV, the gate, the tree, the nearest boulders, the rise of the canyon wall behind the shack ... and, most importantly, the tiny stream. I could see it when I was standing. They must have followed it coming in here. I can see the shallow grooves they drove over ... they parallel the stream, maybe 20 yards between them. The stream continues past where I am penned and cuffed. I try to mentally calculate how away far it is, how many steps.

What I am thinking is that if Dibbs is intent on leaving me out here tonight, and I can find a way out, I'll need to find the stream in the dark and follow it away from where they came in.

When they still don't come out an hour later, I start spinning myself in various directions then closing my eyes and turning in the direction where I think the stream is. Soon, I begin to get it right every time.

And this makes me happy. I may never get to implement this plan but it's the making of it that is important. It gives me hope. It gives me the courage to take whatever they will do to me.

I am facing the stream when I hear boots scraping over the dilapidated porch of the shack. I wait a few minutes before turning and by then Ham is right at the gate.

"You thirsty?" he asks me, looking at me funny.

In his hand is a canteen.

"Oh, God yes. Could I please have some water, Ham?"

"Sure, Grace. Brought you a canteen. But you'll want to portion it out. Drink only what's needed to survive. It's all you'll have for the rest of the day, okay?"

"Anything. Please. I'm so thirsty. I'm just not used to this heat."

Instead of coming in the pen, he walks slowly around the outer perimeter until he is close to where I stand, on the other side of the barbed wire. He studies me for a moment. I reach out for the canteen. He smiles at me and says softly, "Tomorrow, I'll talk to Dibbs again. Maybe he'll let you inside. But truth is, Grace, you might be better off out here, y'know?"

My fingers are outstretched and finally he puts the canteen in my hand. I pull it in, greedy.

"You know what I'm trying to say to you, right, Grace?" he asks, coming closer now as I unscrew the lid and sip the water.

Sip.

"You understand?"

Sip.

"Grace? I'm trying to help you, girl."

Sip.

Our eyes meet. I screw the cap back on. Lower the canteen to the ground behind me, afraid he's going to take it away.

"You mean because it's even worse inside?" I ask, my voice also soft.

"No," he says, now right before me. "I mean, if you was to be inside, at night, might be too much temptation."

I look down. "He said you wouldn't hurt me while he was gone."

"Boss told you that?"

"Yes. He told me before he left. He wanted me to know, to not be scared of you."

"You scared of me?"

I look in his eyes and lie. And remember how Ben would handle this ... divide and conquer. "No. You've treated me good. But Dibbs ... I think so ... he does scare me."

"You know what Boss told me?" Ham says, now reaching out, touching a lock of my hair on my shoulder. "He said we should keep our hands off you. You know what I think?"

I swallow. And for the first time all day, I am grateful to Ben Wade. "No, what?"

"I think that if you try anything, anything at all ... I will kill you. And I think I been knowing Ben Wade long enough to know he's trusting me to be doing what I gotta do. That's why he left me here. No woman's ever that important ... he'll just be mighty pissed if we can't get the ransom if they figure out you're dead."

"I figured he trusted you ... he always treated you like you were someone he trusted and relied on. I'm glad it's you he left here. I feel safe with you around."

He looks off. I think it's human nature ... he liked hearing that. "Just you remember, okay? Don't do anything to cross me. I believe we both know now that I'm the only one here who's gonna be nice to you."

"I won't, Ham." I say it strong but then make my voice go soft and wistful. "Besides, I promised Ben I'd be here, waiting on him."

He looks at me. It is an unguarded moment for him. He seems ... about to tell me not to be a damned fool when it comes to Ben Wade. But it is just a momentary reaction before he wipes his brow, shrugs and then walks off.

When the shadows grow longer ... and I am long past finding anything of interest to keep my mind occupied ... Ham comes walking out again. He undoes the handcuff, leaves it dangling, says I got a choice ... an outhouse that scares even Dibbs to go in or behind a clump of bushes behind the nearest boulder. He hands me a magazine.

But at least I can relieve myself, I think, squatting behind a bush, a page of the magazine in my hand. 

It's not so bad, I remind myself. Really. I've been camping. I even go to a wilderness school every few years since I started working in the investigations field. You have to get your CEUs each year. The company always decides for us based on what rotation is up. Usually it's new techniques using on-line resources or sessions on new insurance laws or risk management lectures or other things that pretty much take the ability to think and remember text or procedures. But every three years or so, they send us away for this wilderness camp that lasts about a week. It's really more about team building than anything else but there're always a few days of really roughing it out in some backwoods area where we pitch tents and try to live off the land. I don't remember feeling terribly put upon that I had to squat in the dirt for those days. That's how I need to think of this.

When we walk back, he says I can sit on the porch and eat some food for dinner. I am grateful for the show of compassion. He can tell.

Dinner is canned beans and two tortillas. Dibbs plops it before me on a tin plate, coming out sullen and silent. Not happy I get to eat, I guess. Ham sends him back inside for a cup of water for me. He watches over me, sitting on the other side of the porch from me, in a wooden chair that they must have pulled outside from the shack they call a cabin.

I am ravenous. The food is pitiful. But I scarf it down while displaying the bare modicum of table manners.

Just as I'm finishing, Dibbs comes outside carting a metal tub in his hand. He rattles it at Ham.

"You got the soap in there?"

"Sure."

"Rag?"

"You think I'm an idiot, don't you, Ham?"

"No, Dibbs. Just asking, is all."

"Count the utensils before you come back. Got it?"

"Sure, Dibbs."

Dibbs gives me a scowl as he plunks the tub down on the porch and then goes back inside. Ham waits until I have finished the food and drunk the water. Then says that my job while we're here is to scrub the dishes from the meals. He shoves the tub toward me with the toe of his boot and says to pick it up.

It is not that heavy. I am not that weak. But I act like it's a bit of a struggle. I follow him around to the side where I find there is a pump. It looks old but it works as I find out when I work the lever while Ham watches, leaning against the back of the shack.

There is liquid soap in the tub. I squirt some in, fill it with water. Wash the dishes, knives, pots, forks, spoons, cups with the rag. I pile them on top of a small worktable near the pump once they are scrubbed. Then toss the soapy dirty water, refill the tub, rinse the dishes, toss the water, put the clean dishes inside the tub for the trip back.

"Tomorrow, if you give me a clean towel, I'll dry them off before you put them away. It'll keep them cleaner."

"Okay."

"Ham?"

"Yeah?"

"Is he right that nothing can get to me in that pen?"

"Probably. Just call if you hear something."

"Okay. I will. Thanks."

When night descends, I welcome the almost instant drop in temperature. I am so tired of sweating. But soon, I am cold and then I am grateful for the heavy blanket that Ham gave me earlier. I huddle, wrapped in the blanket, my head on my day pack.

Noises seem magnified in the dark.

It is different putting the plan into action in the darkness.

I sit waiting to leave.

Except I don't get the chance that night.

The only reason is because Ham eventually decides that Ben would hold him responsible for letting Diggs put me in that pen all night. I hear them arguing in there, through the screen door that is the entry from the front porch. Diggs is saying there's just not enough space and that nothing's going to charge through the barbed wire anyway. Ham is saying he's the one left in charge and if anything happens, he'll have to answer.

So by the time Ham comes storming out of the shack, I know I'm about to be hauled back inside where there is tension and a testosterone show going on.

I hate this.

Really hate this.

Bad things happen when men are fighting and a woman's what they can punish to get at each other.

"I'm okay out here," I say to Ham when he walks out, carrying a kerosene lamp to see where I am.

"You're shivering. And I am the one's saying what's to happen," he says, angry, grabbing for my wrist.

"Ham, I don't want to cause trouble," I say softly to him and try to cooperate. "Remember what you said today to me ... about me being in there ... at night ... with Dibbs? I think you're right."

"He won't mess with you. Not with me around. I was just trying to keep you in line."

"Okay. I'll do whatever you tell me. I promise," I say, really quickly, because his voice is tough and I don't want to add to his upset by making him think I'm not going to obey him. I need him on my side even if I figure he's actually more dangerous to me than Dibbs.

"Damn straight you will," he mutters as the cuff hooked to the barbed wire opens. He picks up the lantern. "Bring your stuff. Let's go."

Inside, he throws the remaining sleeping bag at me. I look all around, trying to take the place in. Dibbs is laying on a rough wooden bed along the far wall, near a fireplace that is not lit. He's wearing nothing but a pair of boxers that are baggy and suspect. He's glaring at me and then he's glaring at Ham. I avert my eyes as soon as I realize what he's wearing.

When I turn my head, I am looking right at Ham. He points to about the only space open that's big enough to stretch out. It's on the floor, next to the remaining bed that is right near the front entrance, right close to where we are both standing. Put your stuff there, Ham says, his hands dug into his jeans pocket as he waits on me. On the bed, another sleeping bag is already unrolled. I figure this is Ham's spot.

I move quickly to obey him. I make my little sleeping spot and climb into the bag, grateful for a place to hide from them. Once I'm settled, Ham fastens the cuff to the bed's foot and blows out the lantern.

The floor boards creak as he steps over me to get in his bed. Dibbs farts and then belches for good measure. I assume it's for my benefit.

They both snore. But eventually, I do sleep.

Sometime that night, a hand touches atop the bag and then finds my mouth. It clasps atop and I wake fully ... in terror. I can't see who it is because the moon does not give enough light through the dirty windows and the old screen door. But I flail out as he tries to wrestle his way into the bag.

My hand hits at the bed next to me, doing nothing more than rattling the handcuff. I fight back, refusing to just lay there and take it. The man straddles me, tries to control my flailing.

The hand atop my mouth presses in and I begin to panic as breathing becomes nearly impossible. Blindly, I strike for the face of my attacker, scratching him. I feel fingernails of both hands do some damage. He curses in response and lets go enough to backhand me hard before putting his hand back over my mouth.

Suddenly, I hear Dibbs yelling from across the small room, "What the fuck?"

There's no more sleeping. 

Ham has second thoughts once Dibbs is awake.

Then they're screaming at each other again.

My only real fear is that they will pull guns on each other.

But they don't.

Mainly because Dibbs doesn't really care about me as a person but cares that he's caught Ham out doing something he apparently told Dibbs he couldn't do under pain of being reported to Ben.

And Ham responds by threatening me if I say a word. Not a word, he says, his face in mine. My scratches are red welts on both sides of his face. I nod. Not a word, I mouth to him and then to Dibbs. Not a word.

The next day, when I'm washing dishes after Ham's let me out of the pen to relieve myself, he says matter-of-fact that he guesses I know I am not sleeping in the cabin that night.

And I say that I will be fine out there.

I just want to survive.

There's not a lot either of them do that next day. Ham walks all around the shack, up toward the wall of the canyon, where boulders could be a giant's stepping stones part way up the craggy face. Then he walks around the other side of the SUV, down the stream a bit where there's a slight bend in the road and then hikes back, going around and to the other side of the pen. He strides up that direction of the stream and then down.

He passes the pen later, where I am sitting on the ground, my wrist in the handcuff, watching him because there's nothing else to do. The scratches I dug into his face are more prominent, almost ugly. I barely missed his left eye. They look like they'd be painful. As he passes me, he says he figures he should scout around at least a few times each day, make sure no one's tracked us here.

I say nothing. Just gaze at him blankly.

No one's ever going to track us here.

The only thing that will happen is that tomorrow or the next day, Ben and the rest of the gang will drive up. They will be back from their robbery. They will have set in motion the ransom. They will be all excited and pumped about their latest exploit.

And from what I've observed and figured out, they won't even be staying the night. They'll be coming here just to collect us before they move on. Or else there's a rendezvous already arranged for a specific day and these two will take me out of here then. And then they'll have to go on the run. I know this. Too much heat will be on them. They will have to go into hiding somewhere. Maybe stay on the run, moving around until the heat's off. Probably escape across the border, the ever porous border with Mexico that is not far from here.

The heat will only intensify the longer I am their hostage. Especially when they start the ransom business. I know this. I can see it unfolding.

Something tells me, I won't be on the run with them. He cannot take me with them. I put them all at danger. His gang will rebel if he does.

And I've thought about what he said. And about how he lies by not saying it all. Like when he said he'd let me go free but didn't say it would only happen after my company paid a ransom. So I'm thinking that just because he said he wouldn't kill me does not mean he won't have one of his men shoot me, does it? It'd be the kind of thing he'd do, too.

So I am goddamn going to be ready when my chance comes.

There is no discussion about where I'll spend the night. It's going to be in the pen. Ham lets me have a blanket again. He comes out when the sun is sinking hard and fast. Drops it in to me from the other side, standing there, saying at least I wouldn't have to listen to Dibbs snore all night.

I thank him and I mean it. He hesitates before turning and heading back to the shack. I wonder if he feels shame for what he did. But I seriously doubt it. I only thank him to catch him off guard. And to make him believe I am such a wimp that I am not upset ... and that I am not going to say anything.

As soon as it is really night, Ham calls to me from the porch asking if I'm all right and I say yes, I'll be fine. And even as he is walking back inside, I am already undoing the straps of my day pack. I tie them securely around the middle barbed wire strand, right next to the post into which it is nailed to keep it in place. Then I wait, not wanting this to be a trick on their part.

Once the lantern inside the cabin is dowsed, I count to 300, figuring they'll be settled by then. And then I act.

I yank and yank, using the pack's straps to pull at the wire and dislodge the nail holding it to the post. I sit on the ground with my feet planted against the post for leverage. The nail pops loose.

Grinning now, I move to the next post, edging the cuff around carefully, dragging the pack and the canteen with me as I go. Post by post. I thought it would take maybe hours but it only takes maybe twenty minutes and that's giving me time to stop in between so I can listen to them snoring and know I am safe to keep going.

And then I am at the final post, the one the gate swings into. There are four nails there I have to pop out and then I am free. 

I hold my breath and listen after I ease the gate open only as many inches as it takes for me to ease out.

The screen door is all that's between us. I wish I knew how to hotwire a car but I don't. And besides, they'd hear me even in their sleep and I'd never make it.

And then I walk away. I hold the loose handcuff in my hand to keep it from making noise. I've got the canteen and my day pack slung over my shoulders.

I hear coyotes in the distance. I remember the bobcat. I think about the snakes and scorpions. I remember there are so many dangers out here but at least I won't walk off a mountain if I stick to the stream.

They'll know exactly where I went, I think as I reach the creek.

So I figure I'll stick to following the stream until daylight. And then, wherever I am, I will walk away from it, hopefully find terrain that will leave no footprints. And where SUVs can't go. Find the way to get my bearings.

But the thing is, I may find civilization of some sort along this stream. So maybe I should stick to it, no matter what.

I'll have to play it by ear, see what's out there.

And a chance is all I need.

Even if it is an insane one.

But I figure my chances for survival are greater out here than waiting on Ben to return.