Blood Price - By Tanya Huff Page 0,102

traced a pattern up and down Vicki's spine, and she fought to keep herself from flipping over so that the thing Norman Birdwell had become was no longer at her exposed back. She'd heard a man laugh like that once before. The SWAT team had needed seven hours to take him out and they'd still lost two of the hostages.

"You'll see," his voice matter-of-fact around the toast. "First I was just going to have you ripped into little pieces, real slow. Then I was going to use you as part of the incantation to call the Demon Lord. Did I tell you it needed a life? Until you showed up I was going to grab the kid down the hall." His voice drew closer and Vicki felt a pointed toe prodding her in the back. "Now I've decided to use her and keep you for myself."

"You're disgusting, Birdwell!"

"DON'T SAY THAT!"

Concussion or not, Vicki opened her eyes in time to see Norman dart forward and slap Coreen across the face. Without her glasses details were a blur, but from the sound of it, it hadn't been much of a blow.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, the rage gone as suddenly as it had appeared.

The bright mass of Coreen's hair swept up and back as she tossed her head. "No," she told him, chin rising. Fear had crept into her voice but it was still vastly outweighed by anger.

"Oh." Norman finished his toast and wiped his fingers on his jeans. "Well, I will."

Vicki could understand and approve of Coreen's anger. She was furious herself-at Norman, at the situation, at her helplessness. Although she would have preferred to rant and bellow, she held her rage carefully in check. Releasing it now, when she was bound, would do neither her, nor Coreen, nor the city any good. She drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Her head felt as though it were balanced precariously on the edge of the world and one false move would sent it tumbling into infinity.

"Excuse me." She hadn't intended to whisper, but it was all she could manage.

Norman turned. "Yes?"

"I was wondering ..." Swallow. Ride the pain. Continue. "... if I could have my glasses." Breathe, two, three, while Norman waits patiently. He isn't going anywhere, after all. "Without them, I can't see what you're doing."

"Oh." She could almost hear his brow furrow even though she couldn't see it. "It only seems fair you should get to see this."

He trotted out of her line of sight and she closed her eyes for a moment to rest them. Only seems fair? Well, I suppose I should be happy he doesn't want to waste front row seats.

"Here." He squatted down and very carefully slid the plastic arms back over her ears, settling the bridge gently on her nose. "Better?"

Vicki blinked as the intricate stitching on his black cowboy boot came suddenly into focus. "Much. Thank you." Up close, and considering the features without the expression, he wasn't an unattractive young man. A bit on the thin and gawky side perhaps, but time would take care of both. Time that none of them had, thanks to Norman Birdwell.

"Good." He patted her cheek and the touch, light as it was sent ripples of pain through her head. "I'll tell you what I told her. If you scream, or make any loud noise, I'll kill you both."

"I'm going to go do my teeth now," he continued, straightening up. "I brush after everything I eat." He pulled what looked to be a thick pen out of the pocket protector and unscrewed the cap. It turned out to be a portable toothbrush, with paste in the handle. "You should get one of these," he told her, demonstrating how it worked, his tone self-righteously smug. "I've never had a filling."

Fortunately, he didn't wait for a reply.

Some lucky providence had put Coreen directly across the small room, making it thankfully unnecessary for Vicki to move her head. She studied the younger woman for a few seconds, noting the red patch on one pale cheek. Even with her glasses, she seemed to be having trouble focusing. "Are you all right?" she called quietly.

"What do you think?" Coreen didn't bother to modulate her voice. "I'm tied to one of Norman Birdwell's kitchen chairs-with socks!"

Vicki dropped her gaze. At least six socks per leg tied Coreen to the chrome legs of the kitchen chair. Gray and black and brown nylon socks, stretched to their limit and impossible to break. Intrigued,