“There are items in there I really need. Items you have no use for.”
“Let’s see what they are, shall we?” He takes out my wallet and lets out a slow whistle when he sees all my cards. “Looks like you have an account with every clothing retailer in the area.”
From force of habit, I do an automatic inventory of his clothes: snug-fitting Diesel jeans and a white T-shirt outlining a wide chest.Not bad for a criminal. My eyes flick to the ski mask.Still in need of a few fashion tips though.
He pulls out a photograph of my father in formal wear at some or other business function. I kept that photo because I like the hint of vulnerability in my dad’s expression.
The kidnapper is quiet, looking at my father’s face for what seems like forever.
I swallow. “Please can I have that photo?”
He shifts his gaze to meet mine and continues to stare fixedly at me while he tears the picture in two and throws the two halves into the trash.
My throat tightens. It’s clear to me I’ll find no mercy with this man.
Pocketing my cards and the small amount of money I have in there, he throws my purse away. At my choked protest, he says, “Why do you need it? You can’t buy your way out of here.”
No, I can’t, but hopefully my father can.
Unzipping my cosmetics case, he peers inside then tips the contents into the trash.
I flash him a hateful glance. “Afraid I might stab you with my mascara stick?”
The look in his eyes is chilling. “The brand of makeup you use still test their products on animals.”
I frown. “Are you some kind of animal lover?” I ask carefully, not sure in what waters I’m treading here. “Because I am too. I love animals.” From a vast distance, of course, but I keep that to myself.
His eyes narrow. “Do you eat meat?”
“Of course. Um...you don’t?”
“Possess a leather jacket?”
“Obviously, but it’s only because fabric doesn’t hold—”
“You have an ostrich feather duster? A down duvet?”
“I don’t clean, so I don’t know.” And what’s wrong with down bedding? Surely ducks grow their feathers back.
He cocks his head. “What about horse races? Do you attend those?”
“They’re important social events,” I say defensively. “And the horses get a chance to exercise.”
“What a pity your social calendar doesn’t include what happens to the horses when they’re injured or too old to race.”
I knot my hands in my lap, wishing he’d stop with the questions. I have a feeling I’ve failed miserably at this strange test, but everyone I know lives pretty much like I do. So why is he harassing me?
“What about circuses?” he continues mercilessly. “You support them, I’m sure.”
“No, I don’t,” I say triumphantly. “I’ve never been to one and I never will.”
“Why not?”
“They’re awful places. The animals stink horribly—” I stop, realizing too late the ambush he’s set for me. Confronted with his silence, I cry out, “I don’t even know you! Why are you so angry at me?”
“Because you represent ignorance by choice.”
“I don’t understand. There must be thousands of people who live the same lifestyle I do. Go kidnap them.”
