A masked woman is stirring the contents of a pot on the stove, another pan sizzling next to it, a black cat butting its head against her legs.
I hover uncertainly on the periphery of the kitchen.
“Good morning,” the woman greets me cheerfully. “You’re up early.”
“Am I?” I shrug. “My watch was taken so I don’t know the time.”
“It’s a little before six,” the woman tells me. She casts a quick glance at my bare wrist but doesn’t follow up on my comment. “Because of the animals, we’re usually up early here.”
“Animals?”
“Ross and I run a sanctuary.”
Great. I can’t escape them, these irritating, four-legged creatures that are the cause of my imprisonment.
“Would you mind buttering the toast for me?” the woman asks, waving a spatula in the direction of the toaster.
I frown in bewilderment.What’s going on?One moment I’m locked in my room, the next I’m free to roam about and help prepare breakfast? It’s as though I’ve graduated from prisoner to guest, but no one bothered to inform me.
The masked woman, seemingly oblivious to my confusion, chatters on as she grabs a tea towel and pokes at anemic-looking sausages grilling in the oven. “Saturdays, we treat ourselves to a fry-up. The rest of the week we have smoothies or a fruit salad for breakfast.” She closes the oven door. “Help yourself to juice if you’re thirsty.”
I walk over to the toaster and pick up a butter knife. It’s a weapon, admittedly a blunt one, and there’s this vague thought I ought to use the knife to try to escape, but all I can think of is howrude that would be. Unable to shake off the surreal feeling, I place the toast on a plate and start buttering.
“You can call me Mel,” the woman says, laying out plates and cutlery on the kitchen island. “It’ll help a bit with the awkwardness. Sorry about the mask, but I’m told it’s better for everyone if we wear them.”
Before I can reply, there’s the excited tapping of paws on slate and a pack of dogs enter the living area off the kitchen, settling themselves wherever they like, a few ambling over to sniff at me, wandering away when Mel good-naturedly ushers them out of the kitchen.
One dog in particular catches my eye. A huge German Shepherd with gleaming black eyes. A beautiful, but terrifying-looking animal. His stance is watchful, as if waiting for someone.
I make out the low murmur of male voices, and then Kane and another man walk in. The air becomes heavier the moment I see Kane. And blast the man, but he looks good in black sweatpants and a black T-shirt highlighting his dark hair and rough stubble.
I can’t tell if his teeth are still blue, because right now he isn’t smiling.
“I’m ready to serve,” Mel announces. “You guys ready to eat?”
“Oh, yeah,” says the man standing next to Kane, shrugging out of his jacket. “Smells good, love.”
I take a moment to study the other man. What did Mel let slip earlier?Ross and I run a sanctuary.Is this Ross? He’s as tall as Kane with a tanned face and wavy blond hair. The same Zorro mask outlines smiling blue eyes.
Kane’s the only one not wearing a mask. I vow to memorize every inch of his features so that when this is all over I can give a detailed description of him to the police. Except the thought no longer gives me the sense of satisfaction it once did.
While Kane pumps soap into his hands at the kitchen sink and Mel serves up the food, the blond man approaches me, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Amy, is it?” he asks. “There hasn’t been a chance to introduce myself.”
“Perhaps because I was drugged and out cold,” I reply, all false sweetness.
He looks startled, then laughs appreciatively. “Looks like things will be a lot more interesting with you around.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” I respond, frowning slightly because his presence has an odd, reassuring effect. I sense no threat from this man. “You can always let me go.”
“That isn’t up to me,” he says gently.
Of course not. Suppressing a sigh, I decide to test the waters. “What should I call you? Have you picked out a martyr yet?”
Ross blinks in confusion. Kane turns around, drying his hands on a towel, his eyes hard on mine.
My chest tightens.
In a clipped voice, still holding my gaze, Kane explains that he and Jill each picked the name of an animal rights martyr so I have something to call them by. While he’s speaking, I notice his teeth still flash bright blue. I make no effort to hide my smirk.
