mats. Agnes clenched her teeth and gripped her ring more tightly. A few yards to safety. She glanced down to watch the glint of his track suit grow smaller. Damn Spaulding anyway. She didn't want it like this and he knew it. The mats should prevent any serious injury, but what if Simon landed wrong? The sudden drop had surprised him. He'd been focused on her. Agnes owed his father better than that. She cursed into the wind and let go of her ring.
* * * *
They'd bound his ankles as well as his wrists. Simon wiggled his palms together against restraints that refused to give even a fraction. His eyes blinked against the smooth fabric of a blindfold.
He'd landed hard. The rush of wind and adrenaline on the way down hadn't prepared him for the waiting goons' attack. Still, he'd blacked at least one eye before they knocked him unconscious. He smiled in the dark and tried to wrench his hands free. Nothing.
Voices murmured at the edge of his comprehension. As he struggled and twisted to sit up, he recognized Spaulding's high-pitched whine, "You're ruining everything."
"Kidnapping Maxwell was not a part of the plan."
Agnes. Simon froze at the sound of her voice.
"You agreed to do this my way, Spaulding."
"I want a guarantee," Spaulding snarled. "What makes you so certain you can beat him?"
"I beat you, didn't I?"
Simon strained to hear Spaulding's reply. They kept moving around. The sound faded in and out. His stomach clenched against the image, against the casual conversation, the intimacy of siblings arguing. Teaming up with his archenemy qualified as quite a black strike on the potential Mrs. Maxwell's resume. He didn't want to think about it.
"He didn't fall at the bridge," Spaulding continued to argue.
"Just as well," Agnes said.
Their voices came close enough that Simon would bet they stood within arm's reach.
"I told you when you insisted on that stupid trap that I prefer to win the race fair and square."
"Why?" Spaulding truly couldn't imagine a reason to play by the rules.
Simon held his breath and continued to feign unconsciousness. He wanted to hear the answer, probably more than Spaulding did. Why should Agnes hang on to any thread of honor if she intended to walk alongside her brother, if she intended to follow the path of the Rutherfords before her?
"Maybe because you could never do it?" she retorted, a taunt meant to cut at Spaulding's inadequacies, no doubt.
Simon frowned. It wasn't an answer at all.
"Do you know what I think?" Spaulding jibed back. "I think you're sweet on him. I think you're going to let him win."
Agnes snorted.
Simon heard it echo and considered their possible locations. Somewhere near the ravine? Somewhere out of the open and beyond the range of the helicopters. He resisted the urge to strain against the bonds again.
"You're out of your mind, Spaulding."
Simon didn't care for that tone at all.
"You know what his father did to me."
Agnes's words sparked a flare of anger in his chest. His father.
"Oh, yes." Spaulding mocked her now. "You mean when you let him out?"
"He tricked me. You know that, and what did I get for it? Sent away, isolated from my family and pawned off on an ancient aunt for ten years."
Well that explained a lot. Simon frowned and tried to reconcile Agnes's tale with his father's description of the girl he'd known. The only explanation he could think up reeked of tragedy. In light of this, he'd be hard pressed to doubt her familial loyalty.
He'd almost bought it, had almost fallen into those dark eyes and the words his father spoke too many years ago. Poor Agnes, indeed. He'd only wanted to believe in her, had invented reasons to hope. Now he lay trussed up and blindfolded and feeling like a super schmuck.
"Now," Agnes purred at her brother. "Are you going to let me finish this thing my way, or do I have to get nasty?"
"Agnes."
"Just stay out of my way, Spaulding. Get back up there, show up at the finish line, be seen and, for the love of God,
* * * *
They'd bound his ankles as well as his wrists. Simon wiggled his palms together against restraints that refused to give even a fraction. His eyes blinked against the smooth fabric of a blindfold.
He'd landed hard. The rush of wind and adrenaline on the way down hadn't prepared him for the waiting goons' attack. Still, he'd blacked at least one eye before they knocked him unconscious. He smiled in the dark and tried to wrench his hands free. Nothing.
Voices murmured at the edge of his comprehension. As he struggled and twisted to sit up, he recognized Spaulding's high-pitched whine, "You're ruining everything."
"Kidnapping Maxwell was not a part of the plan."
Agnes. Simon froze at the sound of her voice.
"You agreed to do this my way, Spaulding."
"I want a guarantee," Spaulding snarled. "What makes you so certain you can beat him?"
"I beat you, didn't I?"
Simon strained to hear Spaulding's reply. They kept moving around. The sound faded in and out. His stomach clenched against the image, against the casual conversation, the intimacy of siblings arguing. Teaming up with his archenemy qualified as quite a black strike on the potential Mrs. Maxwell's resume. He didn't want to think about it.
"He didn't fall at the bridge," Spaulding continued to argue.
"Just as well," Agnes said.
Their voices came close enough that Simon would bet they stood within arm's reach.
"I told you when you insisted on that stupid trap that I prefer to win the race fair and square."
"Why?" Spaulding truly couldn't imagine a reason to play by the rules.
Simon held his breath and continued to feign unconsciousness. He wanted to hear the answer, probably more than Spaulding did. Why should Agnes hang on to any thread of honor if she intended to walk alongside her brother, if she intended to follow the path of the Rutherfords before her?
"Maybe because you could never do it?" she retorted, a taunt meant to cut at Spaulding's inadequacies, no doubt.
Simon frowned. It wasn't an answer at all.
"Do you know what I think?" Spaulding jibed back. "I think you're sweet on him. I think you're going to let him win."
Agnes snorted.
Simon heard it echo and considered their possible locations. Somewhere near the ravine? Somewhere out of the open and beyond the range of the helicopters. He resisted the urge to strain against the bonds again.
"You're out of your mind, Spaulding."
Simon didn't care for that tone at all.
"You know what his father did to me."
Agnes's words sparked a flare of anger in his chest. His father.
"Oh, yes." Spaulding mocked her now. "You mean when you let him out?"
"He tricked me. You know that, and what did I get for it? Sent away, isolated from my family and pawned off on an ancient aunt for ten years."
Well that explained a lot. Simon frowned and tried to reconcile Agnes's tale with his father's description of the girl he'd known. The only explanation he could think up reeked of tragedy. In light of this, he'd be hard pressed to doubt her familial loyalty.
He'd almost bought it, had almost fallen into those dark eyes and the words his father spoke too many years ago. Poor Agnes, indeed. He'd only wanted to believe in her, had invented reasons to hope. Now he lay trussed up and blindfolded and feeling like a super schmuck.
"Now," Agnes purred at her brother. "Are you going to let me finish this thing my way, or do I have to get nasty?"
"Agnes."
"Just stay out of my way, Spaulding. Get back up there, show up at the finish line, be seen and, for the love of God,
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