Mountain Secrets by Elizabeth Goddard (good books to read for teens txt) 📕

anyone could utilize in their lifetime. The lights were out. Clouds covered the late-day sun, making the room dim.

Isabel rushed toward the swinging kitchen door. He peered through it at the open living room and expansive entryway with its black-and-white checked floor.

If the thief was watching any part of the house, it had to be the entryway. The second-story mezzanine provided a bird’s-eye view of the main floor. The man with the knife could stand in the shadows and wait for them to cross the space. Jason studied each inch of the second floor as much as his limited view would allow. And if the thief had an accomplice, that only created more land mines.

Still no signal on his phone. The storm might be messing things up. He was going to need warmer clothes, or at least a coat, if they had to go back outside.

He cupped a hand on her shoulder. “You stay here. It’ll be safer. I’m going to see if I can figure out exactly where those guys are.”

“Guys?” she whispered.

He put his finger to his lips and signaled for her to stay.

He eased open the door. Keeping an eye on the second floor, he pressed his back against the textured wall. The whole house seemed darker. He wondered if the storm had taken out the electricity.

Jason’s heart pounded wildly. He loved this part of his job. Most detective work involved sitting and watching the sordid lives of other people. As dangerous as the situation was, he couldn’t help but relish the excitement.

He slipped into the living room, staying in the shadows and watching for movement. Gaze darting everywhere. Listening for the slightest out-of-place noise.

He waited for some time. No chance that these guys had just left. One of them might be searching the woods for them. The other looking for the bookmark they’d come here for.

Jason eased open the door and stepped back into the kitchen. His heart seized up.

Isabel wasn’t there.

Heart racing, he opened the door to the pantry. When he tried the light switch, it didn’t work. He whispered her name and circled through the pantry. No answer. He doubted she’d wandered off. Most likely, she’d been chased or...taken at knifepoint.

Either way, he needed to find her and fast.

THREE

Once again, Mr. Knife pressed the metal blade against Isabel’s neck. He’d dragged her through the kitchen and into the media room on the far side of the house. Lighting strips marked the aisles between rows of chairs. A single light that must be battery operated blazed on the back wall, lighting the media equipment.

She could feel the cold blade against her skin. She cringed, envisioning that coppery smell and the warm seeping of her own blood.

Oh God, I don’t want to die.

Mr. Knife leaned close and spoke in her ear, his voice raspy and filled with venom. “Where is it? What did you do with it?”

He let up the pressure of the knife so she could answer.

Her mind reeled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t know?” He pushed the knife against her neck again.

She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“Don’t play coy with me. There are two of you. One of you will tell me where it is.”

She dared not cry out, fearing that he might slice the knife across her throat and seek the information he needed from Mel. Mr. Knife had made it clear he wasn’t opposed to killing her.

Still gripping her upper arm, he pulled the knife away from her throat, twisted her around and pushed her against the wall. He shoved an arm underneath her chin and pressed up. Her neck muscles strained, and she struggled for breath.

His eyes looked almost yellow. His breath stank like rotten eggs. Even in the dim light, she’d gotten a good look at him.

“That was our payday you took.”

She shook her head. “No, I didn’t take anything.” He’d used the word our. Was there another killer stalking through this house? Mel had said as much.

“Liar.” He took the pressure off her neck but pushed her to one side. Her chest slammed against a commercial popcorn machine.

She righted herself and prepared to fight back. The knife still glinted in his hand. Pushing the popcorn machine on its casters, she created a barrier between them and backed him into a corner. She took the opportunity to run from him past four rows of movie-theater chairs down toward a movie screen. The floor was raked just like in a theater.

There was no door by the screen. No way to escape. She hurried around it toward the door beyond the far aisle.

Mr. Knife raced after her, grabbing her shirt just as she reached for the doorknob. She turned and kicked him in the leg. He yelped in pain. Isabel flung the door open and found herself running down a long dark hallway. Straining to see clearly, she turned a corner and peered out a window. No footsteps came toward her. She must have shaken Mr. Knife or he’d taken a wrong turn.

She slid it open and climbed out into the cold. Snow swirled around her and the wind nearly knocked her over. With the pending darkness and blizzard, she could see maybe three or four feet in front of her. Grateful for Mel’s coat, she shoved her hands in the warm pockets.

When she looked behind her, the wind was blowing enough to cover her tracks. Victoria Wilson’s art studio was out here somewhere. Though she’d never had reason to go inside it, she’d seen it from the house.

The snow pelted her and she forged ahead until an A-frame structure came into view. Finding the door unlocked, she pushed inside and fell on the floor, out of breath.

Isabel shut the door and pushed a large metal sculpture against it.

In addition to the artist’s supplies, the studio had a couch and a woodstove. She dared not start a fire. It might be spotted from the house. She gathered the blanket off the couch and wrapped it around