CHAPTER 8THE voice wasn’t stone; it was almost gurgling. “Why don’t you take off those fool things?”
A hand lifted the mask, Con’s hand, Con standing there, laughing down at her. Con. Fury shook her. Con having the nerve after all this to leave her handcuffed while he draped himself over the opposite chair and began eating one of her steak sandwiches. She had no words.
He said, “All you have to do is press that little jigger by the wrist and off they come. They’re Junior G-man’s. Bought them for a dime at Woolworth’s.”
She felt the scarcely hidden clasp with her thumb. In unbroken silence she dropped them indignantly. They clinked.
“Hungry? How about a sandwich?” He held out her own sack.
She was starving but not nearly enough to accept her food from him.
“No?” He unwrapped the other
