Cal laughed unexpectedly. “They’re sure not going to be taking any stories to the police now.” He grinned even as he massaged the reddening bruise on his chin.
“What makes you think the police don’t already know what we know?” Ken asked. His voice had sounded uneven for the first few words, but he had managed to steady it before the end of the sentence. “And the Treasury men too?” he added for good measure. “We’re with Global News, you know, and the way we work—”
“I told you to keep quiet.” Grace sounded more impatient than alarmed.
“Look, Grace,” Cal said suddenly, “why don’t we—?”
Grace turned on him angrily. “Whatever we’re going to do,” he said, “we’re not going to discuss it now.” He jerked his head toward the boys. “Keep them covered, Barrack.”
He disappeared into the front part of the shop for a moment and returned with a roll of wrapping twine.
“Here, Cal,” he said, tossing it to him. “Tie their hands.”
Helpless between the two pointing guns, Ken and Sandy had to submit. Cal took a vicious pleasure in his task. He jerked their hands roughly behind them, and when he bound the rough twine around their wrists he pulled it so hard that it cut into the flesh.
“Just tie them,” Grace said. “Don’t try to amputate their hands.”
“They’re all right,” Cal assured him. “But they’ll stay tied, believe me.”