The Girl in the Wall by Jacquelyn Mitchard, Daphne Benedis-Grab

would do anything to challenge them, we’re not stupid. I look at Hudson whose dismay mirrors my own.
    “He didn’t have to hit Franz,” I say softly, my stomach queasy.
    “I know,” Hudson says, glancing at the agent who spoke, then looking away. “They don’t want us to forget for a second who has the power.”
    People are starting to talk again, quietly, and I see the agents slouch back against the doorways. Before I’d seen that as a sign of being relaxed but now it feels more like they are snakes, coiled and still, but ready to lash out at the slightest provocation.
    “It was mean,” I say.
    Hudson looks amused and I realize how stupid it sounds to call machine-gun-toting hostage-holders mean.
    “You know what I’m saying. We know they’re in charge, they don’t have to go beating us up to prove it.”
    “They don’t have to but they can and they will if they want to,” Hudson says. “That’s what they’re really reminding us.” He lets out a long breath and then presses his hands together. “But we don’t have time to worry about it now. We have to figure out what to do with the phone.” He glances toward the agents when he says it, his voice even lower than before.
    My stomach rolls over in a nauseating swirl. I would do anything to be able to undo having picked up this stupid, useless phone.
    “This is what I’m thinking,” he says softly. “We’ll put the phone under one of the sofa cushions while they search us. Then the first one of us out gets it and hides it in our clothing. It should be safe to hold onto it once they’ve finished searching us.”
    I want to point out how flawed this is as a plan but I don’t because what else are we going to do? “Thanks,” I say instead.
    His eyebrows wrinkle. “For what, coming up with a pretty half-assed plan?”
    I grin but then I shake my head. “For helping me with this. It doesn’t have to be your problem. I’m the one who took the phone.” Something occurs to me and even though it’s stupid, I have to know. “Why did you come over to me? I mean, out of everyone here, why me?”
    The corner of his mouth pulls up in a half grin. “Because you were the one who laughed at my joke.”
    When he introduced himself as Hunter, making fun of Mr. Barett who had messed up his name. It’s ridiculous when our lives are in the balance but I have a warm glow from his words. I felt so dumb being the only one who laughed but he liked it.
    “Oh,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant but failing pretty badly.
    He nods but doesn’t say anything because the agent is heading over to us. My glow is replaced by clammy panic as I stuff my arm in between the seat cushions, let the phone slide out and pull my hand back out.
    “You,” the agent says, pointing at me.
    I stand on legs that feel like liquid, and follow him into the study.

CHAPTER 8
Ariel
    I spent twenty minutes in the guest office making a sign for Marc. In big, black letters it explains that we are being held hostage, that he needs to get away and call 911. My plan was to hold up the sign when the helicopter got close; he’d read it, follow the directions, and we’d be free within the hour, long before Abby would ever get near the house. It was a perfect plan: simple, easy, and foolproof.
    But then came the problem: I can’t figure out how to get to the roof. I’ve been crawling through the tunnels like a rat in a maze and finally realized the only ways to the roof are from outside the house and from the office wing my dad put on the house. There are no hidden back stairs like I’d hoped, which means not only is there no way to get to the roof from the tunnels, there’s no exit from the tunnels anywhere near the stairs up to the helicopter landing pad. I’d have to go through my dad’s offices and those are teeming with agents whom I assume are trying to figure out how to use Abby and Uncle Marc instead of me and my dad to get their money.
    I’m sitting on the floor by the hallway