Ransomed

Dora was fuming, her anger burning at her own stupidity. How could she have been so careless? She twisted her wrists against the rope, glaring as the material dug into her wrist but the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the anger cuhurning in her mind. She couldn't even remember who this person might be. After all, there weren't many people whose lives she had meddled in directly—or at least not many who would come after her like this. So, who could it be? And why could she not remember anyone? Only one suspect would make her feel better.