Page 33 of Preying Game

Chapter 12

“We’re having the hunt tonight,” Hayward said as he brought Alice her breakfast.

She’d been expecting that news. Still she felt a chill sweep over her skin as the words echoed through her cell.

There was more food on her breakfast tray than usual. The condemned woman eats a hearty breakfast, she thought as she stared at the greasy eggs and bacon, along with hashed browns and toast. Too bad she had very little appetite. But she forced herself to choke down some of the food because she knew she was going to need her strength for the ordeal to come.

As she ate, she tried to contact Jonah, but he didn’t answer, and she felt like the two of them were suddenly living on different planets. And how could he help her anyway? He had barely been able to get Hayward’s attention, and the result was the opposite of what she’d hoped. He’d managed to scare her captor into moving up her execution date.

When she’d finished eating, the slot in the door opened again, and a set of clothing came through the door. There was a pair of comfortable dark pants, a long-sleeved dark shirt, dark socks and dark tennis shoes. She’d been afraid he was going to make her wear white so that she would be more visible. These clothes would give her some protection—unless there were hidden glow-in-the-dark patches that she couldn’t see.

“Get dressed,” he told her as he delivered the clothing. “Then we’re going upstairs.”

Almost as soon as she was dressed, the door opened again.

“Go up,” Hayward’s voice boomed from a hidden speaker.

Wishing her pulse would stop pounding, she followed the corridor to the stairs, then up. The door to the dining room was closed, and her only option was a side passage, which she took with some trepidation.

Suppose he was trying to fool her, and the hunt was going to begin now?

She walked cautiously, but there were no tricks waiting in the corridor, which led her to a wood-paneled room that was designed to be a library or a den. Like the dining room, it was nicely furnished with polished wood antique pieces. There was a sofa, comfortable chairs and a desk. But she almost winced when she saw the gun cabinet against the wall. Hayward, who was watching carefully for her reaction, grinned.

“The rifles are for later,” he said in a cheerful tone as he pulled a pistol from the middle desk drawer and put it near himself on the desktop. “Right now, it’s time for a picture-taking session.” He picked up what she recognized as a Polaroid camera. “Stand over there by the bookshelf,” he said.

She moved near the shelves, her eyes darting to the side table where a rack of pipes sat. Her breath caught when she saw a pack of matches lying on the table beside the rack.

Hayward looked down to fiddle with the camera. In that quick moment, she snaked out her hand, picked up the matches and thrust them into her pocket.

When he looked up and scowled, she thought he’d seen the theft. But he was concerned with her stance.

“Take your hand out of your pocket,” he snapped. “Stand up straight the way I taught you. And face me.”

Her heart was drumming as she followed his directions, lifting her chin and trying to look defiant as he pushed the shutter.

Again he looked at the camera and clicked the shutter. She wasn’t sure how long it took to develop the picture, but finally a square of photographic paper came out of the front of the camera. Hayward held it up. At first there was only a blur of black and white. Then the image began to emerge. As she watched, she saw herself standing by the shelves.

“I like your spirit,” he said as he looked at the picture, then waved it in the air to dry it. “I do like to have a good record of my guests. Let’s have one more.”

His guests. She supposed he meant the women he had killed.

He snapped another photo and waited for the picture to reveal itself once more.

“I think the first one is better,” he mused as he compared the two.

She shrugged, wondering if this performance was designed to unnerve her. If so, it was working.

“Have a seat,” he said, indicating the guest chair on her side of the desk.

He sat as well, putting down the camera and the developed photos and picking up the gun.

“Just a precaution,” he said as he pointed the revolver at her. “I don’t want you to get any ideas about attacking me.”

In truth, she’d been wondering if she could lunge across the desk and knock him over. She was stronger now than she ever had been in her life, and maybe she could have inflicted some damage on him. Maybe she could even have gotten away, but not now with him holding a gun so close to her.

A manila folder lay in the center of the desk blotter, and he pushed it toward her.

“Inside are photographs of the grounds. Plus maps. You can take them back to your room and study them until it’s time for us to meet again.”

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