Page 21 of Preying Game

Do I?

You must.

She liked hearing the way he talked about her, but words of praise would only stroke her ego—not free her.Changing the subject, she asked, How did you get here?

He looked like he was trying to figure out how to free her, until he realized he wasn’t going to fix anything immediately. First I tried a self-hypnosis technique I’ve used before, and then I followed the sound of your “voice.”

Oh!

It was easier the second time. I guess I couldn’t do it until we’d established a stronger connection.

How did you know to even try?

My friend Grant did it—with the woman who’s his wife now. She was being held captive, too, and he was able to get there—and rescue her. Well, with help.

She swallowed hard, considering the implications.

He had been standing beside the door.

She held her breath as he crossed the room. It seemed to take forever. Then he was standing beside the bed. She could still partly see through him. But now he looked more solid.

Does he have a camera in here or something? Jonah asked.

I know he watches me. Not just here. In the other areas. So there must be a camera. Maybe they don’t work with this low light.

She pushed off the bed, steadying herself before she took a step toward him. Then, before she could tell herself it was a bad idea, she reached around his body and clasped him in her arms. She hadn’t even known if it was possible to hold onto him, but she felt his substance. When she closed her eyes to shut out his ghostly image, he felt even more solid and real. From his appearance, she had expected him to be cold—like a ghost. But he seemed to be the same temperature as the room.

She heard him make a small sound as she felt him circle her shoulders. His arms came up slowly, as though he had wondered the same thing as she about touching.

I can feel you, they both said at the same time.

Yes

Being clasped in his strong embrace was magic. And if she kept her eyes closed, she could pretend he was well and truly here.

As she laid her head against his shoulder, he whispered in her mind, I’m going to get you out of here.

I know, she answered. And at that moment, against all odds, she believed him.

First, we have to figure out where you are.

Yes. She clung to him, swaying in his arms, marveling at how wonderful something so simple could be. She had had no normal human contact since Hayward had abducted her. This wasn’t exactly normal, but it was a lot better than anything she had experienced with the monster who had brought her to this place.

oOo

Arthur Hayward had been fighting a sense of unease all day. For weeks he’d known that he had Alice totally under control. Then when he’d had lunch with her, he’d sensed a change. Until then, she’d always been totally deferential to him—as she should be. As he was holding forth on European history, he’d detected a note of hope in her eyes. The next day, when he’d brought her breakfast, she’d demonstrated a streak of defiance—as though she knew something important had changed.

But all that was nonsense, he assured himself, quickly. He’d captured and drugged her and totally covered his tracks with that gigantic rock fall out in the wilderness. No way could they bring in heavy equipment to move the rubble.

While the rescuers were scrambling around still hoping they could find her, he’d carried her to his car and driven away. Since then, he’d had total control over her every waking moment.

Still feeling unsettled, he got up from the comfortable wingback chair in his office and strolled to the gun cabinet. After turning the key in the lock, he ran his fingers along the line of rifles. He loved Remingtons, Springfields, and Rugers. But his hand stopped when he came to the Mauser 98. German manufactured, it had been developed for military use, but it was just as good at stopping a charging lion—or a fleeing girl.

Paul Mauser’s design was one of the best. Hayward took the beauty down from the rack, carried it to the chair and sat with the weapon on his lap, sliding his fingers along the stock and playing with the bolt action. As he caressed the rifle, he thought about what the gun could do to the woman in the basement. The best part was that she would think she had a chance to escape—which would give her courage. He imagined her stepping outside, dragging in a draft of the night air, and deciding which way she would run. And whichever way it was, he would follow.

He spent a very pleasant half hour imagining the scene—and her realization in the end that hope was a lie.

When he knew he was back in control of his emotions—and this whole situation, he got up to fix a cup of warm skimmed milk before he went to bed.

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