Page 22 of Mad Love

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Enough to come to me willingly?”

This time. The words hang in the air between us.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. Your threats against my family, they . . . your threats scare me. You scare me.”

There, I admitted my worst fear to my tormentor. His next words send a new wave of fear crashing through me.

“My enemy is my enemy, or is he my friend in disguise, drawing me out from beneath my guise?”

A riddle. Or is he speaking the truth? Am I Blaise McCabe, Cillian’s child? Is my kidnapper a mind-reader, or does he know and understand me better than I do?

“Do I know you?”

“At one point in your life, we knew one another so intimately you gave me the gift of time.”

Gift of time? I can’t recall knowing anyone so well that I gave them time. Time for what? God, this guy is off his rocker.

“When? When did we know one another?”

Silence, but I can feel him smiling on the other end of the line. The line goes dead, and I drop the phone onto the floor, too scared to throw off the covers, dress, and face the world alone.

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