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“Thank you,” I whispered, stepping away from the operating room table. Behind me, Gary moaned. He was a victim. He wasn’t a survivor. I didn’t have to save him. I only had to save myself. I repeated that in my mind. Iwouldsave myself. Iwould. But I would have to be patient. Do things my own way. I was a survivor.

Rien opened the door back into the library and I stepped through. My hands were still shaking. Rien came in after me, carrying some things wrapped in what looked like a shirt.

I watched as the bookcase swung back after us, and a latch inside clicked shut. I still didn’t see the way to open the bookcase. It must be a secret switch somewhere.

“Here’s a shirt to sleep in,” Rien said, tossing a white button-down shirt at me from the medical cabinet. “I have plenty of them for myself, but I’ll have to see about getting you some other clothes. If youarestaying here forever, that is.”

He smiled a predator’s smile. He thought he had me trapped. And maybe he did. I didn’t see a way to get out. I couldn’t kill Gary. I didn’t know what to do.

“And here is some sterile fluid,” he said. “For your contacts.”

“My contacts?”

Right. I had forgotten about them. I took the fluid and stared at it dumbly.

“Oh, was that for the part? For acting like Mrs. Steadhill?”

“Yes,” I said. God, was that earlier today? I had thought putting in the contact lenses would be the hardest part of the role. I hated touching my eyes. And now I was here, stuck in a library with a psychopath.

I glanced over at the bookcase. I hadn’t seen how he opened it earlier. This could be my chance.

“Can I go back to the bathroom to take them out?” I asked. “I don’t have a mirror here.”

Rien stepped in front of me.

“Don’t move,” he said. Before I could step back, he had pinched my eyelid up with his thumb, holding the back of my head with his other hand so that I wouldn’t move. I gasped as he plucked out one contact lens, then the other. I rubbed my eyes.

“There. Not that hard, once you’re used to it.” He looked from one of my eyes to the other. “So this is how you really look?”

I blinked. He didn’t step away from me. His hand was still cupping the back of my head, his palm on my neck. The pure desire in his eyes made the muscles in my throat seize up. He wanted me and didn’t care if I saw it.

“Green eyes. Beautiful.”

Swallowing hard, I cast my eyes downwards. He looked at me like I was a victim. Like I was an easy mark. I didn’t want him to see the survivor that I was trying to be. There was something in his gaze that tore away all of my pretenses.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” I said, not looking up at him. He went to the oak door, and I sat down on the couch, the shirt balled up in my lap. Even when he opened the door, it was dark behind him, and I couldn’t see the other rooms.

“Good night,” he said. “Sweet dreams.” He closed the door behind him, and I heard a bolt slide shut. Then footsteps, leading away from the door. Then I was alone.

I wasn’t staying here forever. But I wanted Rien to think that I’d given up. Soon, I would find a way to escape.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rien

I tossed and turned in bed. Normally I slept in total comfort. You might think being a killer would make it hard to sleep at night, but really it was the exact opposite. Killing a guilty person soothed me. It was what I was good at. It was what I loved to do. In their suffering I found meaning.

Tonight, though, I couldn’t rest.

Maybe it was the two other people in the house. Two people alive, breathing. Two people I was supposed to have killed. Bodies, I could handle. People? Not so much.

I rolled over to the side and picked up my phone to check the security cameras and alarm system. If the girl tried to escape, the alarm on the back entryway would go off as soon as she tried to open the door to the outside. And the door from the library to my half of the house was locked tightly. Still, maybe I should pick up another alarm, wire it all around the library…

What was I thinking? She was an innocent girl. She wasn’t dangerous at all to me. She was only a toy.

My toy.

I thought of her lying down on the couch, and the image conjured up a flood of hormones. I touched myself idly, stroking myself through the sheets. What was it about her?

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