The sun is setting, sending long fingers of orange and red light into my room when he opens the door again. I look up from the book I’d found in the well-stocked bookshelves. There was everything from action adventure to philosophy on the shelves, and even some romances, one of which I’m reading now. It’s giving me that same, soothing feel as my wonderfully trashy romances - not that I have access to them now - but the relief is the same, retreating into someone else’s world, relating to theheroine facing love against all odds. I definitely feel the ‘against all odds’ part, even though I have no interest in love.
Love is messy. It requires trust. My stupid, trusting nature that believed people were essentially good has been crushed underfoot. Maybe that is one unintentional gift my scumbag stepfather gave me.
Ethan is carrying a tray and the heavenly scent of fish and chips wafts over and I realize I haven’t eaten yet today. He puts the tray on the little table and turns to leave.
“Wait! Please.” He doesn’t turn around, but he stops. “Does Gavin- my stepdad- does he know you have me?”
He starts walking toward the door again.
“Please tell me that!”
The son of a bitch shuts and locks the door without another word.
Staring down at the tray, I wonder if the food is doctored with something, or maybe the glass of wine or the bottle of water? I studied poisons obsessively for over a year- how they’re used, how to detect them. How long it takes for one poison or another to kill someone.
Sedatives or truth serum, though. I have no idea. I don’t think he would poison me. The Scottish Demon would enjoy killing me face to face. The memory of how quickly and easily he stuck that needle in my neck makes me dip the first piece of fish in the sauce. He can drug me any time he likes and he knows it. I may as well enjoy this food.
The first bite is so good that I plow into the meal like a farm animal. The batter is perfectly crisp, the fish flaky and light. Thechips are double-fried and I’ve gobbled down the entire plate in record time.
Glasgow is coming alive outside my window and I watch lights lining the buildings around me turn one, making the old places magical. The building I’m in faces the River Clyde, most of the buildings around here have been painstakingly remodeled, or replaced with new architecture. People are strolling along the walkway by the river, some holding hands or walking dogs. A big group of girls pass by, laughing and talking, arm in arm. I never had a chance to connect with my friends when I disappeared. Gabby is the last real friend I’d had.
Leaving my window seat, I try the door. Locked. It’s a pretty door, hand-carved with old iron fixtures. The wood is solid and when I slam my hand against it, there’s only the faintest thud.
“There has to be something!” I whisper, though I’m not sure why, “some kind of weapon.” I may not have Ethan’s terrifying skill with weapons and hand-to-hand combat, but I’m great at hitting someone over the head and making a run for it.
By the time I give up my search, my side is throbbing viciously and I’m hot and sweaty again. Taking a pain pill and the antibiotics Dr. MacTavish left, I crawl wearily into bed.
Tomorrow. I’ll come up with a plan tomorrow.
Chapter Twenty-One
In which everyone should have a nurse as smoking hot as Ethan.
Sloan…
I’m in the middle of Death Valley.
I’m walking on the scorching hot highway, shimmers of heat distorting my vision. It feels like I’m on fire. My mouth is as dry as the desert and trying to lick my lips offers no moisture.
“Sloan… wake up, lass.”
Is that Nate?
Oh, that can’t be Nate! Nate’s in Costa Rica. He’s safe. This isn’t right.
“Go away,” I moan. “You’re not Nate.”
I feel someone gently lifting my head and putting a glass to my lips. “Drink, darlin’ you need this.” I want to. The water feels so cold and nice on my lips, but a violent bout of coughing makes me spit out the bit I’d been able to drink.
“Feck, you’re burning up, love.” Not-Nate helps me drink half the glass before I start coughing again. I feel a cool, wet cloth running over my sweaty face and it’s so good.
Not-Nate is on his phone. I want to open my eyes and see who this is but I can’t.
“...she feels like she’s on fire, Doc. Pneumonia… what do I…”
“Sloan, I’m putting in an IV.” There’s a pinch on my hand and I go back to my restless half-sleep, listening to his soft Scottish burr.
Another violent bout of coughing wakes me up, shaking my whole body and the fiery agony in my ribs makes me scream.
