She lay on her back next to the radiator. The glass bottle she’d attacked Cameron with was nowhere in sight, and the bedroom door was firmly shut.
God, she’d failed. Failed miserably.
If there’d been any chance Cameron hadn’t planned on killing her, she’d just blown that grace to hell. Warm tears rolled down her cheeks, but she didn’t wipe them away because it’d only make her face hurt more.
Worst of all, Emmy would see her like this. Maybe it’d be better if Cameron killed her without giving her a chance to say goodbye to Emmy. At least then her daughter wouldn’t have this image of her battered mother forever branded in her mind.
A cry tore from her throat. Anger and frustration mounted against her temples.
The lock clicked.
Cameron swept inside. A large white bandage stained with blood covered the side of his neck. He’d changed into black joggers and a long-sleeved brown T-shirt. His hands were clenched at his sides.
She didn’t move, just stared at him through her heavy, swollen eyelids. She’d never stop fighting, but right now she could hardly move.
He stepped closer but stayed upright. His tall form blocked out the light, and she wished he’d be decent enough to shut the thing off and leave her alone.
“Where is it?”
Laine bristled. “What are you talking about?”
His mouth worked into a smirk. “Do I need to wake Emmy to punish her? It’d be a shame, since she hasn’t been asleep long.”
Dread pressed down on her chest. The phone. How had he discovered it was missing already?
He shifted his weight impatiently. She tensed, anticipating his foot swinging into her face. He didn’t kick her, though.
“I mean it. The little brat deserves lashes for stealing from me.”
Laine struggled into a sitting position. Her head hammered and the room spun as she righted herself, bracing her hand on the cold floor for support. She wanted to lie and say she’d taken the phone, but she hadn’t been alone with his bag—hadn’t even seen it. He’d never fall for it.
“Cameron, she’s just a child. She tried to help.”
His lips compressed into a firm line.
“She’s scared. Maybe if she hadn’t seen you hit me, she’d?—”
“Enough,” he spat. “She hates me because you turned her against me.”
Laine’s sinuses screamed with unspent tears. Crying would get her nowhere with this heartless man. She prayed he’d take mercy on Emmy.
“Who did you call?” The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Let me guess. Your G. I. Joe?”
She wet her lips. “It’s locked.”
“Ahh, that’s right.” He dragged his thumb over his chin. “But you turned it on?”
She blinked in surprise. “Yes.”
“Good. I mean, you beat me to it, but the result is the same.” He turned and stalked toward the bedroom door.
Laine’s head reeled. “What are you talking about?”
He paused at the threshold. “You think I brought you here for fun? That I haven’t killed you because I want you alive?”
His words clouded her brain. “You’re not making sense.”
He exhaled. “You were never too fucking smart. Why do you think I hid that phone, hmm? I kept it off for a reason. I knew your boyfriend was tracking me.”
