“Stop worrying so much,” a woman said. I knew her voice, too. I’d heard it before.
“What did you use on her?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters. What if she doesn’t wake up?”
A strange thought came into my mind. They were talking about me.
“She’ll wake up,” the woman said, her tone filled with irritation.
“I still don’t see why you had to do that.”
“She’s not your concern. I’ll handle this. You need to go get rid of her car.”
“What are you going to do with her?”
“I just told you, she’s not your concern.”
“But—”
“Excuse me?” she snapped, cutting him off. “When did you develop a conscience?”
“You didn’t say anything about—”
“I’ll explain this one more time, since it appears I haven’t made myself clear.”
I forced my eyes open, but I wasn’t wearing my glasses. All I could see was the fuzzy outline of two people. It looked like the smaller one—was that Gina Morris?—was sticking her finger in the man’s face.
“All you need to worry about right now is getting rid of her car. That’s it. That’s your job. When I’m finished here, I’ll pick you up, and you’ll help me with the rest. Or you can keep arguing with me. Don’t forget, the feds would love to know about all the things you have hidden away on your computer. But I’m sure you’d have nothing to worry about. Prison is so kind to predators like you.” She paused. “The choice is yours.”
The man made a gurgling sound in his throat and moved away from her.
“Fine.” He sounded defeated.
My stomach roiled with nausea, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I heard his footsteps walking away, and a moment later, a door opened and shut.
Where was I?
My mind struggled to catch up—to make sense of what was happening. I’d been at the gallery, talking to Gina. She must have put something in my tea. Had she moved me? I felt disconnected from my memories, but I had the fuzzy sense that I’d been in a car.
A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. It felt as if I was lying down—on a couch, maybe. Wishing my head would clear, I forced my eyes open. I was so confused.
“There you are,” Gina said.
Was it Gina? It seemed like it was.
I moved my mouth, trying to speak, but it was hard to get anything out. “What…?”
She stepped close enough that her features came into focus. It was definitely Gina Morris. She gazed at me with cold, dead eyes.
“What’s…what’s going on?”
“What’s going on, my dear, is you’re here to suffer the consequences of your actions.”
“Actions?”
She pulled a chair over and sat, leaning forward so her face was close to mine. “You don’t need to pretend, Penelope. I know the truth.”
