Page 20 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

“I could take the hand away. Then you’d be drinking with a straw.”

“I don’t have any straws.”

“Then you’d be uncaffeinated.”

“Understood,” I agreed, reaching for my cup as she sipped hers, winced, but took another sip. “So, do you have a name, or should I just mentally keep referring to you as my captor?”

Her brows furrowed at that, almost like she’d managed to compartmentalize what she was doing so she didn’t have to think of herself that way.

No one wanted to be the bad guy.

Most normal people were raised from the cradle wanting to be good. It stung when there was evidence to the contrary.

She glanced away, then back, those green eyes of hers tense and troubled.

“I’m not exactly the kind of man who would go to the police with your first name and a description. There’s no reason not to share it.”

“Caitlin.”

“Caitlin.” I liked that. Simple. Not fancy, hard-to-pronounce or spell names. Classic. Did she go by Cait? Caity?

It also gave me one more piece to my puzzle.

I didn’t know anyone named Caitlin.

I hadn’t read a book from anyone with that name either.

So, not anyone’s girlfriend. Not some fling I somehow managed to forget the face of, despite not fucking around much. And not some author driven crazy from a scathing review.

Which only made this all the more interesting.

“So, Caitlin,” I said, pausing to take another sip of my coffee because I liked the way she shifted her feet and reached to tuck her hair behind her ear. “What is it, exactly, that you want from me?”

CHAPTER SIX

Caitlin

I was obviously no seasoned, hardened criminal. But I genuinely believed I would have been competent enough not to fall asleep during a hostage situation.

But as I jolted awake on an unfamiliar couch, covered in a blanket I didn’t remember reaching for—didn’t even recall seeing before—it was clear that was exactly what I’d done.

Sure, I’d been running on fumes for a long time. No. Not even fumes. I was steadily on empty, but my engine had just refused to sputter out and die. But how could I go from a complete panic attack to dead asleep like that?

I hadn’t even just nodded off, either.

I didn’t know the exact time I’d drifted off, but it had to be sometime around eleven or midnight. Then I’d jerked awake just before morning.

I’d had half a night of sleep while Gavino Costa sat chained to a chair a few feet away. Likely plotting in excruciating detail how he was going to punish me for taking him as my prisoner.

At least he didn’t know I’d slept.

That would be humiliating.

The sad thing was that even after several hours of sleep, I didn’t feel any more rested or sharp than I had when I’d passed out. And my stomach felt even more wobbly now that it was fully empty.

The coffee probably wasn’t going to help anything, either. But it was grounding in a way. A normal part of my daily ritual that made this insane day feel a little more normal.

Maybe even more importantly, it helped distract me from the way a little shiver worked its way down my spine when this Gavino monster said my name. Twice.