flash her middle finger in the direction of the nearest camera.
But she wasn’t that far gone. Yet.
She’d come here with a purpose, and she’d see it through. It couldn’t happen if she lost her nerve, though, and she had to remember that.
* * *
IT was hot and humid, typical for Orlando, even though it was close to nine.
She didn’t care. Just getting out of the hotel alone felt wonderful. She’d swung by one of the gift shops, buying a slouchy little cap and stuffing it in her purse. In a bit, she’d don the cap, a pair of sunglasses. She also had a different shirt tucked inside her bag and she’d put that on as well.
It wasn’t a real disguise, but it would be enough, she thought, to help her evade being seen by Patrick’s men. They were used to seeing her in all the lovely “Ella” clothes, not just regular old T-shirts, jeans, and shit.
It would be enough to do the job.
She didn’t dare use the charge cards Patrick had given her—she had to give him credit, he didn’t slouch on the expenses once they’d gotten engaged. He didn’t want a wife, she knew. He just wanted a high-class whore, but he was willing to pay well.
But if he was suspicious enough to check—and he likely was—all it would take was a text from an account watch and plenty of credit cards were equipped with those. Fortunately for her, Dru had resources Patrick couldn’t even begin to guess at, and she used cash to pay her way into the park.
Once inside, she hit the restroom, braiding her long hair, pulling on that slouchy cap, and trading her elegant blouse for a close-fitting T-shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves. It clung like a second skin and was thin enough that she could see the outline of her bra. After slipping on the sunglasses, she studied her reflection and decided it would work. It was enough of a one-eighty from her normal appearance that unless somebody was actually looking for her, they likely wouldn’t notice her.
It wasn’t like she actually spent any time in here with her fiancé anyway. Curling her lip, she shoved her belongings into her bag and headed back out into the park, breathing in the scents of sunscreen, food . . . life. It smelled like summer. It smelled like . . . happiness, she decided.
Something about it tugged at memories deep inside.
It was a sad thing, actually, coming in here. She remembered this place, vaguely, from fleeting memories of her childhood, before everything with her parents had gone to hell—first, Mum had died, then her father.
Before that, she’d traveled to the States with them several times as a child and she’d been to Disney World a few times . . . it held happy memories. It shouldn’t make her sad.
Maybe it was because back then she’d still had hope. Still believed in magic, and lately, she was trapped in a hell where there was no hope. And he hid himself here . . .
It made her ill.
It made her hurt.
Longing to lose herself for just a while, she watched the children, the little girls dressed in their princess finery, listened to the music drifting from carefully hidden speakers.
But she couldn’t find the elusive happiness, the escape she’d come here seeking.
Her mind was too focused on him.
Rest. He’d told her to rest.
Why? What was he about? she wondered. There had to be something. He’d been careful to keep her under close watch, almost like he was guarding her. It was obsessive how often he seemed to spend the evenings with her. If he wasn’t with her, he was out doing things that made her long to kill him.
The days she didn’t see him at all were the bad ones, even when she relished not having to deal with him. Because when she faced him again, she knew there would be more evil in his head. He used those evenings away from her to see to his . . . business. That was how he thought of those girls.
His business.
Bastard. Soulless, evil bastard.
Making his money by selling flesh—death was just too good for him.
That was why she had to see this through . . . end it. Make sure he couldn’t ever do it again . . . couldn’t ever take anybody’s daughter. Anybody’s sister. Anybody’s girlfriend or wife. She had to find out where they were. She’d gotten into this job for one reason—a missing runaway. A pretty teenaged