Somewhere Over the Freaking Rainbow - By L.L. Muir Page 0,43
been abused enough. Before the night was over, he’d be puking into the bucket he’d brought up for her to pee in. He just knew it.
That reminded him. “There’s a bucket, if you need to pee.”
She snorted; she should have been scared.
He needed her to be scared. He needed her upset and ranting—mad enough to start spitting out what she’d done with his friends!
He turned, but her back was to him. Her head was bent while she did up her pants. One thin shirt was already on.
Her head snapped up and she glared. Her hair floated down to frame her face. After she pulled on her sweater, she took control of the mass and began to braid it, watching him, poised to jump away from him if he came in for a kiss, or anything else.
But the time for kissing was gone. Besides, this was someone he didn’t know.
“What would Kenneth think?” She raised her chin.
Jamison smiled and she took a step back, smart girl. He slid the scarf out from under her jacket and reached for her.
“Thank you for reminding me. Rule number one,” he said as he pressed the hanky back into her mouth and covered it with the scarf, “there will be no mention of my family.”
He should have cuffed her hands first. She stepped away and ripped off her gag.
“Oh, no you don’t. I’ll sit here and play your little game, Jamison, but you’re not going to touch me again.”
Don’t touch her. Don’t touch her. The voice in his head was insistent. And female!
He frowned. “All right. Let’s start with...what the hell was that?”
***
Not good. She shouldn’t have given him the suggestion twice. Surely he wouldn’t have suspected just one. Heaven have mercy, what was wrong with her?
Of course she shouldn’t have anything to fear, but while she was standing in camouflage behind him, she’d been very afraid what would happen if he got a look at her, blending into the background like a chameleon.
Miracle of miracles, he’d allowed her to dress. She should have thanked him for it, but instead, she’d played the Kenneth card, the one she’d been holding onto for an emergency. She thought the danger was over, so she’d dropped the silly thing off her tongue. She should have been biting it.
While he made himself comfortable on his box, she toyed with the scarf, imagining how she might use it against him.
He sniffed and made a nasty face.
She was missing something. A bad smell? What would smell bad? Then she had it.
“I assume you used part of the pig shed up here.”
He frowned, trying not smile. Or maybe the smell was so bad it was easy to frown.
“I did.” He moved the heater out toward the center of the room. Apparently it had been warming up a pungent piece of wood. The smell, it seemed, would not change his plans.
“Just what are you doing, Jamison? What do you want from me?” She put on her last layers of clothing, stuffed the scarf in her pocket, and resumed her seat on the opposite box. “I’d give you the “I thought we were friends” bit, but I won’t.”
It hurt just saying it.
“I don’t like pretending to be friends with murderers.”
“Ah, I see. So you do remember.” The memory of saying goodbye to Marcus stirred a heavy gray cloud in her soul. She closed her eyes and pretended it had nothing to do with the goodbyes she’d be saying herself. Soon.
“Oh, I remember all right.” He took a breath, as if he were pacing himself. He’d obviously done a bit of planning. Maybe it would take all night, just to get through his questions.
“May I ask how you remember?”
“You mean, how was I able to remember after having my brain stripped?”
She winced. Adjusting memories had never sat well with her, maybe because she had never performed it, or couldn’t perform it. Maybe if she’d been inside someone’s mind while it was happening, she would see how harmless Lucas claimed it was.
“Yes. That’s what I mean. How were you able to remember?”
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You could run home and tell Lucas so he could keep it from ever happening again, so you could have the memory of tonight taken out and I wouldn’t remember it either.” He rubbed his hands on his dark pants.
He’d worn black clothing on purpose, even a black beanie. He was very serious. Whatever he had planned, she was going to have to stop him. If he got into