“My children?” Audrey asked again. “I have to know for sure they’re all right. I want to talk to them. I won’t do anything you ask until I speak to them. Not even eat.”

An uncomfortable silent moment passed, and then the Art Director chose to speak.

“Your children are just fine. That’s all I’ll tell you,” he said. “You should eat.”

“How could you know my children are all right?” She sniffed. “You can’t.”

“Audrey, you’re in no position to make demands. Not anymore. That life is behind you.”

He was tall, maybe six-foot-two, and well built, with a bushy black beard and flashing blue eyes that seemed intelligent to her. She guessed that he was around fifty. He’d told her to call him Art Director. No reason for the name, not yet, anyway, nor any other explanation for what had happened so far.

“I was concerned myself, so I called your house. The children are there with your nanny and husband. I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you, Audrey. I’m different from you in that respect.”

Audrey shook her head. “I’m supposed to trust you? Your word?”

“I think it would be a good idea, yes. Why not? Who else can you trust out here? Yourself, of course. And me. That’s all there is. You’re miles and miles away from anybody else. It’s just us two. Please get used to it. You like your scrambled eggs a little soft, right? Fluffy? Isn’t that the word you use?”

“Why are you doing this?” Audrey asked, getting braver, since he hadn’t actually threatened her yet. “What are the two of us doing here?”

He sighed. “All in due time, Audrey. For now, let’s just say it’s an unhealthy obsession. It’s more complicated, actually, but let’s leave it at that for now.”

She was surprised by the answer—he knew he was a freaking nutcase, didn’t he? Was that good or bad, though, that he knew exactly what he was doing?

“I’d like to keep you free like this as much as possible. I don’t want you kept in bondage, for God’s sake. Not even the ropes. Please don’t try to run away or it won’t be possible. Okay?”

He seemed so reasonable at times. Seemed. Christ! Wasn’t this the most insane thing? Of course it was. But insane things happened all the time to people.

“I want to be your friend,” he said as he served her breakfast—the eggs cooked just so, twelve-grain toast, herbal tea, boysenberry jam. “I’ve cooked all the things you like. I want to treat you like you deserve. You can trust me, Audrey. Start by trusting me just a little bit. . . . Try your eggs. Fluffy. They’re delish.”

Chapter 32

Chapter 32