The day was overcast, precipitation threatening again, so the room was in shadow. Imogen’s face was a pale oval beneath her cap of dark hair, her chin tilted on her left shoulder. He could hear her breathing, slow and long exhalations. To all intents and purposes she looked like she was sleeping, but he knew otherwise. Her eyelids were too taut, as though she were holding them closed, and there was no movement beneath them as there would be if she was lost in dreamland.

He leaned in close to her, blowing on her ear. Imogen didn’t stir as a sleeping person would have.

“I know you are awake. Open your eyes and look at me.”

Imogen didn’t respond, except for the faintest flutter of her lashes.

“I said open your eyes.”

Rickard grasped Imogen’s chin in one hand, pinching hard. White blotches surrounded his fingertips but still Imogen didn’t respond. Rickard grunted out a laugh.

Releasing her jaw, he trailed his hand down her chest and stomach. She was still in the sweats that she’d worn for her run; damp from the rain. He dipped his hand under the hem of her top and ran his fingers over the warmth of her abdomen. He felt her shudder involuntarily, but to her credit she still feigned unconsciousness. He finger-crawled higher, touching the swell of one breast. She was wearing a plain sports bra, unlike the lace and ribbons and bows that he preferred, but her breasts felt full and firm the way he liked them. Not as full and firm as Alisha’s, but in her defense this woman was fifteen years older and silicone free. He pawed her, then took a breast in his hand and squeezed. He’d have liked to feel her respond but there was no hardening of the nub beneath his palm.

Maybe the bitch was still under the influence of the tranquilizer.

He slipped his hand from beneath her top, worming his fingers into the waistband of her trousers.

Fucking cotton panties.

He cupped the mound of her pubis. Pushed with his fingers, trying to insert a finger under the elastic.

Imogen came awake like an alley cat.

Shrieking and clawing, she tore at his hand, tore at his face.

Rickard reared away from her, his laughter ringing loud.

“I knew you were awake,” he said.

Imogen tried to bolt from the bed. Rickard grabbed her by an ankle, and she went down chest first on the floor. She kicked and squirmed, and he dragged her back onto the bed, threw her down, pushing her face into the pillows to smother her screams.