Chapters (76)
- Cover
- Praise for Kelley Armstrong and the Cainsville Series
- Also by Kelley Armstrong
- Dedication
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- DOWNWARD SPIRAL
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- OUTCLASSED
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- SEEING RED
- A REASONABLE MAN
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- NOT EVIL
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
- CHAPTER THIRTY
- CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
- CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
- CURTAINS
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FORTY
- CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
- CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
- CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
- CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
- CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
- GONE
- CHAPTER FIFTY
- CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
- CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
- CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
- CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
- CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
- TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE
- CHAPTER SIXTY
- CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
- CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
- CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
- About the Author
I stayed in that crib room as long as I could bear it, until I was certain there was no more to see. I walked in every direction, only to end up where I’d started. Then I walked into the hall and sat. Just sat, because for the first time in my life there was honestly nothing I could do, no action that would fix this, and that was, perhaps, the surest sign that I was, in fact, losing my mind.
My surrender didn’t last for long. I’m not sure if that’s a sign of sanity or sheer bullheaded insanity, banging my head against a brick wall and expecting it to crumble before I dashed out my brains. I redid the circuit, taking every possible route out of the crib room, only to end up back there. On my fourth return visit, I stepped inside to see a figure with his back to me.
I knew who it was. There was no disguising that back. God knows, I’d stood behind it often enough. The white shirt was rumpled. The shoes were brown . . . under black trousers. But there was still no denying who it was. Or who it was supposed to be.
Gabriel turned as my sneaker squeaked. When he saw me, his shoulders sagged, as if he’d been holding his breath. Then, “There you are,” with a note of impatience, as if I’d waltzed off five minutes ago. Maybe that should have told me it was really him, but I’d been in this place too long, seen too much that wasn’t there.
“What’s the first Sherlock quote you said to me?”
“What?” His brow furrowed. Then, “You’ve been having visions, and you think I’m one of them.”
No shit, I wanted to say, but I waited until he said, “The game’s afoot.” A twist of a smile. “Although, if I admit to it, that might seem proof it can’t really be me.”
“I’ll take it. Okay, so you’re here.” I glanced around. “You know the way out, I hope.”
From the look I got, this wasn’t the reaction he expected. And what did he expect? That I’d break down sobbing in gratitude that he’d finally come looking for me? Maybe that’s unfair. I was grateful, but I couldn’t forget that he’d taken almost two hours to reply to my frantic call for help.