Panic fluttered in Bridget’s throat. She was not going to just sit and watch Bob die. “I’m going to beg them to take you to a doctor. Or at least dump you in front of an emergency room and take off.”

“Do you honestly think they would do that?”

“What are they going to do?”

“I don’t know.” He sighed. “The thing is, I don’t think Derrick and Joanne know either. I just know it can’t be anything good.” He pasted on a smile. “I would love some morphine, but if I can’t have that, I need something to take my mind off the pain. Could you do something for me?”

“Of course. Anything.” She nodded vigorously. “What?”

“Read Eyes of the Forest to me.”

“Didn’t Derrick take it?” Last night, he’d picked up the pages next to the typewriter.

He gave her the ghost of a smile. “Do you know the story of Scheherazade?”

“Like in A Thousand and One Nights?”

Bob nodded. “The chapters I’ve been giving Derrick are just shadows of the real book. Good enough to keep him interested, but I saved a better version for myself. And his version isn’t finished. Like Scheherazade, my plan was to never finish it, because of what they’d do once it was.” He pressed his lips together. Was he thinking of how Bridget had forced their hand? “But at night when Derrick was sleeping, I wrote the real Eyes of the Forest and hid the chapters under the treadmill. I finished it the day before you came.”

Even here, even now, the idea of reading it thrilled her. “It would be an honor to read it to you.”

“Just keep your voice low and be ready to hide it if one of them comes in. In fact, do it in chunks in case they do come in and catch you. That way I might not lose the whole thing. But I want you to tell me if it’s any good.”

After retrieving the first stack of about thirty pages, Bridget sat on the floor next to the head of the bed, ready to shove the pages under the nightstand if the door opened. Reading in a low murmur, she found voices for the different characters. Soon she was completely immersed in the story. She no longer thought about what was going to happen to them or Bob’s ankle, how hard the floor was, or even possible entries for the database.

Joanne came in only once, carrying four granola bars, two bottles of water, six Tylenol and, oddly, a flower vase. She set everything down on the nightstand. Her expression was grim as she regarded Bob’s injury.

Finally she pointed at the vase and addressed Bob. “You can pee in there while I take her to the bathroom.” She took the stun gun out of her pocket. “Let’s go.”