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Back The Rose Labyrinth Save as PDF
Chapters (45)
  1. Cover
  2. THE ROSE LABYRINTH
  3. Titlepage
  4. Copyright page
  5. Dedication
  6. PROLOGUE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. EPILOGUE
  42. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  43. BIBLIOGRAPHY
  44. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  45. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

“Look, if you do want to stay another day, would you perhaps come back sooner on Sunday? I’m taking Max back to Anna’s by three—possibly even earlier. Sunday afternoon would be a perfect time. I could cook.” Idiot, he thought to himself; if I were Will I’d just tell her I wanted her, and get her back here now. He’d push everything else to one side and get to the point. If Max was there, then Max was there. Life’s like that sometimes.

“Lucy?”

She’d gone silent, her gaze suddenly caught by a man who’d been standing almost behind her, listening. He was now looking straight at her, moving toward her. She was very uncomfortable. It was the same immaculately dressed man who’d leered at her in the church earlier in the day.

“Alex!” Her voice was panicked. He heard the phone drop, muffled voices, Lucy’s small cry like a child, and then all sounds retreated from the source of his hearing. He heard a clock chime the half hour. Then nothing.

18

HIS HAND WAS CLAMPED SO FIRMLY ON HER MOUTH THAT SHE WAS, FOR A moment, laboring for breath. Such a speed. Lucy was unused to moving this quickly now, always trying to pace her exercise for the sake of her heart. Her arms were constricted, crushed tightly in his other free arm, but she caught her right hand against her chest and tried to steady herself. She thought that if she had ever had a guardian angel of any description, this would be a good time to meet her. Or him, indeed.

He smelled of limes. The strange truth was that the scent was not unpleasant to her; but the circumstances of smelling it were abhorrent. She forced her mind to try not to collapse, and worked even harder to place it at some remove from the pain she felt stinging her body. It was not her heart but her legs, arms, shoulders rebelling from his pincer grip. He seemed to make the angry wounds and scars from her surgery burn again in her flesh. Kicking was useless, she realized, since she was in certain respects still physically under par. Any odd contortion of her body bit into her deeply. She was trying to think but the pain prevented her.