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Back The Widow Save as PDF
Chapters (92)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. PART I
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. PART II
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. 76
  81. 77
  82. 78
  83. 79
  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. 82
  87. 83
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. MORE FROM VALERIE KEOGH
  90. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  91. The Murder List
  92. About Boldwood Books

There was water. She drank mouthfuls from the tap, slurping it from her cupped hands, drying her hands and face on the small damp towel. There wasn’t a mirror anywhere – too dangerous, never mind the seven years’ bad luck; shards of smashed mirror would make a good weapon. It didn’t matter. Allison didn’t need to see her reflection to know her skin would be ghostly pale, her eyes wide with fear and… she pressed tentative fingers to her face… there would be a swathe of colour across her cheek.

She hoped Stuart and Portia had matching bruises, hoped she’d managed to get one or two punches in. Stupid people, they didn’t know what she was made of. The fight she’d already won.

Banging and yelling had resulted in nothing apart from sore hands and a strained throat. She needed to be more meticulous. Wrapping the sheet tighter, she examined the edges of the door, looking for any weakness. Another waste of time.

As was banging on the walls.

And moving the bed, grunting to turn it on its side, looking for something, anything she could use. She even failed to find something useful under the carpet. Hoping for floorboards she could prise up with her fingers, she found sheets of plywood nailed to whatever lay underneath, breaking two nails in an attempt to loosen the edge.

She sat back against the wall, sucking on the bubble of blood that welled at the base of her broken nail. If she could cry, this would be the time to do it. Instead, she got to her feet and restored order to her prison. The mattress had fallen from the upended bed. Her lip curled to see the stains on the reverse. With a grunt, she flipped it over and back onto the base and threw the sheet over it. She sat with her back against the wall and considered her options.

Whatever way she looked at it, it didn’t appear she had any. It seemed wiser to consider theirs. Stuart and Portia. What were their plans? If she was right, if this had been a set-up from her first meeting with Portia, they’d gone to a hell of a lot of trouble. They’d drugged her to get her here. Were they planning to drug her again for whatever was planned next? She shivered when she thought of Stuart’s fat, sweaty hands on her. His mouth. His… ‘Argh!’ The thought of any part of him touching her made her nauseous. Had they hoped she’d be compliant when she realised she’d no choice?

Compliant!

Over her dead body.

Or maybe over theirs.

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