“You would kick out a paying customer?” Bobby asked, giving him a look.

“If I had to. I’m capable of making my own decisions,” he added with a bit of steel in his voice.

That, at least, ended their pressure campaign for the next forty minutes until they arrived at the garage and James signed the paperwork for both vehicles.

As Detective Mendoza had promised, he was able to pick up his phone as well. Outside the garage, he handed Sophia the keys to his Explorer. “You’ll follow me,” he reminded her.

She was a tad testy as she said, “I’ll drop it off at the inn, where my car is, because I have to head back into town ASAP. I got a call reminding me I’m supposed to be at the police station in an hour. Apparently Detective Rivers wants to talk to me.”

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 22

The Isolated Cabin
Cascade Mountains
Washington State
December 15

I wait.

Seated on the hand-built couch.

Armed and ready.

Not only do I have two pieces of razor-sharp plastic, but also the metal rack that I managed to unscrew from the back of the bathroom cabinet door. It’s heavier. Will be able to do a different, deeper kind of damage.

At that thought, my stomach curdles. I imagine swinging the weapon, feeling the soft thud as it hits flesh, then pulling and ripping open a throat or gouging out an eye with the sharp plastic.

How had it come to this?

It’s true what they say about isolation and loneliness—they can breed paranoia that, at times, is overwhelming. I’m still sane enough to fall victim to the waves of fear. Then it all grows, becomes stifling and overwhelming. I have to ride it out, to wait, and eventually the terror slowly abates. These attacks usually come at night, dark, disturbing, violent images that leave me quaking and gasping, but come the dawn, I can usually find my center, come back to the bleak reality of my imprisonment. And that’s when I plot my revenge.

As I stare through those high, too-small windows, as the snow falls from a leaden sky, my gaze is turned inward.

Will I be able to pull off my brutal plan?

Will I be able to find the strength, the sheer fortitude to slice into the face and neck of a person I once so loved? It seems impossible . . .

Don’t forget that person you once cherished put you here. Locked you away. At gunpoint.

Tears build. My stomach sours and knots. Bile rises in my throat and burns my nostrils.

I have to do it. I have to free myself. This cannot go on!