But she was no longer the lonely, naïve young woman who had been easily deceived by a handsome, charming, wealthy older man.
The manacle. She had to do something about it before she could try to figure out a way to escape. She had faced a similar problem the last time she had been held prisoner. In Bar Harbor she had been able to save herself because someone had taught her how to sail. It had been weeks, however, before she had gathered the nerve to take the risk of sailing into the storm.
The good news this time was that she already knew how to pick a lock. A secretary learned a lot of skills when she realized she was working for a couple of ruthless killers. She had made it a point to discover her employers’ darkest secrets, especially when she began to suspect that she was on their to-do list of future victims.
She tried to focus on the details of her surroundings, searching for something she could use to unlock the manacle. But the room was starting to twist and warp around her again, just as it had last night in room two twenty-one. The hallucinations slammed back, scenes from her nightmares.
A devastating lethargy settled on her. She fell back onto the bed.
Tears of rage and frustration leaked from her eyes. She knew then that she should never have eaten the breakfast rolls.
Chapter 12
Simon arrived at the beachfront cottage shortly before six the next morning. The first thing Lyra noticed was that he wasn’t wearing his spectacles. The second thing that was immediately evident was that he was in a bad mood.
He looked at the three pink leather suitcases and the hatbox sitting in the small front hall.
“What the hell?” he said.
“We’re supposed to be on our honeymoon, remember? A bride doesn’t check into an expensive hotel with only one suitcase.”
“Is that right? You’ve done this before?”
“I have attended a number of weddings as a bridesmaid. I spent a few months planning my own wedding until I discovered that my fiancé was sleeping with my former best friend. Trust me, I know how these things are done.”
Simon surveyed her snug dark green skirt, yellow silk blouse, and dainty high-heeled sandals with a disapproving glare.
“You look like a fashion model,” he said.
She gave him her most glowing smile. “Why, thank you.”
He did not return the smile. “Does it occur to you that you might be going overboard with our cover story?”
“Would you prefer that I wear my trench coat and fedora? Somehow I don’t think that would work with the image of Mr. and Mrs. Cage, newlyweds.”
“We’re wasting time.” Simon picked up two of the pink leather suitcases and headed out the open door. “Let’s get on the road.”
She slung the strap of her handbag over her shoulder, gripped the handle of the remaining suitcase, picked up the hatbox, and hurried after him.
“Are you always this grouchy in the mornings?” she asked.
“I don’t know. There’s never been anyone around to complain.”
“So you’re not married, then?”
“No.”
“Ever been married?”
“No.”
He opened the trunk of the sleek maroon Cord parked in the drive and wedged two pink suitcases alongside his briefcase and a single, well-worn brown leather suitcase. When he was finished he eyed the hatbox and the remaining suitcase.
“Those will have to go in the backseat,” he said.
She gave him her super-dazzling smile. “Why do I have the feeling you wish you could stuff me into the trunk and put the suitcases in the passenger seat?”
He ignored that. Instead he took the third suitcase and the hatbox around to the passenger’s side of the convertible. The top was down. He leaned over and dropped the suitcase and box on the floor of the rear compartment.
