And Andrew Covington had made me suffer more than enough for one lifetime.
I’d never be able to turn the door lever with my hands bound. But if my cellphone was still inside that clutch, I might be able to call for help before anyone returned tocheck on me. It was a long shot — but it was also my only shot at escape.
With that thought, I took a deep inhale and tried to rise to my feet with the chair still strapped to my back. My heeled feet wobbled as they attempted to support the awkward, crouched position I’d heaved my body into, and within seconds the chair legs smacked back down against the carpeted floor with a low thud that made me wince. I froze, listening for sounds of anyone approaching. When a minute passed in unbroken silence, I tried again.
Rocking my body forward, I rose once more, bending my torso nearly parallel to the ground. I teetered slightly but managed to steady myself, holding my breath as I focused on remaining upright and not tripping over the long train of my gown. In a series of slow, shuffling steps, I made my way across the rug with my eyes trained on the carpet’s sumptuous weaving. After what felt like an eternity I reached my destination, the small sofa table coming into view inches below my nose.
Taking care not to move too fast and jeopardize my precarious balancing act, I leaned forward slightly, opened my mouth, and clamped down on my small clutch, my teeth digging into the bejeweled fabric. Suppressing the small flare of hope in my chest, I retraced my shuffling steps back to my original spot and dropped the chair legs to the ground.
I sighed. Now, for the tricky part.
Once my chair was back in place, I maneuvered my body as far forward as I could manage on the seat, creating a small gap of space between my back and the rungs of the chair, where my hands had been bound. I took a deep breath through my nose to steady myself and took aim, tossing my chin and releasing the bag from its hold between my teeth.
My heart skipped a beat as I watched my small clutch drop like a stone through the air, landing on the edge of the seat and nearly tumbling to the floor, where it would be both useless and unreachable. When the dangling bag steadied on the brink, I exhaled in relief and shifted backwards on the chair once more, using my body to maneuver the bag, inch by inch, away from the edge.
When my fingers brushed the jeweled satin, I nearly wept with relief.
Pulling the clutch between the rungs, I worked at the zipper, my tied hands making it difficult to gain purchase on the fabric. In my clumsy attempts, I almost dropped the purse to the floor and lost my only chance at freedom. When I finally managed to work the zipper open, I was disheartened to feel nothing but satin and plastic inside.
No cellphone.
I fought off a scream of frustration as my only escape method went out the window. I was tied to a chair, totally defenseless, about to face the man who haunted my nightmares. And I was armed only with a clutch purse and Simon’s plastic “emergency kit” of makeup supplies.
My breath caught in my throat.
The “emergency kit.” Hadn’t Simon said there was a sewing set inside? A pair of scissors?
The ropes binding my hands weren’t too thick — with enough sawing, even a small pair of scissors might be able to cut through. With newfound energy, my fingers tugged at the clutch. Closing my eyes to better sort the shapes inside, I opened the plastic bag. I felt a small, smooth tube — the mascara — as well as a thicker, indented tube — the roll of breath mints. My fingertips scraped against several stick-like things — makeup brushes — and finally came to rest on something cool and metallic.
Scissors.
I smiled as I worked them from the bag and pushed my clutch back through the rungs onto the seat so I could devote all my concentration to slicing the small blades against my bindings. The smile dropped from my face when I heard the scrape of metal on metal, my head twisting left to watch as the door lever twisted counterclockwise and the thick portal swung inward.
Smash-Nose stood in the doorway, grinning. “Boss is here.”
He stepped aside to allow the “Boss” to enter the room and winked at me through the crack as he pulled the door closed with a metallic boom. I sat immobile, blinking like an idiot, as I came face to face with the ringleader of theLabyrinthorganization. My wide, disbelieving gaze swept from the immaculately styled blonde hair to the icy blue eyes, which hadn’t changed in the near decade since I’d last seen them. I struggled to reconcile what I was seeing with what I knew to be true.
The “Boss” was Judith Covington.