Chapter 11

If he hadn't touched me like he owned me.

Is that his thing? Ownership? Does he want a sex slave? If so, why did he choose me? Was it because of my reaction to him at the club? Did he guess that I would be a coward, that I would let him do whatever he wanted to me? Did I somehow bring this upon myself?

The thought is so sickening that I push it away and get up, determined to explore my prison further.

The door is still locked, which doesn't surprise me. I'm able to open the window, and warm, ocean-scented air fills the room.

I can't open the screen on the window, though. I would need to do that in order to climb out. I don't try too hard. If Beth is to be believed, escaping from this room wouldn't help me at all.

I look for something that could be used as a weapon. There's no knife, but there's a fork left over from my meal. Beth would probably notice if I hide it. Still, I take a chance and do it, concealing the utensil behind a stack of books on a tall bookshelf that lines one of the walls.

Next I explore the bathroom, hoping to find a bottle of hairspray or something else along those lines. But there's only soap, toothbrush, and toothpaste. In the shower stall, I find body wash, shampoo, and conditioner—all nice, expensive brands. My captor is clearly not stingy.

Then again, anyone who owns a private island can probably afford a fifty-dollar shampoo. He might even be able to afford a thousand-dollar shampoo, if such a thing exists.

The fact that I'm thinking about shampoo amazes me. Shouldn't I be screaming and crying? Oh, wait, I did that yesterday. I guess there's only so much crying a person can do. I seem to be all out of tears, at least for now.

After exploring every nook and cranny of the room, I get bored, so I take one of the books from the bookshelf. A Sidney Sheldon novel, something about a woman betrayed who seeks revenge on her enemies.

It's engrossing enough that I'm able to mentally escape my prison for the next couple of hours.

* * *

Beth comes and brings me lunch. She also brings me some clothes, folded in a stack.

I'm glad. I've been wearing the bathrobe all morning, and I would like to dress normally.

When she puts the clothes on the dresser, I again think about tackling her and trying to escape. Maybe using the fork I've got stashed away.

"Nora, give me the fork," she says.

I jump a little and give her a startled look. Could she actually be a mind-reader?

And then I realize that she's simply looking at the empty tray and noticing that the utensil is missing.

I decide to play dumb. "What fork?"

She lets out a sigh. "You know what fork. The one you hid behind the books. Give it to me."

Another one of my assumptions proven wrong. I don't know why I'd thought I had any privacy.

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