Free Betrayal's Shadow by K H Lemoyne Page B

pillow. The artificial smell of her dryer sheet confirmed she was home in her own bed. Pulling her hand from under the pillow, she twisted it and searched for the scrape on her finger. A pink, puckered scar curved around the knuckle of her index finger, a fresh mark.
    Was the prisoner fantasy or reality? She could float in denial, but denial never sat well with her. At least not anymore, she thought wryly, as she noted the clothes, not nightgown, that covered her body. Blood-smudged clothes. An empty water bottle snuggled intimately next to her hip under the sheet.
    He’d better not be carrying any diseases. She would have to ask, though she doubted he’d be insulted. Turen seemed too controlled to express annoyance at such a question. He only backed off from the big questions, like who, what, and why. His brief skimming of the facts didn’t explain her nocturnal travels or answer what he was desperate enough to find that he would endure capture and torture.
    She might not be able to stop her visits, but if they continued she was going to get some answers.
    I would prefer you far from here and safe .
    She would, too. Yet the memory of his voice made her skin tingle, and she rolled over to quell the sensation. Far away, safe, and still, wide-awake in broad daylight, her body reacted as if he was beside her. A total stranger, one whose face she’d never seen in full light, had the power to send sexual heat whipping through her with only the recollection of his voice. Mia ground her face into the sheets and contemplated a cold shower.
    Thirty minutes later, she walked down the hallway to her office, coffee cup in hand. The sun had shifted. It streamed in her office windows, seeming to follow her around the house. Sunbeams lit whitewashed patches on the worn hardwood floor. The last green of summer leaves on the trees and bushes bordering her property, a good half mile away, laced her view from the tall windows. Cocooned in solitude, with no living soul within shouting distance of the house, she’d always considered herself safe.
    Do you have family, friends, coworkers who will miss you if you do not return?
    Mia shivered and shook off the disquiet the question caused. She was self-sufficient, worked hard, even if she did live alone. Friends were scattered around the country, a mere touch of the keyboard away. However, none would notice for several days, weeks, maybe, if she was gone.
    Would he miss her if she didn’t return?
    He’d meant to ground her in fear, convince her to run if she could. The man’s motives were transparent as glass. With the recollection, darkness threatened the morning’s bright lining.
    She shifted the paperwork on her desk. Two articles needed final edits and revisions by tomorrow. A proposal for a non-fiction book she’d procrastinated on was late on delivery to her publisher. An unmarked folder needed evaluation for future projects.
    She dragged her projects folder to the top and flipped it open. Several sheets ripped from the local paper and printouts from the Internet slid across the manila background. All constituted her brainstorming and research into an exposé on women’s options and realistic expectations from classes in self-defense. She pulled three from the stack to read the instructors’ bios. Her exposé would deal with sword and staff proficiencies. A bit esoteric, but the uniqueness of the weapons appealed to her, and at a high level, the article might interest others.
    Mia tapped a finger on top of the folder. She’d put off pursuing the project because she wanted more than interviews and opinions. Both the discipline and the practice had intrigued her. Instead of pursuing her interest, she’d allowed criticism to daunt her.
    Not from instructors. Although, honestly, she wasn’t sure they would take her as a pupil.
    “You have no martial arts experience, and the field is dominated by men.” She could still hear Alex’s voice. He’d scowled at her idea. “It’s such a