murdered. They suspect it, but they can never prove it. There’s a very clever French inspector, and in the end, Francois kills him too. Francois is my hero. The inspector’s name is Robert. He buries him in the woods, and no one ever finds him.” And as he said the inspector’s name, the story clicked for Hope. It was no accident that the rich wife was killed, the poor boy wins, and the inspector had the name of the lawyer Finn had found on the piece of paper in her purse when she first came from Dublin. All the puzzle parts fit together seamlessly, and the threat to her was clear.
She looked straight at Finn then. “Is there a message there for me?” She didn’t flinch as their eyes met, nor did he. He shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
“Why would you say a thing like that?”
“Some of the story seems a little close to home.”
“All writers inspire themselves somewhat from real life, even if they don’t admit it. And there are differences. The wife he kills is pregnant. You’re not. You don’t have a brother. Or a father. You’re all alone. That would be a lot more scary. But very boring for the reader. You need layers, subplots, and more people to make a story work. I just found it interesting what happens to her when she won’t give him the money. It proves that trying to hang on to it doesn’t pay. You can’t take your money to the grave.” What he was saying to her was frightening, given their situation, but he said it with a smile, and he was clearly mocking her. But his message to her was clear. Pay up or die.
He didn’t mention it further, and she put their dishes in the pantry sink, trying to act normal. They started talking about Christmas, which was two weeks away. Hope said she wanted to go to Russborough to get a tree the next day, and Finn said he would rather chop one down himself. He had an ax in the stable, which sounded ominous to her too. His story had unnerved her, and she suspected that was the point. Finn knew exactly what he was doing. The night before he had reminded her of how alone she was. And now he had told her a story he had created about a man who kills his wife when she doesn’t give up her fortune to him. The message was extremely clear. And the hair stood up on her arms when she thought about it. They read side by side in bed that night, clinging to the appearance of normalcy, and Hope said nothing to him. She was thinking of his story and couldn’t concentrate on the book in her hands. For an odd moment, she began to wonder if she should run like hell, as Robert had said, or just pay Finn, and give in. If she didn’t, he was right, she would be alone forever. And if she paid him, then what would happen? Would he be nice again, and calm down? Maybe if she gave him the money, things would go back to the way they were in the beginning and they would stop fighting. And Finn was right. He was all she had in the world. She didn’t like the idea, but maybe she had no other choice. She felt cornered, beaten, and trapped. She was tired of trying to swim against the tides. She felt like she was drowning. Finn was too powerful for her. He was trying to destroy her mind. He almost had. She could feel it. He was winning.
“So what do you think about my story?” Finn asked her when she put down her book and stopped pretending to read it. She looked at Finn then, with a dead look in her eyes.
“To be honest, I’m not sure I like it. And I get the message. I’d like it a lot better if they all kill the poor boy from Marseilles. Then I wouldn’t feel so threatened.” She looked right at him as she said it.
“It doesn’t work that way,” he said cleverly. “He’s much smarter than they are.” And more willing to take risks, and cross lines.
“I’ll give you the money, if that’s what you want to know,” she said bluntly. She had no illusions anymore. This was about survival. He had defeated her. She felt dead inside.
“I thought you would,” he said, smiling at her. “I think it’s a good decision.” And then he moved toward her and kissed her ever so gently on the lips. She didn’t respond. For the first time since she’d known him, she hated his touch. “I’ll make you happy, Hope. I promise.” She no longer believed it, or even cared. She was selling her soul, and she knew it. But being alone in the world seemed worse. “I love you,” he said gently, looking pleased. She no longer believed that either. She knew exactly what he had done. He had terrorized her. And it had worked. “Don’t you love me?” He had on his little-boy voice, and for a moment, she hated him, and she wished he would kill her. It would be so much simpler in the end.
“Yes, I love you,” she said in a dead voice. He didn’t know the meaning of the word. There was no coming back from what she knew now, or what he had implied that night at dinner. “We can get married next week if you want, if the embassy can get the papers ready. I’ll call the lawyer in Dublin about the prenup.” She sounded like a robot and felt like a corpse.
“Don’t put too many teeth in it,” he warned. She nodded. He had the upper hand now. And she was alone with him at the house. There was a stiff wind outside, and there was a snowstorm expected that night. She didn’t care. About anything right now. He had killed something inside of her that night. Any hope she had of being loved. All she was buying was his presence, not his heart. The only heart involved was her own. And it was broken beyond repair. “We’ll have beautiful babies, I promise. We can spend our honeymoon in London and see the doctor.”
“We don’t need the doctor,” she objected.
“If you let her give you the shots, you could have twins or triplets.” His electric-blue eyes lit up at the thought. It sounded frightening to Hope. It had been hard enough for her to have one baby when she had Mimi. She was a tiny woman. The thought of twins or triplets was terrifying, and then she looked at Finn. He owned her now. She had sold her soul to the devil, and he was it.
“Does he kill her if she has twins?” she asked him with wide, frightened eyes. And Finn grinned.
“Never. Not if she gives him the money.” Hope nodded in response and said nothing, and a little while later, Finn wanted to make love to her, and she let him. The wind was howling outside, and this time, she just lay there, letting him do whatever he wanted, even the things she had never let him do before, and some of them she enjoyed. He was excited by everything that had happened between them that night, his bloodlust had been satisfied, and his need to own her. She had finally surrendered, and it heightened his sexual desire for her. He took her again and again. He owned her in every way now. And just the way he wanted, Hope was his.
Chapter 21
Hope woke up at five A.M. when the wind smashed a tree limb against the house. The storm was in full swing. Finn had heard nothing, and as Hope awoke she felt as though her heart had been ripped out through her lungs. She was instantly awake and remembered everything that had happened the night before. Everything. Every word. Every sound. Every innuendo. Every nuance of Finn’s story about the young wife the poor boy killed. She understood all its implications, what she’d done, and what he’d done to her the night before, to her head, not just her body. He had brainwashed her. And every fiber of her being was screaming. She had sold her soul to the devil, or planned to, and he was asleep beside her in the bed. He was worn out from their sexual acrobatics that had only ended two hours before. Hope was still sore and knew she would be for days. And suddenly as she thought of all of it, she knew that as bad as being alone might be one day, this was infinitely worse. What she had just signed on for, and had been living for the past few months, was worse than death. She had bought her ticket to hell the night before, and as she thought of it, she remembered everything Robert Bartlett had said too… trust your instincts… when you know… run, Hope, run… run like hell…
Hope slipped out of the bed by millimeters. She had to go to the bathroom, but didn’t dare. She found her underwear on the floor, the dress she had worn the night before, a sweater of Finn’s, she couldn’t find her shoes, but she grabbed her purse, and slipped through the crack in the barely open door on bare feet. She ran quickly down the stairs, praying they wouldn’t creak, but the wind and the sounds of the storm were so loud that it covered everything else, and she never looked back, fearing he would be standing in the doorway, watching, but no one stopped her. He was sound asleep and would be for hours. She found a coat on a peg next to the back door, and the boots she wore in the garden. She unlocked the door, and ran out into the night, taking big deep gulps of the icy air. She was freezing and it was hard to run in the boots, but she didn’t care. She was doing just what Robert had told her, she was running for her life… to freedom… She had known the minute she woke up that if she didn’t, he would kill her. He had made that clear the night before. And she didn’t doubt it for a minute. Two women were dead because of him, she was certain of it, and she didn’t want to be the third. Even if she was alone forever. She no longer cared. About anything. Except getting out.
She walked for miles in the storm, with snow blanketing her shoulders; her legs were freezing in the thin dress, but she didn’t mind. Her hair was matted to her head. She passed houses and churches, farms and stables, a dog
