her anchor. Now she felt like she was the only one who knew all the secrets, and that was a very scary place to be.
Irina wouldn’t have thought so. Irina would have laughed at her. Irina loved to play games, to angle for power. Lisbeth had both admired and resented her for that. It was all a game for Irina. Nothing meant anything. Lisbeth wished she could have been more like that.
Irina would have been the one to end up living in a house like Jim Brody’s with a husband like Bennett Walker, and she would have accepted it all as her due.
In contrast, Lisbeth believed she would never feel like anything more than a hanger-on, a hick kid from the rural Midwest. An outsider with her toe in the door.
The clock saved her from sinking even deeper into the pain. It was time for night check, and it was her night to do it.
She held a cold wet cloth to her face for a few minutes, as if that would really help. The horses were probably going to freak out at the sight of her. Her head felt like a water balloon.
The stables were dimly lit at night. The barn manager was rabid about not startling the horses when they were resting. Lisbeth went from one stall to the next, doling out flakes of hay, checking legs, adjusting blankets.
It was a peaceful job and one she normally enjoyed, but she was jumpy, and exhausted, and shivering uncontrollably. She went up and down the aisle, bent over like an old woman.
So alone, she kept thinking. She felt so alone.
She had to pull herself together, she knew. She thought about quitting Star Polo. Good grooms were always in demand during the season. But she was afraid to do it. She didn’t want to call attention to herself. She didn’t want Mr. Brody to think she was turning against him.
She tried to think what Irina would have done if the situation had been reversed.
Irina would have gone on as if nothing had happened.
Knowing that only made Lisbeth feel worse.
Finished with her chore, she stepped outside the barn and looked out at the night. She rubbed her medallion between her thumb and forefinger, wishing the habit would calm her. Moonlight shone on the pond that spread out like quicksilver between the stables and the canal running perpendicular to the road. A heron waded in the shallows on long stilt legs. It paid no attention to her.
So alone…
The bag went over her head so quickly, Lisbeth couldn’t even react. One second she was looking at the heron, and the next she couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. Some kind of cord tightened around her throat, choking off her air supply.
Lisbeth grabbed at it, tried to get her fingers under it to pull it loose. She wanted to scream but couldn’t. She tried kicking at the person behind her, but he yanked her off her feet and shook her like a rag doll until Lisbeth didn’t know which way was up.
Dizzy, disoriented, terrified, she vomited inside the bag the second the cord loosened around her throat. The man dragged her backward, Lisbeth kicking and twisting and flailing like a wild animal caught in a trap.
The cord went tight again. Tighter. Tighter. Colors burst before her eyes. I’m going to die, she thought, astonished.
It was the last thought she had.
Chapter 35
What is death? Where does the soul go?
People brought back from the dead by resuscitation always talked about a bright white light, about friends and relatives who had gone before them beckoning with smiles and open arms.
Lisbeth saw nothing. Blackness. She reached out with her hands and hit something solid. She pushed at it, but it didn’t budge. Coffin, she thought, and she began to panic. She wasn’t dead, she’d been buried alive.
She hit her fists against the lid again and again, crying. When she tried to scream, she couldn’t. Her throat felt raw and swollen, and her mouth was parched to the point that it felt as if her tongue had doubled in size and was made of cotton. She tried to pull the bag off her head but couldn’t.
Then it began to dawn on her that she felt motion. And when the sound of her own pulse pounding in her ears receded, she could hear the hum of tires on pavement.
She was in the trunk of a car.
As she realized it, a new wave of panic rolled over her.
Who had taken her? Where were they taking her? For what purpose?
There were no good answers to those questions.
The car began to slow, then stopped. A car door opened, then closed. She waited for the trunk to open, but it didn’t.
Her heart was racing. She was shaking. The smell of her own vomit burned her nostrils. She strained to hear voices, but there were none.
What would happen to her now?
Would she wish she had already died?
SPLASH! SPLASH! SPLASH!
Someone was throwing heavy objects into water.
Then silence.
The trunk popped open then, and Lisbeth was grabbed roughly, hauled out of the car, and put on her feet. Her legs felt like they were made of string. Her knees buckled beneath her, but her captor held her up on her feet by the rope around her throat, as if she were a dog on a leash. She scrambled to get her feet under her, but he still half-dragged her off the pavement and into grass. The ground was soft and wet.
“No,” she said, barely croaking out the word. “No. No!”
She stepped in water, tried to turn around and run. He shoved her ahead of him.
Now the water was ankle deep, shin deep…
He was going to drown her.
“No! No!”
A wild squealing sound rang in her ears. She didn’t even realize it was coming from her. It didn’t matter how she struggled and splashed, the water was at her knees, her thighs… Mud sucked at her feet.
“No! Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!”
Her captor said nothing.
“Please don’t kill me!”
… her crotch, her belly…
She was sobbing.
He said nothing, just drove her farther into the water.
It came up over her breasts.
He put his hand on her head, shoved her under, and held her there.
Choking on water, she fought wildly, in a blind panic.
Her captor yanked her up to the surface. Lisbeth had to tip her head back to escape the water trapped inside the cloth bag. She had swallowed water, inhaled water, couldn’t get a breath to cough it out. She clawed at the bag clinging like wet plaster to her face.
He shoved her under a second time. When he pulled her back to the surface, he dragged her ashore and dropped her on the ground like a sack of garbage.
Lisbeth coughed and choked and retched, trying to expel the water from her lungs and replace it with air. The taste and smell of it was horrible, like it had come from a sewer. She managed to push herself onto her hands and knees, although a part of her just wanted to lie down and give up. All the while her mind swirled with fear and panic, and questions. Who was doing this to her? Would he rape her? Would he kill her? Would he torture her first?
