“I’m going to give you some time to think about what you’ve done.” Steve still stood in the doorway, so tall and strong. “And when I come back, I’ll expect an apology.”
She always apologized. Why didn’t he ever have to apologize? Well, she wasn’t going to. Not until he did.
“And you can expect more punishment. You’ve been a very, very bad girl....”
The door closed. She heard a lock click.
He’d installed a key lock from the outside. She hadn’t even noticed. Probably because it was just like the one on the bathroom at home.
No, her home wasn’t in Las Vegas. And it didn’t have bathroom locks. It had child safety locks....
That thought brought up the bile. And Meredith retched, splitting her ribs with burning pain every time a muscle moved.
When she was done, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, lay down on the cool tile floor with her head on the plush rug in front of the sink and closed her eyes.
Her day hadn’t gone quite as planned. She wasn’t dead and she wasn’t free.
Steve was a highly skilled and trained detective. He’d won their little skirmish.
But she’d won her war.
She wasn’t afraid of him anymore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MAX HAD BEEN on the internet. And around the yard. He’d checked every baseboard in the house for nicks and made a list
of those he really should putty and dab with some touch-up paint. He put the list on his desk.
And then went back and checked the walls for nicks.
Made a similar list.
Put it next to the one already on his desk.
He looked at the insides of the toilet tanks, making sure the plastic fittings were in good working order. And lay on his back underneath each sink. He wasn’t a plumber, but a guy could tell if fittings were old and giving way. He could turn the shut-off valves and make certain they still worked.
He looked at the tile grout. Made a list of places that needed a little help. Put the list on his desk.
He emptied the trash.
And looked over the furniture, making a list of pieces and parts that could do with a spot of the furniture varnish he kept out in the shed.
The shed.
Meri had been in there. Presumably the same day she’d cleaned. He’d have known if she’d been home twice since she’d left.
Meri? Oh...please...Meri.
He didn’t know what to ask. Didn’t know what she wanted. To come home to him?
To be free?
Dropping to the floor, pen and furniture list in one of the hands linked behind his head, he did a sit-up. And then another.
He lost count somewhere in the fifties.
But he didn’t stop doing sit-ups.