“Yes, of course.”
“Why ‘of course’?”
“Before we got married, Eddie moonlighted by working as a security guard for Mr. Marset.”
“At the warehouse?”
“The whole compound.”
“For how long?”
“Several months. They’d had a few break-ins, minor vandalism, so Mr. Marset hired Eddie to patrol at night. The break-ins stopped. Nevertheless, Mr. Marset liked the peace of mind that having a guard provided. But Eddie declined his offer of a permanent position.” She smiled faintly. “He wanted to be a cop.”
“How well did you know him?”
“Sam Marset? Only casually. He was an elder at our church. He and I served one term together on the Historical Preservation Society.”
“Church elder, historical society, my ass,” he snorted. “He was a greedy, unscrupulous son of a bitch.”
“Who deserved to be shot in the head.”
He raised one shoulder. “Quick and painless.”
The statement and his matter-of-fact tone seemed to repel her. She tried to back away from him, only then realizing that her wrist was bound.
Honor’s head began to swim as she clawed at the stocking around her wrist. “Take this off me. Take it off!”
He grabbed the hand frantically trying to unwind the stocking and began wrapping the other stocking around that wrist. “No. No!” She batted at his hands, then at his face with her free hand.
He dodged her flailing hand. Swearing, he pushed her back onto the bed and was on her in a heartbeat. His knee held down her left arm while he quickly tied her right hand to the iron headboard.
Only the fear of awakening Emily kept her from screaming bloody murder. “Let me go!”
He didn’t. He ha
uled her left hand up and wrapped the end of the stocking around one of the curved iron rails, ruthlessly knotting it. Frantically she tugged on the bindings. Panic had her gasping. “Please. I’m claustrophobic.”
“I don’t give a shit.” He came off the bed and stood looking down at her, breathing hard from exertion.
“Untie me!”
He not only ignored the demand, he left the room.
She bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from screaming. He’d left about six inches of give on each hand, permitting the backs of her hands to lie against the pillow beside her head, but the slack didn’t lessen her feeling of entrapment. Overwhelmed by panic, she renewed her effort to get free.
But soon it became apparent that her attempts were futile and that she was only wasting her strength. She forced herself to stop struggling and to take deep, calming breaths. But reason had never succeeded in ridding her of claustrophobia, and it didn’t now. It only ameliorated it enough for her to slow down her heart rate and respiration to levels that weren’t life-threatening.
She could hear Coburn moving through the house. She supposed he was checking the locks on doors and windows. The irony of that caused a bubble of hysterical laughter to escape her before she could catch it.
The hallway light went out. Coburn reentered the bedroom.
She made herself lie still and to speak as evenly as possible. “I’ll go crazy. Really. I will. I can’t stand it.”
“You don’t have a choice. Besides, you’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”
“Just untie me and I promise—”
“No. I’ve got to sleep. You’ve got to lie here beside me.”