“You don’t sound so sure.”
God, could he read her mind?
Truth was, she couldn’t remember taking her pill yesterday morning. Thinking back over the day, she couldn’t isolate a memory of taking her medication.
She’d had several errands in town. She had gone to the local moving company to purchase some packing boxes. After that, she remembered stopping at an ATM to withdraw cash for her trip back to Atlanta.
Her final stop before returning to the cabin had been at the pharmacy. She had taken her last pill the night before. Luckily, when she started visiting Cleary on a regular basis, she’d had a local doctor write her a prescription for theophylline, the drug she took to help prevent asthma attacks. The extra prescription was a safeguard, so she would never be caught without.
Yesterday William Ritt had filled the prescription for her. From there her memory got hazy. She couldn’t remember if she had taken the tablet when she stopped at the soda fountain to buy a vanilla Coke from Linda Wexler, or if she had waited to take it once she reached the cabin.
Surely she hadn’t forgotten to take it. She never failed to take her medication. It was part of her daily routine. However, yesterday had been an unusual day, and not only in terms of her schedule. Dutch had placed her on an emotional seesaw.
He was waiting for her when she returned to the cabin. He was sitting on the edge of the sofa, staring into near space, shoulders hunched, looking forlorn. His greeting had been “How could you do this to me?”
In view of the events that had followed, taking her medication might have slipped her mind.
“Lilly, are you sure you took it yesterday?”
She refocused on Tierney. “Of course I’m sure,” she lied.
“But it’s been over twenty-four hours.”
Or thirty-six.
“It’s worn off,” he said. “You’re in distress.”
“Well, that happens . . . when you discover . . . you’re trapped with a . . . serial killer.”
“You know I’m not a killer. Unlock the handcuffs. I’ll go get your medication.”
She shook her head.
“You’re running out of time.”
“We could be rescued—”
“Nobody’s coming up that mountain road until at least tomorrow. Probably not even then. And if you’re counting on some Rambo-type helicopter rescue, think again. Not even the bravest pilot is going to take one up in this storm and risk being slapped down by these winds or crashing into a mountain he can’t see.”
“Somehow . . .”
“It is not going to happen,” he said with mounting asperity. “You may be willing to gamble with your life, but I’m not. Get the key.”
“They could come . . . on foot.”
“No one’s that crazy.”
“Except you.”
That silenced him, but only for several seconds. “Right. Except me. I’d take any risk to keep you alive. I don’t want you to die, Lilly.”
“I don’t . . . much like . . . the idea . . . myself.”
“Let me go.”
“Can’t.”
His lips flattened with anger. “Let me tell you what you can’t do. You can’t afford to keep me chained to this goddamn bed. Every second spent arguing about it uses time and breath that you don’t have. Now get the key and unlock these—”