Kelley Armstrong - Omens

That buzz of alarm shrieked before I could jerk my arm.

Don’t move.

There’s something around my—

Don’t move!

A hiss of breath. I froze and I swear my bladder convulsed, with a tingle deep in my groin that had me clenching tight.

I clenched everything tight, going rigid as I strained to listen.

Breathing. Quiet breathing, ragged and raspy at the edges.

Not my breathing.

Where’s the second chair?

I knew without turning my head. There was only one place it could be, the only spot too dark for me to see, the same spot the breathing came from.

The other side of the bed.

I moved my hand, barely an inch, sweat beading as I struggled not to jerk or pull suddenly. There was definitely something around my wrist. Soft, loose. Another inch. It started to tighten.

I closed my eyes and willed my heart to slow. Don’t panic. Oh God, don’t panic.

Don’t panic? I’m bound to the goddamn—

Don’t panic!

I sucked in a breath as deeply as I dared. Then I shifted my legs, as if moving them in sleep, brushing them together as I did.

Okay, there was nothing around my ankles. Nothing around my other wrist either, because if I’d stop freaking out for a second, I’d realize I could see my other hand, on the moonlit bedspread.

Bound to the headboard by one wrist. Bound loosely by a cord. Which would tighten if I jumped up.

So don’t panic.

If I moved my hand up, toward the headboard, I’d give the cord more slack. Then I could work it off. I’d just slide my hand—

A hitch in the breathing. A squeak of the chair.

I snapped my eyes shut. Then I lay there, blind, every nerve straining, as if I could somehow sense if I was in danger. Only I couldn’t. Someone was right beside me, maybe even leaning over me, knife moving to my—

Oh God, oh God.

Breathe. Just breathe.

A soft grunt, almost sounding disappointed. Another squeak as the intruder settled back into the chair.

Moving so slowly that my neck ached, I turned my head an inch toward his side of the bed. Then I waited. Counted to ten as sweat trickled down my cheek.

At ten, I waited two more excruciating seconds. Then I cracked open my eyes. It took a moment for my vision to adjust. When it did, I saw a figure sitting beside the bed.

If I opened my eyes just a little more—

No. Just wait.

After a moment, the figure began to manifest features. Dark hair cut short. A round face. Wide nose. Clean shaven.

The goddamned desk clerk.

That bastard. That scrawny, greasy bastard. Did he really think—?

A faint tug on my left wrist as my hand involuntarily clenched. I quickly released it and inhaled through my mouth.

Okay, anger was far more satisfying than panic, but no less likely to get me in serious trouble. If this guy had me bound to my bed, he’d probably brought either a knife or a gun. I had to relax and get free.

Earlier, I’d thought he recognized me. He hadn’t. What he’d seen was the same thing the sleazy landlord had seen. A young woman alone. Uncertain. Exhausted. Vulnerable.

The perfect victim.

I must have forgotten to fasten the chain. He’d used his master key to get into my room and bound my wrist to the bed. Now he was watching me sleep. Waiting for that moment when I’d wake, still sleepy, blissfully ignorant. When I’d stretch and the cord would tighten and I’d realize what had happened. When I realized what would happen and became completely, deliciously, helplessly terrified.

If I was only bound by one hand, and I knew about it—and him—that gave me an advantage. Leap up and get free. Rob him of his moment of terror and—

“Are you awake?” His whisper slithered past.

I shut my eyes fast.

The chair squeaked again as he got up. This time I did sense him leaning over me. Heard his raspy breathing getting closer, closer…

He was so close that when he moved, his sleeve brushed my bare arm and goose bumps sprang up.

My throat constricted. I had to swallow. No, I couldn’t swallow. It would give me away. Just lie perfectly still—

I had to swallow. I couldn’t breathe. Oh God, I couldn’t—

Something brushed my cheek. The touch was so light that it took a moment for my brain to register the feeling. Not warm skin. Not cool fabric. Cold metal.

My bladder convulsed once more.

Oh God, oh God. I had to do something. Now . Before—

A metallic click, right over my ear. I leapt up, limbs flailing. He stumbled back. Metal flashed in his hand. I swung at it, with my free fist. I hit his arm and his fingers flew open, the knife falling to the bed.

Not a knife. Scissors. A lock of my hair still jammed between the blades.

I grabbed for it, but he was faster, whacking the scissors with his open palm and sending them sailing onto the floor.

I lunged and the cord around my wrist tightened so fast it wrenched my shoulder. I spun, scrabbling back up the bed and clawing at the cord. But when it tightened, the knot tightened, too, and I couldn’t slide it back, couldn’t loosen it.

“Don’t do that,” he said. “You’re only going to hurt yourself, Eden.”

The hairs on my back rose, like a cat’s. A flash of rage, white-hot. It evaporated as fast as it formed, leaving my heart pounding, throat constricting again.

He did recognize me.

That’s what this is about. Who I am. Who my parents are. He’s going to—

“Eden?”

I inched up to the headboard, turned and crouched there, my free hand still working at the knot. He stood with the scissors in his hand. When my gaze shot there, he lowered them. The hair was gone now. Fallen free, I thought, then I saw it behind him, on the dresser top, one pale curl carefully laid out.

I looked at him again. Yes, it was the desk clerk, but not the way I’d remembered him when I’d been lying in bed. Not a greasy slimeball. His hair was clean. His face was clean. His clothing was clean. I could say he’d washed up, but I realized this was how he’d looked in the office when he checked me in. I’d just misremembered. Reimagined him the way I’d picture a guy who’d sneak into a woman’s hotel room to rape her.

I knew that predators came in every form, but I couldn’t help staring at him. He looked too ordinary, too quiet, too well mannered.

A man that a single woman wouldn’t mind sitting next to on a crowded train.

A man like Todd Larsen.

“My—my name isn’t—”

“Eden Tiffany Larsen. A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

“No, my name is—”

“I know what they call you now. Olivia. It doesn’t suit you at all. You should go back to using your real name. Your proper one. Eden.”

He pulled the chair alongside the bed until it bumped the nightstand. Then he sat and inched it forward, getting closer still. I kept working at the cord. He glanced over, frowning, but said nothing to stop me, just laid the scissors on his lap.

“For twenty years, people have been looking for you. Some said they’d hidden you too well. But the believers never gave up hope.”

“I don’t have anything to do with Pamela and Todd Larsen. They’re my birth parents. That’s it. I don’t remember them. I’m sure they barely remember me. If you’re going to use me for revenge—”

“Revenge?” He laughed. “We don’t want revenge. We want to honor them.”

“Honor?”

“What your parents did…” He shuddered. It wasn’t the kind of shudder most people would give thinking about what the Larsens did. It wasn’t the kind of shudder anyone should give thinking about it.

“They made a statement,” he said. “An incredible statement.”