Chapter Eleven“Whoa there,” Tina Svinsky cautioned as Clare tried to fight her way free of the tangle.
For a moment, Clare struggled with an imaginary foe, doe eyes looking out at her from a man's face completely devoid of emotion, hands locked like clamps around her wrists. The bundled sheeting dropped to the floor, mercifully remaining wrapped. Clare followed it, wrenching her opponent toward the jacket until she came to her senses and realized who she was fighting against. “Tina?”
“And you're back in the room. Clare, what's up? You're white as a sheet.”
Clare glanced back down the corridor. No movement. Had she imagined it? “There was definitely someone following me. I swear it.”
Tina followed her gaze. “Down there, hun? That's just the janitor, the furnace, and a bunch of mechanica
