Waking. Sleeping. Waking. Sleeping. Waking. Or just dreaming of waking? Dreaming of what?
She was wanted.
A wanted woman.
She knew she’d been drugged, her arms and legs tied with thick rope. The only blessing was her clothes. They were intact.
She felt no pain. Only panic.
She was lying on a thin rug in an ordinary living room of an ordinary house. The midday sun streamed through the laced curtains, scattering pins of light around the walls like pieces of an unfinished jigsaw. She rolled on her side and came face to face with a navy blue sofa. Perhaps her kidnapper had laid her out on the sofa, and then she’d rolled off and landed on the floor without waking.
She could hear the sound of cooking in the kitchen. A kettle came to the boil and the unmistakeable smell of fried bacon strea
