EDGAR LEFT THE BATHROOM, hearing the click of the lock behind him. He stood outside the door for a moment, listening to the girl sob. She wasn’t going to undress. Most of them didn’t the first time. He walked back to the kitchen and washed the dish he’d served the sandwich on.
He paused to listen if the shower was running as he drained the sink and dried his hands.
It wasn’t.
Four minutes remaining. Just enough time had passed for her to realize she wouldn’t be able to use the flimsy toothbrush as a weapon when he returned.
Wiping down the counter, he grabbed the dropper of liquid sedative from behind the flour container and put it in a junk drawer—right next to the butane lighter he’d used to reseal the bag of chips.
