He crushes a bunch of pills into a small heap of powder, transfers it to a glass, and pours some wine into it, all in plain view, as if wanting to show me the method of my own demise.
I can’t afford to give him what he seems to want: the pleasure of seeing how scared I am.
He swirls the wine about, then raises it to my nose, so I may smell its aroma. “I’m happy to hear you’re not expecting a baby.” He tone is loaded with sarcasm. “I wouldn’t want it to suffer any ill-effects, once you have your little drink.”
I brace myself into being stubborn. “You can’t force me.”
“You know I can.” He coughs up a sharp laugh. “And then, there would be no more need to have this prescription renewed.”
What I want—even more than a chance to save myself—is to give the doctor a taste of his own medicine.
In a heartbeat, my hands turn clammy. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”
He growls, “Sure you do! You’ve been asking too many questions about me, about my trip to India years ago, and about the woman I married there. No one gets to do all that and live to tell the tale.”
I hesitate to ask, “Not even your wife?”
“Especially not her.”
“What about me?” I ask, already knowing the answer. “Am I going to survive the night?”
“Trust me, it is with a heavy heart that I must kill you.” He comes closer, strokes my chin. “Such a beauty.” For a second, his eyes seem sad, almost. “Such a waste.”
★ Love Suspense? Prepare to be thrilled ★
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