They gave her a suite of rooms, all her own, large, elegantly furnished, and with a guard stationed outside the door. An hour passed, no one entered to explain what had just happened or what she was doing in a penthouse suite outside the city proper.
With nothing else to do she moved from room to room opening carved drawers and checking behind embroidered cream curtains, her heels making stiletto imprints in the white carpet. Each room was pristine and modern, the bed linens were surgically tucked and the sleek stone surfaces shone bright enough to flash her reflection. She finally paused in the kitchen, eyeing the knife block with unease. Should she pick one up? Violence came so naturally to some.
The last thing to do was try the front door. To her surprise the handle gave. She leaned out slowly, peaking around. The guard outside was one of the stiff necked, armed, military bred men who’d pulled her bodily from a downtown gala. He’d also been one of those that had wordlessly escorted her into an unmarked car and brought her here. He looked over with a stony expression, hands restful over the semi-automatic held in front of him. “Please return inside.”
“Sorry.” She murmured and did as she was told. The television was unconnected, the entire suite didn’t have a single working network connection or even an archaic landline. However, for the purposes of entertainment unread stacks of the latest high fashion magazines were tucked discreetly in the shelves of the living room end tables. She frowned, each of the glossy volumes were titles she read. A fresh ripple of dread curled in her stomach and she turned, rushing back to the bedroom.
She yanked the doors of the walk-in closet open hard enough that the frosted glass rattled. The racks and hangers were full of clothes. The shelves along the floor held modest pumps, kitten heels and flat bohemian sandals. She pulled a dress from its hanger. The fine azure linen was expertly stitched, designer, and exactly her size.
She replaced the dress, forcing her breathing to remain even. They weren’t going to go through the trouble of making a cage only to kill her. That was something.
The sound of the front door opening carried into the bedroom and with it a conversation. She froze. Two men spoke in clipped tones, one voice was the guard, and the other was oddly familiar. She slipped from the closet, pulling the doors closed with a muffled snap. She could have hid, or looked for a weapon. But then Silas Norton walked in.
This story is to be continued and it all started with a deplorable act of thievery. I have taken my first line from Apprentice, Never Master. Check out her blog there, and the rest of the merry band of thieves here.