My room was absolutely lovely except that the balcony door was apparently made out of diamond. The paper towel holder (metal, unlike the vanity chair) couldn't scratch it, even after I'd unwrapped the muffling bath towel.

The bedroom door was of course locked from the outside, as was the balcony. The balcony had fluffy coral curtains, the bathroom had a lock that fooled me not a bit. The only part of the room's practicalities that I admired was an elegant half-sized fridge built into the nightstand. It was stocked with water and electrolyte drinks.

Soft carpeting kissed my bare feet. The bed was a queen decorated with enough pillows to form a second mattress. The room was full of pastels and dark wood that did its designer credit.

And no, I'm not assigning dark chocolate voice credit. His sense of style probably put the word eclectic to shame.

A walk-in closet joined both bathroom and bedroom. Fluffy robes of varying sizes decorated the hanging rod there. There were loose pajamas in one row of drawers, underwear in another. The sizes ranged from extra small to extra large. I liked the inclusiveness. There was practicality and privacy.

Plus the fact that I was wearing a shirt two sizes too large for me and planned to continue along that vein. Gerard had already contoured his body around mine. He wasn't going to see anything to jog his memory. I was going to become a bag lady.

Showering hadn't helped my nerves much. I was clean, sure. Small wonder what with pausing to flinch at phantom sounds every minute. I'd even showered with my shirt on—because there was so much blood dried to my skin that just slipping the bra out had cost a layer.

I trusted my bra a lot more than the wimpy bits of cloth in the drawers. Since I'd washed it in the sink, though, I'd opted for two borrowed ones and loose layers overtop.

No one came after my attempt to escape out the balcony. Too bad the doors opened outward. Hinges are a wonderful weakness.

The guest room also had a short bookcase with an array of girly classics, pink covers and all. I didn't touch them . . . yet. I would if I had to. The only other thing to do here was stare out the balcony door.

Hey, I could start a flood. I bet that would get attention.

Breaking through a wall would be slightly less anoying to the housekeepers but just as obvious.

Happily for me, it was only two hours before the sound of a turning lock broke my monotonous attempts to tell time via the outside shadows. If I could get to the balcony, I could make a sundial, which about matched my thoughts on the one who'd imprisoned me. . . .

I sat up straighter and reminded myself that I was no stranger to nerves. The door swung open. A middle-aged woman walked in holding a tray covered in small portions of food. She held herself like a person who dealt with orders, not small talk. Black slacks and a white, tucked-in dress shirt did nothing for her figure, but frankly I didn't care much for my own appearance and didn't want to think about someone else's.