Closer Than You Think

Copyright © 2014 Karen Rose Hafer

The right of Karen Rose Hafer to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2014

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

Ebook conversion by Avon DataSet Ltd, Bidford-on-Avon, Warwickshire

eISBN: 978 0 7553 8999 5

Cover photograph © Stephen Carroll/Trevillion Images

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About Karen Rose

A former high school chemistry and physics teacher, Karen lives in Florida with her husband of twenty years and their children. When she’s not writing, Karen enjoys traveling, karate and, although not a popular Florida pastime, skiing.

By Karen Rose and available from Headline

Novels

Don’t Tell

Have You Seen Her?

I’m Watching You

Nothing to Fear

You Can’t Hide

Count to Ten

Die For Me

Scream For Me

Kill For Me

I Can See You

Silent Scream

You Belong to Me

No One Left to Tell

Did You Miss Me?

Watch Your Back

Closer Than You Think

Novellas available in ebook only

Broken Silence

Dirty Secrets

To my readers all over the world. You make it possible for me to have the coolest job ever.

To my wonderful family and friends for your support during this difficult year. I love you all more than I can say.

As always, to Martin, for loving me just the way that I am. You are my heart.

Praise

Praise for Karen Rose:

‘Fast and Furious’
Sun

‘Rose delivers the kind of high-wire suspense that keeps you riveted to the edge of your seat’ Lisa Gardner

‘Rose juggles a large cast, a huge body count and a complex plot with terrifying ease’
Publishers Weekly

‘[Karen Rose’s] glossy blend of romance and crime is completely compelling . . . another enojoyable and page-turning novel from the queen of romantic suspense’
Crime and Publishing

‘Blistering, high-octane suspence that never lets up . . . Don’t miss it!’ Karen Robards

‘Gripping, chilling and utterly compelling, Karen Rose is a classy storyteller’
Lancashire Evening Post

‘A high-octane thrill ride that kept me on the edge of my seat and up far too late at night!’ Lisa Jackson

‘Don’t miss this perfectly pitched chill-fest with a human edge from a rising star in the thriller market’
The Scottish Daily Record

‘A pulse pounding tale that has it all’
Cosmopolitan

Acknowledgements

Marc Conterato, for answering my medical questions when you probably have much better things to do!

Cheryl Wilson, Christine Feehan, Susan Edwards, and Kathy Firzlaff for welcoming me into your writing group. Writing with you has been my anchor. Cheryl, you were unequivocally right – I should have joined you guys a lot sooner!

Terri Bolyard, Kay Conterato, and Sonie Lasker for helping me brainstorm when I got stuck and for encouraging me through this year.

Mandy Kersey for taking care of all of the barn details so that I could write this book and for going with me to the hospital even though you knew it was going to make you queasy.

Caitlin Longstreet for being everything I’ve needed you to be and more.

Denise Pizzo for getting me back in the writing chair (and keeping me there).

Claire Zion, Vicki Mellor, and Robin Rue for your ongoing encouragement and for allowing me to tell my stories the way the characters tell them to me.

Martin Hafer for loving me, for taking care of our family, and for supporting my dreams. You are the very best.

Prologue

Oh God.
Corinne fought the sudden wave of nausea, contracting her body into a fetal position.
Wine. Too much wine. This is the worst hangover ever.

But . . . 
Wait. No. Can’t be.
A sliver of clarity returning, she shook her head, swallowing a moan when the room tilted.
Haven’t had a drink in two years.

The flu. Dammit
. She’d had the damn flu shot. She lifted her hands to rub her eyes, but—

Tied.
Realization rushed in. She gave her arms a panicked jerk, shooting pain up through her shoulders. Her hands were tied. Behind her back.

The room wasn’t dark.
I’m blindfolded.
She lurched to one side, heard the clank of a chain before her movement was abruptly checked.

Terror crashed through her, filling her mind.
Tied. Chained. Blindfolded.

A scream rose in her throat, but came out a rusty croak. Her throat was dry as dust, her lips cracked.
Not a hangover. Drugged. I was drugged.

How? When? Who would have? Who could have? What had they done to her? She drew a breath, tried to calm herself. Breathed deeply.
Think, Corinne. Think hard.

The musty odor of the room burned her nose, making her sneeze violently, sending her head spinning again. She clenched her teeth. Rode the nausea through.

She listened, but there was nothing. No wind. No music. No voices.

Okay. Okay. This sucks. This really sucks. Calm down. Think. Think
.

She forced her arms to relax, felt the chain go slack. She moved her fingers, her toes. Straightened her spine, careful not to make any more sudden movements.

She was on a bed. A mattress. With a sheet. And a pillow. Slowly she rubbed her cheek over the pillow. Rough. The room was musty, but the pillow smelled clean.

A sudden creak had Corinne freezing. The door opened, letting in a cold draft. And the smell of lemons. And the beginning of a shrill scream, muffled by the quick closing of the door.

Who was screaming?
Who is here?
And then Corinne remembered. Last night. Walking back to the dorm. From the library. With Arianna. They’d walked together because it was late.

Oh God. Ari is here too. She’s screaming. Somebody has her and they’re hurting her. They’re hurting her. They’ll hurt me next
.

‘You’re awake.’ It was a girl’s voice, shocking Corinne out of her panic. The girl sounded young. Not a little girl. Not an adult. A teenager, maybe. She sounded . . . hesitant. ‘I’ve been worried about you,’ the girl added.

Corinne could hear the girl’s feet shuffle against the floor.
Count her steps.
One, two . . . four, five . . . eight, nine, ten.
Ten steps to the door.

‘Who are you?’ Corinne whispered, her throat so dry it burned. ‘Why?’

The mattress shifted. Just a little. The girl was small. Cool hands cupped Corinne’s face. ‘You had a fever,’ the girl said. ‘It’s better now. Are you thirsty?’

Corinne nodded. ‘Please. Water.’

‘Of course,’ the girl said agreeably. A cup was placed against Corinne’s lips. A metal cup. Not glass. Glass could be broken, used as a weapon, but that wasn’t going to happen here.

The water trickled down Corinne’s throat and she gulped greedily. ‘More.’

‘Later,’ the girl said, gently laying her head back on the pillow. ‘You’ve been very sick.’

‘Who are you? Uncover my eyes.’

‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’ The girl actually sounded sorry.

‘Why not?’ Corinne asked, trying to keep the panic from filling her voice.

‘I just can’t. I’m allowed to take care of you. I’m not allowed to take off your blindfold.’

Panic won and Corinne lunged, rattling her chains. ‘
Who the hell are you?
’

The mattress abruptly shifted as the girl jumped off the bed. ‘Nobody,’ she whispered. ‘I’m nobody.’ Footsteps shuffled, the girl moving away. ‘I’ll come back later with some soup.’

‘Wait.
Please.
Please don’t go. Where am I?’

A slight hesitation before the resigned answer. ‘Home.’

‘No. This is
not
my home. I live in the dorm. King’s College.’

‘I don’t know about your college. This is . . . home. My home. And yours. For now.’

For now? Oh God.
‘But where are we?’

‘I don’t know.’ Said simply. Truthfully.

‘Can you help me get away?’

‘No. No.’ The girl’s tone became adamant with fear. ‘I can’t.’

But she wanted to. Corinne could hear it in her voice. Or she wanted so badly to hear it that she told herself it was there. Either way, she needed this girl on her side.

‘All right,’ Corinne said softly. ‘Can you tell me your name?’

Another long hesitation. ‘I have to go.’ The door opened. Ari’s screams filled the air.

‘Please. What’s happening to my friend? Her name is Arianna.
What’s happening to her?
’ The girl’s answer was quiet, spoken with a dull finality that had fresh terror clawing its way up Corinne’s throat. ‘He’s teaching her.’

‘Teaching her what?’

‘What she needs to know,’ the girl said. ‘I’m very sorry.’

The door closed. Corinne waited a few seconds. ‘Hello? Are you there?
Please
.’

But the girl was gone and Corinne was alone in the dark.