Cold Death by Mary Stone (best e reader for android TXT) 📕

“Whew! I definitely dodged a bullet there.”

While Holly finished touching up her hair, Ellie thanked providence for smiling down on her. And when she walked out of the salon ten minutes later, she smiled while patting her curls.

Sixty-seven dollars for a wash and a trim plus information on how to bump into Letitia Wiggins despite an overzealous security guard? That was money well spent.

20

Katarina spent a good chunk of the night and all the next morning creating and rejecting escape plans.

Her first idea centered on waiting for a busy period like lunch to provoke a fight between two of the more volatile patients, one or both of whom could be counted on to freak out. When the staff rushed in to neutralize the situation, she’d use the resulting chaos to sneak away.

The bed whirred when Katarina hit the control panel. She scowled through the open doorway as her top half lifted into an upright position. Great idea, except for one tiny detail. This stupid place hadn’t seen fit to put her into any group therapy sessions yet, or a communal lunch.

No, Katarina was sentenced to this miserable room, chained to the bed like a naughty puppy. The nurses barely even visited, popping in only a few times a day to check her wound dressings and change them if necessary unless she hit the call button.

When she was released, she was going to call whatever healthcare regulatory agency oversaw conditions like these. Right after she found her daughter, which took her right back to forming escape plans.

Jasper was her second idea. Given a few weeks, she was confident of her ability to charm the cute CNA under her spell. Except, she didn’t have a few weeks. Even a few days seemed too long to remain trapped in this bed while Kingsley had Bethany. Way too long.

Besides, she’d taken a few shots at sinking her hooks into Jasper, and each time, she’d quit too soon to stand a chance of reeling him in. All because of a dead man. Her heart and mind were too painfully full of Clayne.

Katarina shifted her shoulders back and forth on the bed, attempting to scratch an itch on her back that her bound hands made impossible to reach before slumping. Great. Maybe she could stand some mental health care, after all. That first session with a new therapist would be a real gem. Katarina could picture it now.

So, the thing is, I kinda offed my boyfriend on purpose in order to save my daughter from this psychopath who was basically a father figure to me. He’s the one who taught me how to slit someone’s throat in just the right place to kill them…the very technique I used on my boyfriend. Got any exercises or meditations to help me fix that? Don’t get me wrong, I’ve killed other people before him and even enjoyed it sometimes. For some reason, though, this particular murder keeps bothering me.

Yeah, right. They’d report her ass to the police before the session even ended, and Katarina would wind up in prison. She seriously doubted that the AG was waiting in the wings again with another get-out-of-jail-free card, so she’d do hard time.

Not an option when Bethany needed a mother.

“Jesse? Where are you? Jesse!” A wail drifted into her room from the patient next door, an elderly woman who called out day and night for some phantom person named Jesse.

Katarina whacked her head against the pillow. Escape was the only option, and soon. The longer Bethany spent under that monster’s control, the more time he had to inflict permanent damage.

“Jesse? Jesse!”

Plus, the longer Katarina was subjected to that screeching, the more likely she was to actually lose her damn mind. She slammed her head into the pillow again. But how? How the hell did she get out of this shithole? Not like she could climb out the window, since this pit of a room didn’t have one. And no chance of getting out of the locked psych ward without an employee to open the doors.

She wiggled her toes in the neon yellow socks. Plus, on the off chance she managed to overcome the wrist restraint and door problems, these stupid Day-Glo socks marked her as a runaway mental patient.

Katarina groaned and dug her heels into the bed. There had to be a way out. There had to be, and if there was, she would find it. No excuses. The man who’d raised her might be twisted as hell, but he was smart too. Genius-level. That was how he’d evaded capture for so many years.

If Kingsley were in her position, he’d have ditched this dumpy room and freed himself days ago. All she needed to do was think like him, and she could ditch this place too.

When you decide upon a goal, my sweet Katarina, the most crucial element to reach that goal is your plan. If your goal is large, you’ll likely need to break it down into a series of smaller goals. Start at the beginning and map them out in order, step by step. Once you have your plan, take time to memorize each component, then once you’re certain of your success, execute.

Right. Start at the beginning. In this case, the restraints. Her gaze landed on the material binding her to the bed frame. Overpowering them with brute strength was out. She either needed a knife or sharp object of some sort—a joke in this place, where they didn’t even allow drawstring pants or freaking plastic forks—or to grab her opportunity during a time when the restraints were removed.

So far, that only happened when she ate the slop they called food, or on toilet trips, or when they paraded her like a pony through the halls every afternoon for daily exercise.

Bathroom trip it was. If she got lucky, they’d send a small female nurse. Someone easy to overpower, who was wearing any color sock besides yellow.

She puffed her cheeks with air before blowing it out. Okay,