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too late. That, and I keep my rent paid a couple of months in advance. As a woman living on her own, it gives me some much needed financial peace of mind. But that also means that even though the doorman might wonder if he didn’t see me, the landlord wouldn’t care, at least not at first. That’s pretty fucking sad but I won’t let it get me down.
    If this fruitcake thinks I’m going to fold under his threats, he really is crazy. It’s time for me to get off the defense and get on the offense. Yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do, what I’ve always done: take care of myself. Maybe it’s time to buy a gun and take shooting lessons. I don’t like the idea of being cornered by this guy and not being able to defend myself.
    I’ve always been so careful not to invite trouble but it looks like trouble found me anyway.



Chapter Twelve
    Liam
    I smile as the access pad blinks bright green after I enter the numerical code. After the telltale click gives the all-clear, I rest my hand on the lever that will open the basement door, letting my fingertips slide over the smooth, glossy metal. It’s been a long time since I’ve been down here -- a long time since I’ve allowed a woman to stir my darkest cravings.
    With a deep breath, I open the door. My fingertips tap along the wall, feeling for the light switch and flicking it on. The subdued lighting from the sconces on either side of the stairs create shadows that beckon to my inner predator. Come out and play…
    At the bottom of the stairs, I soak in the details of my favorite room. My happy place... Though the decorations are sparse the ambiance is calm and serene. Peaceful. Furnishings are simple: a cot, a small dresser. A bathroom off to one side. Only a select few playmates have seen this room, only by my invitation and usually only for a brief stay. There will soon be a very special guest residing here. I hope she will be pleased, and that she will, eventually, want to stay.
    Of course, she will need a desk and, eventually, a computer for her writing. Not right away, though, especially when it comes to access to the internet; not until I can trust her, not until she understands that I’m doing all of this for her own good. I will break her will, but not her beautiful spirit.
    In this room she will tap into a part of herself she has no idea even exists. She will become familiar with her innermost self—the place where her deepest emotions reside, where her most creative energy can come out to play. She’ll wonder how she ever wrote before I entered her life. She’ll understand what it is to open a vein and bleed for those who will someday read her words, to forge that special connection through the magic of words.
    I’ve known all along that her ghostwriting work is merely a cover, a way to avoid tapping into her true self. She has the talent to write, she simply lacks confidence. I will help her with that. I will break her down, then build her back up. I will create my own masterpiece while she, in turn, creates hers.
    I really don’t know much about her. Even though I’ve been following her, I don’t know her likes and dislikes. I will need to invest some time with her to find out those things. I take out the small notebook I keep with me and jot down a reminder to get her a desk, a comfortable chair, a computer and office supplies. My next stop is my own office for some online research about her background, her upbringing.
    I’m not taking on this task lightly. In the same way that I will expect her to understand her readers, it’s only fair that I should understand her , to really get to know her. I firmly believe that when you tap into an adult’s childhood, all is revealed.
    I’m not taking her to harm her or in any way diminish her. I want only to protect her, to give her something precious that she has never had before—a sense of kinship with the world around her. My purpose isn’t to cage her but to set her free.
    Suddenly the thought of a cup