Unraveled by Her Read Online Free

means, Mrs. Hatch marches over to a desk in the corner of the mausoleum and Googles something on a laptop.
    “Insanity,” perhaps?
    A desk. Google. The Internet! Focus, Miranda! They have Wi-Fi in the mausoleum . . . which means that I can get on e-mail. And even though Robert hates technology with a passion—he feels it has tarnished communications, and has armies of staff to deal with his e-mails and texts—at least he has a private cell phone and an e-mail address, just for emergencies. And once I’ve got the message to him that I’ve been kidnapped and that they have imprisoned me in the mausoleum, I know that he will spring into action and get me out of here in a trice.
    Then I get real again; I’m chained to an armchair across the room from the computer, so how in hell can I get over to it, unless I single-handedly overpower Mrs. Hatch and Georgiana simultaneously? Impossible . . .
    “He who knows when he can fight and when he cannot will be victorious”; the words of Robert’s favorite author, Sun Tzu, who recorded the sentiment in his The Art of War, pop into my mind, and I know that he is right.
    Georgiana flashes me a glittering smile. “Well, little Miss Ghostwriter, I suggest that you make yourself comfortable in your new and luxurious surroundings, which Tammy and her trusted associates prepared for me with so much dedication. Further down the line, all will be revealed to you.”
    Further down the line? That must mean that neither she nor the evil Mrs. Hatch plans to kill me right away.
    The knowledge emboldens me.
    “But why did you decide to disguise yourself by wearing contact lenses the same color as my eyes, and have your hair dyed red and arranged in the same style as mine?” I ask her.
    “That’s simple. Once I made the fateful decision to disappear, I knew I could only carry it off if I altered my appearance radically. And so, because of a photograph someone once showed me, and a prediction, I decided to model my new look on yours,” she says, then checks her makeup in the amethyst-encrusted mirror.
    A photograph? A prediction? Six years before she first met me? Why on earth would she have wanted to copy my look that long ago?
    I stare at her blankly.
    She laughs a high, tinkling laugh.
    “Not yet, Miranda. You can’t always get what you want the moment you want it. Patience is a virtue, remember, sweetie?”
    I want to pull out all her dyed red hair—and poke both of her blue eyes out while I’m at it.
    But I can’t because I’m chained up by my wrists and ankles, and unable to move more than a few feet, either to defend myself or to attack her or Mrs. Hatch, except to spit at them, which I’ve already learned to my cost won’t get me anywhere.
    Thanks to Robert, this isn’t the first time I’ve been bound . . . so at least I can endure hours chained up without going crazy . . .
    “Crazy, they’re both fucking crazy!” I mutter under my breath.
    Tamara leaps up, marches toward me, and aims a Glock 47 pistol straight at my head.
    I freeze. Don’t panic, Miranda! They haven’t brought you here to kill you right away.
    “Lighten up, Tammy, she’s got no options. Put the gun down and let’s relax some before the real work begins, sweetheart,” Georgiana says.
    Tamara throws her an adoring glance and immediately places the Glock on top of the casket.
    In my relief, I am struck by Georgiana’s words. Work? What work? What kind of work can there possibly be for me to do when we’re locked inside a mausoleum?
    We. Don’t ever say “we,” Miranda, because if you do, you will identify with the aggressors. Pretend to bond with them for your own ends, but never do . . .

    I just wish there were a phone in this godforsaken prison.
    Damn Robert for banning mobiles from Hartwell Castle. Otherwise . . .
    Otherwise what? My hands are tied behind my back, two of the most dangerous, evil women I’ve ever encountered in my entire life are watching me like vultures,