Beckett moves to one of the unwelcoming sofas, raising his bound hands to maintain his balance.
“No!” the woman snaps at him. “Don’t sit.”
Startled, he staggers to regain his footing, needing his arms but unable to use them. Lurching sideways, he sends a lamp crashing to the floor, and the sound of metal against concrete rings like a gong.
I look past the woman, past Beckett, to the door. Now could be my moment. Zeus growls, and I freeze with my foot barely raised, calculating—the dog’s right behind me, the woman’s between me and the way out.
Not yet.
The woman looks at Beckett and the fallen lamp with equal amounts of disgust. “Goddamn idiot. Don’t touch anything, either of you. Zeus, pass auf.”
Don’t touch anything. My pulse is racing, but so are my thoughts. One of my sources, a cop, told me that every time he pulls a car over, even for a routine traffic stop, he touches the trunk as he approaches the driver, just to mark it with his own fingerprints in case he doesn’t walk away. Once there was a woman who disappeared, leaving no trace, not even a fingerprint, behind.
The constructive part of my brain keeps spinning, making notes, planning. First, our captor’s not holding a gun, not even a Taser. Second, the cattle prod has only as much range as it has length, no more. Finally, Beckett is standing against the wall, chewing his lip, not looking at me. If we both ran for the door, Zeus could take only one of us down. I could get away, run for help. Beckett might not get out, but I could do it …
The woman pulls out a phone and starts fiercely texting, but her gaze never completely leaves us. I turn a little so she can’t see my face.
Look at me. I will Beckett to wake up, to engage. I need to get his attention, but in a normal, not-planning-to-escape way. “Beckett, are you okay?”
He is lost in his own world, completely shut down. If I’m the only one who runs, Zeus will kill me. It has to be both of us to work.
While I’m looking at him, I can’t see if the woman is paying any more attention to us, but I can hear her hiss in frustration. If I glance over at her, I’ll look guilty, and my skin is crawling with the effort of keeping calm.
“Beckett!”
Finally he raises his head, tears in his eyes. He whispers, “Why is this happening?”
I jerk my head toward the door, roll my eyes, do everything I can to convey run.
But Beckett just stares at me blankly. Maybe he’s afraid of the dog. Maybe he’s in shock. I am buzzing, electric with adrenaline.
The woman looks up from her phone, and her dark gaze seems to lay my intentions bare. She doesn’t take her eyes from mine as she raises the phone to her ear.
It’s too late. Disappointment lies bitter on my tongue. I could spit at Beckett.
Her voice is low, but so intense that I can hear every word. “No phone, no computer, no excuse.” With her free hand, she taps the inert cattle prod against her leg. “Track her down and smoke her out. It’s your job to keep the pressure on.” Another forceful exhale, and she hisses, “Figure it out or you won’t get paid. I’ll be out of range for a while.”
She jams the phone back into her pocket, and I note which one—the left hip. Some analytical part of my brain, a gift from my mother, keeps whirring, trying to find a way out. Solve X for Escape.
But this isn’t the time. Our captor comes closer, her heavy hiking boots thumping on the floor. “Move.”
She motions us over to the opposite wall and waits, holding the cattle prod at the ready, between us and the front door. Almost without realizing it, I’m backing away from her, bumping into Beckett. Zeus growls.
“Now don’t start that again.” She sounds almost amused. Her eyes steady on mine, she reaches out to a keypad embedded in the wall and types in a code.
A code is a security precaution, another kind of cage. I don’t want to be locked up again. Zeus is pressing hard against my leg right now, and I kick out in panic. He snaps and I choke on my own gasp, air and fear and a muffled scream all catching in my throat.
A panel in the wall slides open, some kind of high-tech door. Zeus has a firm grip on my forearm and is tugging me toward it, and I can’t help resisting, even though I know it’s futile. “Go on down the stairs,” the woman says, gesturing with the cattle prod.
“I don’t want …” I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t want to go down there? I don’t want to cause trouble?
Behind me I hear Beckett finally moving, obeying her orders, and my anger flares again. If he’d only run when I told him to, but now he steps in front of me, like he’s trying to earn extra credit by following directions.
Then we hear a voice, a man’s voice, from the bottom of the stairs.
“What’s taking so long?”
I freeze. It could be the kidnapper, the one from the truck. I should have kept running through the woods; I should run now. There must be a reason they’ve kept us alive so long. Even if they’ve caught me and plan to hurt me, they won’t kill me, not yet. Any true-crime aficionado knows not to let your captor take you to a secondary location, especially a secret room nobody else could ever find.
I try to twist away from Zeus, but his grip tightens until pain pierces my wrist.
“Help us!” Beckett calls down the stairs.
“Idiot.” The word escapes my clenched teeth. The front door is locked, the alarm is on, we’re in the middle of the godforsaken woods, and now the woman gives her cattle prod a burst of electricity, just enough to remind us who’s in charge.
No one knows we’re here, no one except our captors, and once we go down those stairs, we’ll be lost in whatever pits of anguish they have planned.
Zeus tugs at me again, then releases my arm. Swallowing my fear, I push past Beckett. It’s not hard to pretend I’m stumbling with panic as I lurch against the doorframe and slap my sweaty palm hard against the wall. My body is shaking for real, but I hope my fingers are leaving clear prints.
I may not be coming back, but by God I will not disappear without a trace.
The woman gives me a shove and I’m on the first step, flanked on either side by concrete walls. The air is colder, and there’s a moment before I can take a real breath.
Instead of a monster at the bottom of the stairs, I see a gangly man in an ill-fitting lab coat, his thin wrists extending beyond the cuffs. He’s standing beside a heavy metal door like the door to a bank vault. I wish I didn’t recognize it, but I do.
Any delusions of escape I’d been harboring vanish like so many soap bubbles. I know exactly where we are, and when that door seals shut behind us, there will be no way out.
CHAPTER
11
ZOE
WHEN WE ARE finished at the police station, my father asks, “What’s the next step?”
“Go home and rest,” the detective tells us. “We’ll follow up tomorrow morning.”
I wish I could go home. My real home in Texas. But Ava hasn’t reappeared yet, and Andrew and I arranged things so he and Emma could meet my parents. There is no way I can leave without looking like a complete monster. Failing that, I’d take a sterile hotel room without the memories. But I have a role to play here, dutiful daughter and supportive sister, and I need to act normal. That means staying with my parents.