He licks his lips, then looks around, making sure no one else is within earshot. “Okay, Slate. Here’s the deal. Both you and I know this Federico guy is a big nothing-burger. He’s either a patsy for the Toscani’s or he’s a complete moron. Either way, he didn’t do it. That Uber driver you’ve been zeroing in on did.”

  “Have you been looking at my case notes?” I say, furious.

  “Hey, don’t blame me,” he says. “Janice gave me access. This is your first big case since your trial period was up. She was just covering her bases in case something went wrong.”

  “Does Zara know?” I ask. “Does anyone else?”

  He scoffs. “Please. Foley is too close with you to be objective. Janice knows that and so does everyone else. No, this is a strictly low-key operation.”

  “And so, what, you’re my chaperone?” I can’t believe Janice did this to me. I thought I’d finally earned back the Bureau’s trust. That I could work with full autonomy again.

  “Let’s just say I’ve been keeping an eye on the investigation, making sure it stays on track. You’ve always had good instincts, Slate, I’ll give you that. And this bombshell by the Toscani’s has really thrown a wrench in things. But it doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”

  “Get to the part where you forget about the search last night,” I say.

  “Fine. Here’s the deal. You bring me evidence Krauss is the real deal, that he kidnapped those women, and you’re off the hook. I’ll forget all about it.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I say. “You’re extorting me? There’s a woman’s life at stake here.”

  “You and I both know she’s already dead,” he says with an air of nonchalance that makes my skin crawl. I never knew Nick could be so cold.

  “You want the collar, is that it? So you can take the credit?”

  He glares at me, then rubs his side. It’s the exact same spot he got shot four months ago. “I think you owe me, don’t you?”

  “Look, I already told you I was sorry about that. I can’t go back—”

  “You never should have been on the case that day. I told you, Janice told you. Everyone tried to get you to go home, to mourn your loss. But no. Emily Slate won’t be stopped, it doesn’t matter how much bad shit happens in her life. Even if it means getting her partner shot.”

  I turn away, tears stinging my eyes. I hate him for doing this to me, for making it seem like it’s my fault when I had no control over that situation. Maybe I shouldn’t have come in for the operation, but if I hadn’t, all those kids would still be under someone else’s thumb. Instead, they’re back at home, right now, because of what we did.

  “I’m sorry you got shot,” I say, slowly and evenly. “But I won’t apologize for doing what I did. We dealt a major blow to that kidnapping ring.”

  “Yeah, we did,” he says. “Except you walked away, scot-free, while I was intensive care for five days. I had to watch my wife go through more pain than I’ve ever seen her go through before, all because you were careless in the moment and blanked.”

  Wife? I didn’t know he was married. Though, given I’ve never asked, that’s not surprising. Like a lot of us, he doesn’t wear a wedding ring. It tends to make us higher-value targets.

  “And what if I can’t find any evidence he’s done anything wrong? I might be wrong about him.” Zara must have most of the equipment by now. She’s probably already down at the car.

  Nick shakes his head. “Slate, you are one of the most ruthless investigators I’ve ever seen. The way you broke down that poor ride-share owner just to get a look at his files? Brutal. The point is, if the evidence is there, you’ll find it. I know you will. And I trust in your theories because they usually turn out to be right, even if your actions surrounding them aren’t.”

  Wow, talk about a backhanded compliment.

  “You think I don’t already know what you and Foley are planning? I used to see that look in your eye when we worked together. You’re going to stake him out. What I’m saying is as soon as you have the evidence you need for a warrant, a search, anything, you call and relay it to me and get out of there.”

  “And you’ll call in the calvary while taking all the credit,” I say.

  “Those are the terms.” I make a disgusted face. “Oh, come on, like you’ve ever cared about who gets credit for what before anyway. You’re all ‘Ms. High and Mighty’, defender of truth and the public trust.”

  “It’s not the credit I care about,” I reply. “I couldn’t give two shits whose name goes on the board. It’s the underhanded way in which you’re going about it that bothers me.”

  “Well,” he says, taking another sip from his mug. “I guess life just isn’t going to be fair to either of us today. Either get me what I want, or I go straight to Janice in the morning.”

  He turns, walking away and whistling at the same time. I just want to put my fist through the back of his skull. Or give him a good roundhouse kick, right to the kidney where he got shot. That would take him down for a week.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. You coming? Zara asks.

  Shit. Now what do I do? There’s a good chance I might not find any evidence on Krauss. It’s still possible, however unlikely, that Federico is the culprit. But my gut tells me different.

  Still…I’m not sure I can ask Zara to take that risk. Knowing about the pictures is one thing, but if I can’t find anything, and Nick goes to Janice, we’re both on the hook. She won’t differentiate between us. And despite what Zara told me, I can’t flush her life down the toilet because of my bad choices. I have to do better by her.

  I sigh, heading down to the parking garage. This isn’t going to be a fun conversation.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Hannah has learned to be a good girl.

  Those are the words he uses: good girl. Like she’s a dog. Though, given the treatment she’s received, that’s not far off.

  The days have continued to run together, and she has no idea how long she’s been here. It feels like a month, but she knows that’s not possible because she hasn’t had her period yet. She was due in two and a half weeks. Given the fact it hasn’t happened means only a week or two has passed since she’s been in this room, even though it feels like much longer. Without any daylight to regulate her body, she’s taken to sleeping in fits, only getting a few hours at a time, despite the bed being more than comfortable.

  Though she has to admit, she’s looked at those sheets differently these past few days. Instead of using them for their intended purpose, she now sees them as a possible way out. A last resort, if she needs it.

  She hates how fearful she’s become; how withdrawn. She recalls thinking this place was better than dealing with Alonzo; that she was safe from him here. She now sees how naïve and foolish that was. She would face ten Alonzo’s if it meant she could get out of this place.

  But she’s trapped here. With no way out. She’s fought back, refused everything and none of it has worked. If she acts up too much he just shuts the lights off and lets her sit in darkness for a while. It’s strange what total darkness will do to a person. The complete absence of sensory inputs. In here she can’t hear anything, smell anything…so when the lights are out, she’s left with little more than touch. Moving around the rooms to touch everything is all that keeps her from losing it.

  She’s had the lights cut out on her twice now, and she’s learned how to avoid it. First, she must act in a pleasant and submissive manner, at all times. Because even when the wall is solid, he’s still watching. She can’t act unappreciative, even though all she wants to do is bash this man’s face in. She does it over and over in her mind, many times a day.

  Second, she must engage in active conversation during their shared meal times. She must be animated, nonchalant, like she doesn’t have a care in the world. And she must act interested in his life, asking questions about his days and providing him comfort when he needs it.

  Third, she must completely—and this is important—embody the persona of Lisa. She must respond to the name as if it’s her own, and she must act as if she and her tormentor have known each other a long time. She still has no idea who Lisa is, as it would be counterintuitive to ask about her “self”, however she’s figured out she is someone important to this man. Whoever he is, he cares for this Lisa very much. As long as she inhabits this role, she is relatively safe.

  Thank God she took some theater in college. She should have seen it earlier, the need for her to be someone she wasn’t. But the strange thing is he hasn’t tried to come into her room or bring her out to his. He likes the separation between them, at least for now. Or perhaps he suspects she’s not fully committed to the role yet. Maybe once she managed to convince him, he’ll take things to the next level.

  That will be her chance.

  But what if it never comes? What if he decides to keep her in this box forever? Theoretically, she has everything she needs to survive long-term in here, given the food continues to arrive on schedule. But she also wonders what would happen if she just refused to play along. Other than the sensory deprivation, what other steps would he take? Would he feed her an IV if she stopped eating? Would he restrain her if she attempted to harm herself?

  What lengths would he go to in order to keep her alive?

  She still doesn’t know why he chose her, or what significance she plays in his life. After mulling it over for what feels like a week, she can’t come up with any instance in which she’s met this man before. He’s a freak, a total stranger, who stole her off the street to have her perform in this little game.

  Hannah can’t stay here forever. Eventually she’s going to crack, and she knows it. She can already feel the trembling of her hands when they eat together.

  In fact, they’re doing it right now.

  “You’re quiet this evening,” he says, taking a bite of his steak.

  Hannah looks down at the half-eaten plate of food in front of her. She hasn’t had an appetite since she arrived here, other than after her self-imposed fast failed rather quickly. Somehow she manages to produce a rueful smile for him. “I’m just not feeling that well, sorry.”

  He snaps to attention. “Are you sick?”

  She waves him off. “No, nothing like that. I just haven’t felt well all day. I think I may just need some rest.”

  “Lis, if it’s something serious, I have plenty of medicines. Just tell me what you need.”

  About five hundred milligrams of cyanide would do the trick, she thinks. But instead she grins at him again. “No, really, I’m fine. I don’t want you to worry. I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow.” This is a “dinner” meal, which means it must be evening. She is only served food like this for dinner. Her next meal will be pancakes and eggs. A morning meal.

  “Okay,” he says, sounding disappointed. She hates when he does that. He makes it seem like she’s the one hurting his feelings. She’s the one locked up in a room! If she could, she would reach through this glass and strangle him where he sat. “Just put your tray back at the receptacle when you’re done.”

  “Sorry,” I say again. “Sometimes I just can’t control it.”

  He huffs, like he’d hoped this evening would have gone better. Instead, he pushes his own plate away. “It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. Feel better.”

  She’s just able to watch him stand just before the wall shimmers back to opaque again and the small light comes on the camera in the corner. Hannah picks up the tray of food and deposits it at the receptacle beside the door which will take it and spin it back to the outside. She’s wondered about that receptacle, thinking it might be the means of her escape, but it’s much too thin for her to fit under. A cat might be able to make it, but a human? No way.

  She’s barely halfway back to the bed when the lights shut off and she’s plunged into darkness.

  Son of a bitch is throwing a tantrum, she thinks. Even though she can feel the anxiety creeping up her spine, she forces herself to remain cool. This is what she’s been waiting for.

  Reaching through her collar, she manages to unclasp her bra and slip her arms out without taking her dress off. Once she gets the bra free, it takes her a moment to fumble with it, though she lays down on the bed anyway with it still in her hand. Her back is to the camera, which she’s sure has night vision, even though she can’t prove it. But thankfully, she doesn’t need to see to do what she’s about to do.

  She only needs to feel.

  It takes her a few minutes of working the bra, but eventually she manages to wear a small hole beside the cup, exposing the underwire. It’s delicate, but she manages to pull the underwire out, without snapping it. Then she goes to work on the other side, extracting the other one in exactly the same way.

  Once they’re in hand, she allows the bra to fall to the ground, feeling for the flat edge of the first wire. It’s thick enough for her purposes, she thinks. Though she’s never tried anything like this before.

  Using the other end as a fulcrum, she manages to bend and fashion one end of the second wire in a jagged pattern. It’s not perfect, but it will have to do.

  It takes her about fifteen minutes, but once she’s finished, she slips back over to the door, reaching down and pretending to take items off the tray. If he’s watching, he’ll think she decided she was hungry again after all. But really, she feels around for the protrusion of the deadbolt. She slips the first wire with the long, flat piece along the bottom, while inserting the jagged edge along the top, against the tumblers.

  She has no clue if this will work, but she has to give it a try. It’s all she’s been thinking about for what seems like a week. She just needed the opportunity to make it happen.

  Taking another piece of food from the tray, Hannah begins working the pieces of metal in the lock itself, listening for anything in the mechanism that might indicate she’s succeeded. After a moment, she hears a click. Followed by another, then another. Three tumblers, all in place. Gently, she begins rotating both pieces of metal in the housing, feeling the bolt turn as she does.

  She’s doing everything she can to keep her clammy palms from dropping the wires, while her heart hammers in her chest. Finally, the bolt turns all the way, and clicks a final time.

  She’ll have to be fast. If he’s watching, there’s no telling how long it will take him to reach her. She needs to find the exit, and find it quick.

  Hannah gently removes both of the wires, then turns the main knob of the door itself. It clicks, and turns all the way.

  In an instant Hannah flings the door open and is met by light brighter than the sun. She shields her eyes as she moves forward, her hand waving in front of her as her pupils adjust to all the extra input. Within moments she can see she’s in what looks to be a concrete hallway. Down to her left are four more doors, all like hers. But to her right is an open corridor, that leads somewhere else. She dashes down the corridor, feeling the exhilaration of being able to move freely again. There are no alarms, no guards anywhere. But this feels like an underground bunker of some kind. Each opening she passes connects with another, all of them with sunken centers and a utilitarian feel.

  Hannah spots a set of metal stairs, and races up them, only to encounter a second door. She tries the handle, but it’s locked as well.

  If she did it once, she can do it again.

  Using the same technique as before, Hannah goes to work on the door, but her movements aren’t as coordinated as last time. Her whole body shakes at the possibility of getting out of here. The first tumbler clicks and Hannah flinches, working on the second. She knows she doesn’t have much time.

  When the second tumbler falls, Hannah is yanked back by her leg, causing her to hit her face on the metal stairs. Immediately she knows she’s either cracked or lost a tooth. Her mouth fills with the coppery taste of blood as she’s dragged down the rest of the stairs, flailing to keep her face from hitting any more of them.

  “I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” the man roars. “After all I’ve done for you!” Hannah hits the concrete floor. She’s so stunned, and her mouth is so sore she can barely open it, much less speak. To ask him to stop. She tries kicking at him, but he swats her leg away, pulling her back in the direction she came.

  “No!” she yells, her voice muffled.

  “I’ve tried to do everything I could for you, Lisa,” the man says. “I’ve tired to make you comfortable while you get better. And this is how you repay me. Were you just pretending this entire time?”

  Hannah reaches up and stabs the man’s hand with the end of one of her wires. He yells and drops her leg, which gives her just enough time to scramble up and start running.

  “You ungrateful whore!” he yells, hot on her heels.

  She can practically feel his breath on the back of her neck as she zigs and zags through the concrete supports. She cuts back just as she feels his hand slice through the air past her head. He’s forced her back in the opposite direction, away from the stairs, but all that matters right now is getting away. She runs until she recognizes her surroundings; she’s on the other side of the wall, in the chamber where he normally sits. Her “window” is to the right. But as she looks, she realizes there are more windows, beyond hers. Four more, in fact. She dashes forward, even though this room ends in a dead-end. There’s someone else in one of the other windows, looking back at her. Someone who looks…like her.

  He slams into her from behind, knocking her to the ground.

  She hits the floor with an oof, the wires flying from her hand.

  “I give you the perfect life here, a chance to start over, fresh. And what do you do? You try to escape?” He grabs a fist full of her hair and yanks her head up. It tears from her scalp as she cries out. “You’re never getting away from me, do you understand? Such a disappointment. And here I thought you weren’t going to give me any trouble.”

  He throws her back down to the ground, then gets off her, standing up. As she tries to get back up as well, he plows his foot right into her midsection, pushing all the air out of her lungs, leaving her gasping. He grabs on to her leg again, dragging her back out of the chamber. Hannah barely has time to look up and see the other woman, her hands on the glass, watching as Hannah is dragged away.