Chase’s eyes sharpened. “So?”

Luke’s fist clenched under the table. “So there’s a connection, dammit. The man who killed her friend was convicted. The man who raped her the second time hasn’t been caught. What if that man was Rocky? What if Rocky or Granville orchestrated it? What if the man sitting in prison for killing her friend knows Rocky? What if the driver of the black sedan was Rocky? Do I have to draw you a goddamn map?”

Chase leaned back. “No. I’d already drawn it myself. I just needed to make sure you had, too. Go to the funeral. It’ll be a media zoo, coming on the heels of yesterday.”

Luke stood, vibrating with temper and annoyed Chase had treated him like a junior G-man. “I’ll be sure to pack my chair and whip.”

He was ready to slam out, when Chase stopped him. “Good job, Luke.”

Luke shuddered out a breath. “Thank you.”

Ridgefield House, Saturday, February 3, 9:00 a.m.

Ashley Csorka lifted her head, listening in the dark of the “hole.” It was a root cellar, underneath the house, not even big enough to stand up in. Dank and cold. I’m so cold.

Her stomach was growling. It was breakfast time. She could smell food cooking upstairs. I’m so hungry. She forced her mind to do the math. She’d been huddling in this corner for almost twelve hours.

The woman said they’d keep her here for a few days. I’ll be crazy in a few days. Plus there were rats. Ashley had heard them scurry behind the walls during the night.

Ashley hated rats. Panic welled, huge and terrifying. I have to get out of here.

“Well, sure,” she murmured aloud, her voice lessening some of the panic. “How?”

They were near a river. If she could only get to the river, she was certain she could swim across. Her swim team trained in the ocean sometimes, where the currents ran stronger than the river’s. And even if she drowned, it would be preferable to what was in store for her when they decided to let her out of the hole.

How do I get out of here? There was only one door at the top of the short staircase and it was locked. She’d tried it already. And even if she did manage to open the door, there was that skinny creepy butler, Tanner, who carried a gun.

Outside there was a guard. She’d seen him when they’d brought them in yesterday. He carried a bigger gun. It was no use. I’ll die here. I’ll never go home.

Stop. You will not die. She got on her hands and knees and began to feel her way around. Her jaw clenched against the pain in her hand where she’d caught an exposed nail when she’d been shoved down the stairs. Just ignore it and look for a way out.

The first wall was cinderblock, as was the second and third.

But the fourth wall… Ashley’s fingers brushed against something rough. Brick. Someone had bricked in this wall. That meant there was something on the other side. A door? A window?

So what? It’s brick. Solid brick. Discouraged, Ashley slid down, her back against the wall. She wrapped her arms around her knees. She couldn’t claw her way through brick.

She’d need a sledgehammer to bust through or a file to chip at the mortar. She had neither. Slowly she lifted her hand. But there was an exposed nail on the stairs.

But they might hear me chipping at the mortar.

So what? If they hear you, they’ll just drag you out sooner. Her future would be the same unless she got away. So you might as well try.

Never say try. She conjured the voice of her coach. Set your goal. Then do it.

“So do it, Ashley,” she whispered. “Do it now.”

Atlanta , Saturday, February 3, 9:20 a.m.

Is it complete?” Chloe asked as Susannah reviewed the stenographer’s transcript. Al Landers sat at her side, silent. His hand gripped hers, supportive.

“Yes,” Susannah said. “Give me a pen before I change my mind.”

“It’s not too late, Susannah,” Al murmured, and she smiled at him.

“I know, but this is bigger than just me, Al. This is all tied up in what happened in that bunker. Five girls are still missing. I have to do this.”

“Thank you,” Chloe said. “I can only imagine how difficult this has been.”

Susannah huffed a wry chuckle. “Difficult. Yeah. That about sums it up.”

“How long before the press gets hold of this?” Al asked.

“We won’t tell them,” Chloe said. “We never disclose the names of victims of sexual assault, but it’s going to get out. One of the other victims, Gretchen French, has already mentioned scheduling a press conference. She wants to control her announcement.”

“I don’t know her,” Susannah said. “I suppose I will, soon enough.” She rose and tugged the short skirt, trying to cover another inch of her legs. “We should give Agent Papadopoulos his office back. And I have to get to that funeral. I wish it had been scheduled for noon. The department stores don’t open till ten and I didn’t have time to shop for clothes this morning.” She’d been too unnerved to do so, had there been time.

Chloe frowned. “You look fine.”

“I look like a teenager, but my clothes were ruined yesterday and this is all I have. I wish I had something more sober to wear. It is a funeral. This feels disrespectful.”

Chloe studied her a moment. “I’m way too tall, so my suits won’t fit you, but I have a short black cocktail dress that might hit you below the knee. You could use a belt to cinch the waist. I only live a few minutes away. I’ll run home and get it for you.”

Susannah opened her mouth to politely decline, then changed her mind. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” When she was gone, Susannah turned to Al. “Thanks for being here.”

“I wish I’d known the rest of it. I would have been there years ago.”

“Excuse me.” Luke stuck his head in. “I saw Chloe leave. Are you finished?”

“We are.” She rose. “Luke, this is my boss, Al Landers. Al, Special Agent Luke Papadopoulos. He’s a friend of my brother Daniel.”

“You’re the guy I saw in the hotel hall last night,” Al said as they shook hands. “What are you doing to catch this guy in the black sedan?”

“We’re setting up surveillance at the funeral this afternoon,” Luke said. “And we’d like to talk to the guy who was convicted for Darcy Williams’s murder.”

“I can arrange an interview. What about the other guy, Susannah?” Al looked grim. “The one who assaulted you. Did he know Darcy’s killer?”

Susannah’s cheeks grew hot. “No. They were strangers, too.”

“How do you know for sure?” Luke asked gently, and his implication hit her hard.

“I guess I don’t,” she said. “How stupid were we?”

“Pretty damn stupid,” Al said sadly. “What were you thinking, Susannah?”

“I wasn’t.” She looked away, crossing her arms over her chest. “I met Darcy when she was a waitress in the West Village and I went to NYU. One night I went in for some carryout and we started talking. Turned out we had a lot in common. Both of us had bad relationships with our fathers and mothers who didn’t protect us. Darcy had run away at fourteen, done drugs, the whole nine yards.”

“Whose idea was it to meet the men?” Al asked, and again her cheeks heated.

“Darcy’s. She hated men and then, so did I. She said she wanted to be in control for once. She wanted to be the one to leave the guy in the middle of the night without a thank you. I was appalled at first. Then… I just did it.” And the second time was easier. And the third time a dark thrill. By the fourth time… it shamed her to even think of it.

Al and Luke were looking at each other oddly. “What?” she asked.

“What if Darcy was put up to meeting you?” Luke asked, his voice still gentle.

Susannah’s mouth fell open. “Oh my God. I never…” Her arms went limp at her sides. “That’s crazy.”