I hang on the yet he drops, hoping that’s a good indicator he’s eventually planning on letting her go. “You have my word. I won’t try to take her back home with me this time.”

Conversation halts for a little while, and then as promised, Raze steers the truck off onto the shoulder of the highway and pulls out a black sash. Before he covers my eyes with the dark piece of fabric, he inhales a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, and then releases it in a whoosh. For a brief moment, he actually looks vulnerable. But then it’s gone.

After securing the blindfold around my eyes, he makes me huddle up on the floorboard so nobody who may possibly pass us in traffic can see me. Never in my life have I spent so much time on the floors of vehicles until today. And this ride, wherever it is we’re going that’s somewhere north of Truckee, is a curvy, bumpy one that has me struggling to not be thrown around between the door and glove box.

Raze isn’t much of a talker, but he said on the phone he’d answer some of my questions in person, so I build the nerve up and take a chance. “Emerson told me she figured out who Blake was by an old picture she Google searched, but I’m still not sure how or why she handed her over to your family. Are you at liberty to tell me?”

“Well, I never knew how she discovered who Blake was, but somehow she was aware of the money Easton owed us. It was really kind of bizarre.” Until now, that I can’t see, I never realized how much I use people’s facial expressions to read the other half of the story they’re telling.

“Bizarre?” I push him to keep talking.

“Yeah, I got this strange call one afternoon,” he divulges, “and I almost didn’t answer it because I didn’t recognize the number, but for whatever reason, I did. It was Emerson on the other end of the line. She said she was good friends with Easton and wanted to pay off his debt, but instead of using money, she wanted to trade Blake, or Bryleigh . . . whatever.

“At first I thought she was crazy and told her to stop playing games, but she swore she could deliver her that night. It had to be that night, though. It took us about twenty minutes to verify she was telling the truth, and then the drop-off was set up. And that was that.”

I don’t ask any other questions for a while as I try to piece together the details of times and happenings from that Friday, even though it really doesn’t matter much anymore. It happened, and there’s nothing I can do to go back in time to prevent it. Now, I have to move forward. I have to focus on getting her back.

“Can you tell me what you plan to do with her?”

“No. Not yet.”

There’s that yet word again.

We ride for the next couple hours or so without talking. My legs cramp up several times throughout the trip from being bent into positions they’re not used to going in, and just as I’m about to ask him if I can get out to stretch for a few minutes, the truck slows to a halt and he turns it off.

“Okay, we’re here. You can sit back on the seat now.” He unties the sash from behind my head, and it takes my eyes several moments to adjust to the afternoon sunlight. As soon as I can focus, I scan the surrounding area, taking in nothing but a heavily wooded forest and a rustic cabin. “She’s inside, and she doesn’t know you’re coming. I didn’t want to get her hopes up in case something happened on your trip,” he explains. “So expect her to be more than a little surprised when she sees you.”

I sit and wait for what happens next, as I fail epically in trying to keep my emotions in check. This is all too much.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Raze barks, causing me to jump in the seat. “I didn’t bring you all this fucking way so we could hang out in my truck. Go inside and see her. You’re on the clock.”

AS I CHOP AN ASSORTMENT of vegetables for the stew I’m making for dinner, I hear Raze’s truck pull up outside the cabin and shut off. The truck I didn’t know he had here until this morning, when he woke me up to tell me he was going to take care of some business and would be back later.

“Business? What business?” I rubbed my sleepy eyes, sitting up in the bed he now insisted I sleep in, extremely confused and a little panicked. “How? Why? Are you leaving me here?”

“Didn’t anybody ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat, kotyonok?” He patted the top of my head and chuckled. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll be back in a little while, but I need you to give me your word that you won’t leave this place for any reason. I know you want to go home. I do, too. And you have to trust I’m working toward that for both of us. But if you run . . . there’s a good chance I can’t save you out there. Too many bad guys.”

Instead of commenting on the irony of his statement, I sighed and fell back on the hard mattress with my eyes closed, hating that he was right. “I know, Raze. I give you my word I won’t leave. But how are you getting wherever it is you’re going? You gonna walk?”

He pushed off the bed and stood to his full, towering height. “No, I’m most definitely not gonna walk, girl. I have a truck here, parked around back. You think I’d leave us stranded somewhere in case the shit hit the fan?”

“A truck?!” I screeched as my eyes flew open. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a truck here?”

Amusement danced across his face as he shook his head. “I’m pretty sure the first rule in Abduction 101 is not to tell the captive about their escape options,” he joked. “What? Should I have had a spare key made for you too?”

Again, he’s fucking right, and it annoys me. “So why are you telling me now?”

“Because if you’re smart enough to not bolt today, I’ll prove to you why you should trust me for doing what’s best for you.” He spun around to leave the room, but looked over his shoulder and added one last thing before disappearing. “I got word late last night that Vincent has emerged and is interested in meeting with Pakhan as soon as he’s back in the States. Things will begin to move quickly now. I need you to trust me now more than ever.”

So he left to take care of business—whatever that meant—and I spent the morning cleaning the inside of the cabin instead of worrying more about the fate of Vincent Ricci and myself. Something I have little control of at this point. Don’t ask me why, but I found some general household cleaners under the kitchen sink the other day, and since I’m not sure I can watch one more movie or read one more book this week, I went on a scrubbing, dusting, and scouring rampage. And damn did it ever feel good!

That’s how I got inspired to make this beef stew. Some domestic switch went off in my head and I needed to cook and clean. Because even if my life is the furthest fucking thing from normal as you can get, doing these things at least makes me feel normal.

The sound of the key turning in the locks, followed by the squeak of the door hinges opening and closing, makes me smile. I doubt Raze will notice the missing layer of dust on the mantle, or that the kitchen sink no longer has rust caked around the faucet, but just him being back improves my mood. He and I may have gotten off to a rough start—I mean, I still haven’t forgotten he’s a crazy, twisted mafia dude who played a part in my abduction—but things have changed between us. Not everyone is always what they seem.

“Did everything go okay? You were gone for a while,” I call out when Raze doesn’t say anything at first, not bothering to turn away from the potatoes, onions, carrots, and celery I’ve got laid out on the cutting board.

A few seconds longer of chopping, and he still hasn’t greeted me, so naturally, I’m curious about what he’s doing or why he’s ignoring me. Dropping the knife, I wipe my hands off on a nearby wadded-up paper towel then spin around to peer into the living room.