New York to Dallas

I’d say, and saw no need to foster any sort of relationship with the other people in the building.”
    “She didn’t need them. But she’s also smart enough not to skip out on the bills. No point in having anybody looking for Sarajo, even when she stops being Sarajo.”
    “You’ve confirmed she didn’t, while here, have personal transpo. So she walked or took public. No one visited but Melinda. No one came looking for her but her former employer.”
    He latched on, Eve thought. She never had to refine the lines for Roarke. “So, whoever her dealer is, he or she didn’t do business at the apartment. No men—and one of the neighbors would’ve seen or heard—so she’s being true to McQueen. At least at home. Some dealers will trade junk for sex. But that’s business,” Eve mused. “That wouldn’t be cheating. Sex is business.”
    “Well then, I love doing business with you.”
    She leaned back. “And still . . . I didn’t get to strong-arm or flex the muscles with anybody. They’re all so damn cooperative. They just talk, talk, talk—especially that kid. It’s like being in a foreign country.”
    “Like going to French?”
    That got a laugh. “Maybe there’s something in the water down here. Maybe we shouldn’t drink the water, or we could start talking to everybody, telling complete strangers more than they could possibly want to know.”
    “There’s water in coffee.”
    “Yeah, but it’s, like, boiled, right? That kills the microbes that trigger all this cooperation and chattiness. It has to. It’s getting dark. I know we’re making progress, but it’s getting dark. He’s had her for more than twenty hours now.”
    She took a long breath. “Getting dark,” she murmured. “He likes to hunt at night.”

10
     
    D ark. He liked to keep them in the dark so they couldn’t know if it was day or night. So they couldn’t see each other, have even that horrible, small comfort.
    Unless he blasted the lights, hours and hours and hours of bright lights. Then they could see too well. All those eyes, as empty and hopeless as the pit of her own stomach. The shackles and chains, like something out of an old vid—but real, so real, the weight and the bite of them on the wrists, the ankles.
    But it was worse when he took them off. Worse when he took you out of the room, and into his.
    She’d fight when he came again. Bree said they had to fight, no matter what. Bree was right, she knew Bree was right, but it was so hard. He hurt her so much.
    But she’d try, she’d try to fight, try to hurt him if he came for her again.
    In the dark she reached out, wanting her sister’s hand, the contact of skin.
    And remembered.
    It was dark, but she was alone. And she wasn’t a child this time. But he’d come back for her, as he had in every nightmare that plagued her.
    He’d come back.
    Melinda shifted, felt that weight, that bite on her ankles and wrists. In her head she screamed like a wounded animal, but she didn’t let the sound come out.
    Stay calm, stay calm. Screaming won’t help. She had to think, to plan, to find a way out.
    Bree would be looking for her, along with the entire force of the Dallas police.
    But she didn’t know if she was in Dallas. She could be anywhere.
    The hysteria wanted to froth up in her throat, vomit out in a scream.
    Think.
    Sarajo.
    On the ’link, desperate, urgent, asking for help. What had she said? Important to remember every detail, to get through the fog of whatever they’d given her and remember.
    She’d claimed she’d seen the man who’d raped her. Needed help. So scared. Couldn’t go to the police, couldn’t go through it again.
    Had to help, of course, even though she’d put in a long day and had hoped for an early night. Left the note for Bree, locked up. Always careful to lock up, to keep the doors on her car locked. Careful. Always careful.
    And yet.
    So sure, Melinda remembered now, that she’d be able to talk Sarajo Whitehead through the fear, convince her to go to the police with details. So confident she could help, she could handle.
    Of course, she’d said again. Of course when Sarajo had dashed to the car when Melinda had pulled into the lot of the twenty-four-hour eatery. Of course we can go somewhere else, somewhere not so crowded and noisy.
    Sympathy, empathy, eye contact, a touch of the hand. Reassurance. She’d let Sarajo into the car, sat for a moment, talking quietly, hoping to settle the nerves—what she took as nerves, she