Nicky looked at Ken slyly. "You're a gentleman, Agent Walker, but really, I can take the couch. You're an old man, after all."

He grunted. "I'm thirty-five. And my mother would kill me if she found out I let a woman sleep on the couch."

Nicky smiled. "Who knew you had a gentlemanly side, Agent Walker?

He just grunted again, saying nothing. Nicky laughed, then began unpacking her belongings in the bathroom. It was a moment of levity that she needed.

This case was too much for her. She knew that even considering it would be a bad idea. And yet she'd gone ahead and gotten pulled into it anyway. This was her chance to redeem herself and show her colleagues that she was still a strong FBI agent and that she wasn't just washed-up and incapable of saving anyone.

She was desperate. She wanted to save those girls. But she was also uneasy. She couldn't deny that she was afraid--afraid that this case would be unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. Afraid that she'd fail, like she'd failed Masie.

Like she'd failed Rosie.

Nicky brushed that thought away. She didn't want to get emotional, not in front of Ken. She didn't want to be perceived as weak.

She changed into pajamas and went back into the main room. Ken was already on the futon, his back facing her. Saying nothing, Nicky crawled into the bed. It was stiff and smelled moldy. Nasty. But it would have to do.

Accepting her fate, she lay on the pillow, shut her eyes, and let herself drift away.

***

When Nicky awoke, she was sixteen again.

The van grumbled beneath her. She looked around, startled, before her surroundings set in. The smell of mildew. The coffee stain on the seat beside her. The hula girl on the dashboard...

And Rosie beside her in the back.

The man, driving in the front, the sunset filtering through the windshield.

Nicky didn't know it then. But she knew it now, as an outsider looking back in.

He was taking them to the lake house.

He drove them deep into the woods, through a narrow trail. The stones popped and tinged beneath the wheels of the car. Fear pounded in Nicky's chest. She wanted to open the door, to jump out with Rosie, but the man still held that gun as he drove. If they made any sudden moves, he could end their lives in an instant.

Nicky looked at Rosie. She would never forget the fear in her sister's brown eyes. Rosie was a year younger than Nicky, and she had always been more naive. While Nicky liked to date boys in town, drink alcohol sometimes and party, Rosie was bookish and smart. But they were best friends. Nicky would have died for her.