I go to the next window and the next. The three rooms are set up identically and similarly appointed. Who’s staying here and why are the doors locked from the outside? The possibilities send a chill up my spine.

Making sure the aisle is clear, I back away, never taking my eyes from the door at the end, expecting at any moment for someone to come through. All I have to do is get out and stay out of sight until Suggs’s deputy arrives. He should be here any time now. I take another step back. Too late, I spot the woman standing in the open doorway to my right. Adrenaline burns through my midsection. She’s looking at me as if I’m some dangerous animal that’s wandered in, looking for meat.

In an instant, I take in her appearance. My height. Twenty years old. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Pale skin. Pretty. The thing that stands out most is the overt terror on her face.

I press my index finger to my lips. “I’m here to help you,” I whisper.

For an instant I think I’ve blown it; she’s doesn’t know English and she’s going to scream. I’ll be found out and all hell will break loose. Instead, she glances toward the room where the men are, then motions to the stairway behind her.

“Come with me.”

Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

I follow the woman up the stairs. At the top we go through a door and into a good-size room that had once been a hayloft. A small table and two chairs are set against the wall to my right. I see a bed in the corner. A large-screen TV. A space heater. A set of drawers. Farther, another door where I can just make out the white porcelain of a sink.

There’s no lock on the door. “Are we safe here?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “The men will come soon,” she replies, not getting too close, watching me cautiously.

“I need to lock the door. Keep them out. How do you lock it?”

“I’m not allowed.”

Edgy with adrenaline, I stride to the table, pull out the chair, and wedge it beneath the doorknob. If someone tries to get in, it won’t keep them out. But it will buy me some time.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Alina,” she tells me. “Marchenko.”

I indicate the room and all of its contents. “What is this place?” I ask. “What’s going on here?”

“They brought me here. This is where I live.” She looks me up and down, taking in my Amish dress. “You are new?”

I have no idea what means by that. I go to the door and listen. No one there. Yet.

She follows me. “You are police?”