“Stay where you are.” She heard him push his chair back.

After a ten count, she reached for the bag. No televised voice told her to stop. His kitchen was up at least one floor, but it wouldn’t take long for him to reach her.

She worked the fabric. Her nails didn’t catch. She pulled the bag back over her head, caught the cloth in her teeth, and started grinding. A pinhole of light appeared through the wet spot.

“Caitlin.” His voice returned through the wall speaker. “Clasp your fingers behind you.”

The locks turned, the door opened, the cuffs went on.

“Come.”

He tugged her backward. She aligned an eye with the hole, saw the bright image of the kitchen on the TV screen.

“Step down,” he said.

They moved into the hall. Past the open door to her bedroom, the hallway veered left. Pale blue light came from the right.

“Walk.”

He marched her back to the bedroom, sat her down, strapped her in, unlocked the handcuffs, removed the bag, then set up his folding chair and sat across from her. A pizza box waited on top of the table.

“Which do you want first? Dinner or story?”

“What’s so great about this story?”

He wrote the headline with his hands, excited. “ ‘Missing Reporter Alive and Well.’ ”

Caitlin felt her chest tighten. “Better eat first.”

He opened the box and slid two pieces onto Caitlin’s plate. “Fine. I have other news. I’m making improvements to your room.”

“Like a tunnel out?”

“In a way. You’re getting a drain. That may not seem important now, but this rainy season has been unpredictable. There used to be carpet in here.”

“Hence the smell.” Caitlin forced a mouthful of pizza down.

Embower looked pleased. “That brings me to the other improvement. I’m going to reduce the usage of drugs.”

“How?”

“You’ll see tomorrow. Be prepared to spend most of the day in the playroom.”

Caitlin shrugged. “Bigger in there anyway.”

He stood, put the pizza aside, then reached under the covers of Caitlin’s bed. His hand came up with her laptop. He placed the computer in front of her, powered up and waiting for a password.

Caitlin’s fingertips met the keys like a lover. “Why are you giving me my laptop?”

“In case you wish to take notes.”

She remembered the camera in the corner, covered each hand with the other as she typed her password. No Wi-Fi networks available. No Bluetooth either.

“Ready for story time, Caitlin?”

She met his eyes. “Knock yourself out.”

He paced as he dictated. “ ‘At twelve thirty-seven, Caitlin Bergman called Lakshmi Anjale from an unlisted cell phone outside the Miami Correctional Facility in Kokomo, Indiana.’ ”

Caitlin typed along, but her words had nothing to do with his showboating.