Her eyes met his. The shock and terror on her face told him more than he needed to know, not just about what had been done to her by Devina, but what the sight of him was doing to the poor girl.

“Don’t look at me!”

As she flinched and cringed away, he reeled his temper in. Not that there was much to throw reins on—he’d used all the strength he had on that yell.

“Cover your face,” he said hoarsely. “Turn away and just . . . cover your face.”

The girl put her hands up and pivoted around, her delicate spine standing out against the sheath as she trembled.

Jim had pulled at his binds involuntarily during Devina’s little exercise session. Now he yanked.

“You’re hurting yourself,” she said as he grunted. “Please . . . stop.”

Pain cut off his capacity for speech and it was a while before he could say anything. “Where . . . where does she keep you? Down here?”

“In . . . in the . . .” Her voice was so very reedy, and in between the words, her teeth chattered—which explained the clicking he’d heard. “In the wall . . .”

His eyes shot toward the darkness, but the candlelight formed a luminous blockade his eyes couldn’t get through.

“How does she do that?” Not chains, he hoped.

And fuckin’ A, he was so going to get Devina for this one.

“I don’t know,” the girl said. “Where am I?”

Hell. But he kept that to himself. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

“My mom and dad . . .” She choked on tears. “They don’t know where I am.”

“I’ll tell them.”

“How will—” As she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes locked on his degraded body and she paled.

He shook his head. “No looking. Promise me . . . no more looking at me.”

Pale hands went back up to that beautiful face and she nodded. “My name is Cecilia. Sissy Barten—with an ‘e.’ I’m nineteen. Almost twenty.”

“You live in Caldwell?”

“Yes. Am I dead?”

“I want you to do something for me.”

Now she dropped her arms and stared at him hard. “Am I dead.”

“Yes.”

She closed her eyes as another wave of shaking shot through her body. “This isn’t Heaven. I believe in Heaven. What did I do wrong?”

Jim felt something hot at the corners of both his eyes. “Nothing. You did nothing wrong. And I’m going to get you there.”

If it was the last fucking thing he did.

“Who are you?”

“I’m a soldier.”

“Like in Iraq?”

“Used to be. Now I fight that bitch—er, female who did this to you.”

“I thought I was helping . . . when the lady asked me to carry a bag for her. I thought I was helping. . . .” She inhaled sharply as if she were trying to compose herself. “You can’t get out of here. I’ve tried.”

“I’m going to save you.”