Both D.D. Warren and Greg seemed to feel that Andrew had personal feelings for me. Could I use that? Could I convince him that I liked him, too? If I could just sweet-talk him into loosening the bindings, giving myself one shot at escape …

The footsteps were back, growing louder. Then, before I was ready, the trunk flew open. Andrew loomed above me, his body shrouded in night. I couldn’t see his face, but felt his eyes upon me.

“Do you understand?” he asked me.

Bewildered, I shook my head, cotton gag chafing my lips.

“You will. It’s time to face your past, Danielle. I’ve been trying to tell you that, but you ignored me. Drastic times call for drastic measures. So here we are. Twenty-five years later. Same day. Time for a new understanding.”

He reached down, grabbed my shoulders, and forced me up. I screamed against the gag as blood-starved nerve endings roared to life. The sound was muffled, the shriek rebounding into my throat, where it died a quick death. Andrew grunted in satisfaction.

“You must open your senses,” he intoned, hands under my arms, dragging my deadweight from the trunk. “Remove your judgments. Listen with your heart, remember with your mind. He’ll find you. He’s been trying to contact you for years.”

He set me on the pavement. Run, my head commanded, even as my legs crumpled and I fell against my captor. Andrew was strong. I remembered his stories of running six miles in soft sand. Now he hefted me easily onto his back in a fireman’s hold. I tried to kick out with my legs, but couldn’t get any momentum.

With me in place, Andrew trudged toward a large house I didn’t recognize. He pushed open the front door and strode into the darkened foyer.

“Honey, I’m home,” he called out.

Upstairs, I heard a woman begin to weep.

Memory is a funny thing. My entire life had been defined by one episode, that until today, I’d assumed lasted no more than forty minutes. In my memory, my father was holding the gun. In my memory, my father shot himself, instead of me. In my memory.

Andrew removed my gag. I opened my mouth to scream, and he pressed a finger over my lips.

“Shhh, don’t forget about Evan and his mother and father. Surely you’d like to save one family.”

I closed my lips and stared at Andrew. We were upstairs, in a pink ruffled bedroom that clearly belonged to a young girl. I didn’t see any sign of her, and the bed was made, so I was hoping that meant she was no longer around, or maybe this room had been staged for my benefit. I wasn’t sure, and the not knowing kept me silent.

I studied Andrew, a mouse pinned by a cat, desperate for a glimmer of escape.