Conor pointed to a fat line on the map. “The expressway.” He moved his finger to tap two wavy squiggles. “The Delaware and Schuylkill Rivers.”

They identified other landmarks.

“I wonder what these stars mean?”

“They’re numbered. One and two are in North Kensington. Number three is in West Philly. Number four is in Camden.” Conor squinted at the tiny marks.

The cop looked over Conor’s shoulder. “Those aren’t the best neighborhoods.”

“Wait. The first two bodies were found in North Kensington.” Conor’s heart clenched. The blood it pumped through his veins turned refrigerator cold. “Number three must be Isa. Louisa is the fourth victim. That means she’s in Camden.”

“I think you’re right.” The cop reached for his radio and turned toward the corridor.

Camden, New Jersey, then. It had to be.

But what if he was wrong?

“You need to talk to Detectives Jackson and Ianelli,” Conor shouted after the officer. He grabbed the map, carried it out of the director’s office, and ran off a copy at the machine next to the secretary’s desk. He hit the hallway running before the cop turned around. He read the map as he bolted down the main corridor and through the lobby.

“Wait!”

Conor stopped and turned.

“They located the town car,” the officer shouted down the hall. “In the Delaware River.”

Conor paused, terror freezing his feet in place for a few long seconds. No. He couldn’t believe she was dead. He wouldn’t be able to function. She couldn’t be gone. “Was anyone inside?”

“Not that they could see,” the cop yelled. “They won’t be able to open the trunk until it’s pulled out of the water.”

Conor ran out on the implication that Louisa could have been in the trunk. His Porsche was still illegally parked out front. He jumped in and roared away from the curb. Detective Jackson hadn’t called back. Conor headed toward the Ben Franklin Bridge. He raced down Market and made a left onto Fifth Street. The bridge loomed bright in the night sky, its lighted frame spanning the Delaware River. Somewhere on the other side of that dark width of water, Louisa faced a killer.

The car door opened. Louisa lay on the seat. She’d managed to roll onto her side, but the ride had been short, not even long enough for her to regain complete use of her body after the electrical shock. She blinked, temporarily blinded by the vehicle’s interior dome light. Outside, everything was dark.

Her captor leaned in. The light glittered on a knife. Louisa pulled her legs up and kicked out. Her feet connected, and she knocked the figure backward.

“You bitch.”

Louisa froze. She knew that voice. But it was impossible.

A knife flicked out, severing the thin plastic tie that bound Louisa’s ankles. A gun was pointed directly in Louisa’s face. “Get out of the car.”