“If you go back inside,” said one of the gunmen, “we’ll shoot him right here.”

“Go, Caitlin,” Penn said firmly. “Right now. Lock the door and call 911.”

The older man raised his pistol and pressed the barrel against Penn’s right temple. The gunman’s face was pale and bland beneath his long hair, and appeared to be without mercy or even concern.

Go, Penn mouthed silently. I love you.

“What is it you want?” Caitlin asked.

“Mr. Royal wants to talk to you,” said the younger gunman, who had a crew cut and looked slightly less ruthless than his partner. “Both of you.”

Brody Royal. Caitlin saw a van parked beyond the men, smoke puffing from its tailpipe. Penn stared into her eyes with chilling urgency. Then he shook his head.

“I’ll go with you,” he said, “but she stays here. If we don’t go soon, one of Chief Logan’s squad cars is going to circle through this lot.”

“He’s right,” said the younger man.

“Just a second,” said Longhair. He was looking at a cell phone while he covered Penn with the gun in his other hand. “This is going to be good. Watch.”

“Go, Caitlin,” Penn said again. “Right now.”

She wanted to obey, but deep within her brain, a bundle of nerve fibers told her that if she tried to flee, the tall man would kill Penn while his partner went after her. Penn’s eyes fairly blazed out an order to run, but before she could make a decision, someone flung her purse through the door behind her, then pulled it shut. She heard the bolt slide home.

What the hell? she thought, unable to believe that one of her employees would participate in her kidnapping. Then a thought flashed through her—

My .38’s in that purse! Her heart began to pound. Should I grab for it, or just act like I’m casually picking it up?

The younger gunman made the decision for her. Aiming his automatic at her head, he lunged forward and snatched up the purse.

“Get in the fucking van!” he shouted.

With a last desolate look at Caitlin, Penn turned and walked to the van’s side door as though in complete surrender. As Longhair slid the door open, Penn hurled himself backward and shouted, “Run, Caitlin! Run for the street!”

She broke to her left, then hesitated as Longhair hammered his pistol against Penn’s neck, knocking him to the concrete. Her hesitation doomed her. The younger man was two steps faster than she, and fifteen yards down the wall he rode her into the cement. When she struggled to her knees, he punched the side of her head, and she felt her jaw rattle. Blinking away tears, she tried to clear her head, then toppled over like an animal darted with a tranquilizer.