“Get up!” she barks at him.

His head snaps up, but he can’t get out of the car without help. She kicks him again, and he groans, but he still doesn’t move.

I end up grabbing his legs and shifting them outside of the vehicle. He still can’t get up on his own without the two of us hauling him to his feet. Muffled noises come from inside the paper bag. His light gray T-shirt has sweat stains under his armpits.

We walk him into my house and into my office. Because his ankles are partially bound together, he has terrible balance and has to walk with small shuffling steps. When we get into the office, Patricia stops short. She looks around. “Did you change something in here?”

“No,” I say.

She cocks her head to the side. She is certain something is different, but she can’t put her finger on what it is. I know what it is though. I moved the sofa. But she doesn’t need to know that part. It’s better she doesn’t know.

Once inside the office, I attempt to get EJ to sit on the sofa, but between the duct tape on his wrist and ankles and the bag on his head, he misses it completely. He goes crashing to the floor—hard. Patricia frowns.

“Do you want me to help you get him up?” she asks.

I shake my head. It’s easier that he’s on the floor. “I’m fine. You can leave now.”

She narrows her eyes. “What are you going to do?”

“It’s none of your concern.”

She taps one of her heels on the wooden floor. If she were only two feet to the left, she would have heard the difference in sound that the floor made and discovered my secret. “I believe it’s partially my concern. I’m the one who got him here, after all.”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I don’t mind helping. As my mother always says, if we always helped one another, no one would need luck.”

I’ll just bet she doesn’t mind. “It’s fine. I’ve got it under control.”

A flicker of curiosity passes over her pretty features. “What are you going to do with him?”

“I promise—nobody will find him.”

She pouts for a second, but then throws up her hands. “Fine. Do what you want, Dr. Hale.”

She flicks her honey blond hair over her shoulder, then storms out of the office. On her way out, she looks up at the portrait she gave me, which is hanging over the mantle. She flashes me a disdainful look.

“I can’t believe you hung that giant portrait of yourself right in your living room.” She sneers at me. “You’re just as arrogant as I thought you were.”