Sawyer jolted into action, pulling at the corpse draped over this final person—the smallest body, concealed by another corpse. Not just a body, though. Ilse recognized the voice. She could feel her spine tingling, could feel a renewed energy flushing through her. Just like Dr. Mitchell had taught. Postponing his own emotional reaction for the sake of the client. For the person he was meant to help.

Samantha’s voice.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Samantha?” Ilse said, her tone trembling.

Sawyer grunted, breathing furiously, his muscles training as he hefted the dead body off the final, smallest form lying against the cold concrete.

Her earrings were now missing, but the blonde hair and desperate, frightened gaze were unmistakable.

She was here. They’d found her.

Samantha’s killer had found her too…

Dear God. She was breathing. She was breathing! But would she make it? She was injured!

“Samantha!” Ilse yelled, darting in, feeling her own fear fading as she reached out desperately, her fingers gripping Samantha’s own frail fingertips.

Ilse’s hesitant voice went firm again. A strange, odd sort of courage came over her. Though, perhaps not so much courage as forgetfulness. Forgetfulness at the fear. Forgetfulness at her own emotion, her memories of another basement somewhere else. Her client needed help. This was what she had to do.

Ilse found her hands moving quickly now, the fear fading for a moment as she felt her fingers against cold skin. A shaky cut stretched along Samantha’s neck, but down her collarbone instead of her throat.

“He missed me in the dark,” Samantha gasped, trembling, her eyes wide, her blonde hair streaked with dirt and sweat and blood. “He missed me… He missed me…” She began to sob, shaking, trembling. “Dr. Beck? Is that you? Dr. Beck—I’m so sorry! I’m so, so sorry!” Samantha was trembling now, sobbing, shaking, covered in dust, blinking against the bright light in her eyes as if she had seen nothing but darkness since she’d gone missing.

Ilse could feel her heart hammering, her pulse racing wildly. She was alive. He’d taken her. But she was alive.

“What did he look like?” Sawyer was saying, sharply. “Is he still here? On the farm?”

“Dr. Beck,” Samantha was saying, her fingers wrapping around Ilse’s hand, holding so tight it hurt, like a drowning victim clutching a life vest.

There, in a basement of all things, holding her client’s hand, Ilse didn’t feel so scared anymore. Instead, forgetting her own fear, she forced a smile, a comforting, relaxing smile. “It’s going to be okay, Sam. It’s all going to be fine. You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you now.”

“Is the killer still here?” Sawyer insisted, even more loudly now.

Samantha’s eyes fluttered, and she shook her head weakly.

Ilse and Sawyer helped her to her feet. One of her arms draped over Ilse’s neck. Her clothing was stained, ripped in places, the cut along her neck still somewhat fresh it seemed, and blood soaked her shirt.

“Doc, get her out of here,” Sawyer murmured. “I’m going up to take a look around outside. Don’t leave the shack till I come for you, got it?”