The vehicle stopped.

So did the engine. Two doors opened and banged shut.

She forced herself up into a sitting position just as the rear door swung open. Two men stared at her, the same two who’d kidnapped her. One briefly aimed his AK-47.

Then they yanked her out.

Rallying, she slammed her knee in a hizagashira strike into the belly of the larger one. Swearing, he grabbed her and threw her down hard. Gravel bit into her palms. She felt dizzy again. She forced herself to lift her head and look around. The van had stopped in front of a two-story log house. Next to it was the berm of what appeared to be an outdoor shooting range. Farther over she saw a swimming pool, covered for cold weather.

What is this place? she wondered in a daze.

One of the men was aiming a cell phone at her, holding it so long that she realized he must be making a video.

“Say something,” he ordered. “Say, ‘Help me, Simon.’ ”

She hurt everywhere. Her vision was blurred. “Go to hell.”

The other man swung his hand, his palm connecting with her cheek. “Say it.”

Pain exploded through her face.

He swung the other hand and slammed the other cheek.

She pitched over, tasting blood.

“Say it. Goddammit.”

Need to—

Her eyes closed. She smelled pine trees.

Escape.

She heard water trickling.

A stream?

A forest?

Some kind of camp?

WASHINGTON, D.C.

FOR THE TENTH TIME, SIMON childs scanned the items on the restaurant’s breakfast menu. Yet again, he glanced past the hostess toward the entrance. Once more he looked at his watch—a vintage Rolex that Liz knew he admired and that she’d given him as a prewedding present.

Twenty minutes to ten.

He and Liz had made plans to meet here, in Georgetown, for breakfast at nine and then go to a final meeting with their wedding-reception caterer. He didn’t understand why she hadn’t phoned to tell him she was going to be late. He’d called her three times but had reached only her voice mail. Amid the clink of silverware and the murmur of conversations, a voice interrupted his worried thoughts. He looked up, surprised to see the hostess standing next to him.

“Mr. Childs, this arrived for you.”

She handed him a small box wrapped in silver wedding paper. He frowned, seeing his name on an attached card.

“A messenger delivered it,” the hostess explained. “He pointed toward you and said to tell you that Ms. Sansborough apologizes for being late.”

“Thank you.”

As she returned to greeting more guests, there was a faint buzzing sound from the box in his hand. It vibrated. In an instant, he realized why. He tore off the bow, ripped off the wrapping paper, and yanked off the box’s lid. Inside was a cell phone. He pressed the Answer button and held the phone against his ear.

“Liz?” he asked.

“She’s been detained,” a female voice said.

His chest tightened. “What do you mean ‘detained’? Who is this?”