When Sam Carter stepped into the manager’s office, it wasn’t at all how he had expected. He had pictured an oak desk and a sitting area for meeting with customers, something like a loan officer would have in a bank. Instead, he felt like he had stepped onto the bridge of a battleship. Filing cabinets and three ring binders lined one wall. All manner of cables, servers, and security access terminals occupied another. The desks were pushed against the walls and littered with handheld radios, file folders, and computer workstations. Nearly every inch of the walls, those not covered up by filing cabinets or server racks, held cork boards, calendars, and sticky notes. The room smelled of Clorox and coffee.

The blonde occupied one of the rolling desk chairs. Carter pulled another of the chairs into the center of the cluttered space, and Burke followed suit.

Carter smiled and said, “How are you feeling? Are you up for a few questions?”

She had a yellow legal pad and a pen on her lap. She wrote, “Yes, I’m fine. But I’m unable to speak.” She gestured toward the mass of scar tissue on her throat and then added, “The big bastard smashed my electronic communication device.”

“Do you know sign language?” Burke asked.

She replied in what Carter assumed to be some form of sign language. Burke smiled and started gesturing in ways Carter had no ability to comprehend. The two had a few nonverbal exchanges before Carter said, “Dr. Burke, are you going to let me in on the conversation?”

“Sorry. I asked how she got the scars. That they seem old. She told me it happened in a car accident when she was a child.”

Carter looked her in the eyes and said, “I’m very sorry. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to ask a few questions, and my associate can translate.”

She nodded, and Carter looked to his small black notebook. “Your passport says you’re from England. May I ask why you’re here in Henderson?”

With her hands and Burke acting as her voice, she said, “I’m vacationing in Las Vegas.”

“So why did you come out of the city to Henderson?”

“There’s a GoBox in London. I had them transport my jewelry here for me in one of their boxes.”

“I see. Luggage can get lost and purses stolen, but not a trusty GoBox.”

She nodded.

“What can you tell us about the people who held you captive?” Carter asked.

“The big black man was a real prick and a bully. I hate bullies. He kept harassing me, touching me.”

“I’m very sorry this happened to you.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” she said.

“I’m sorry, nonetheless, and we will get these guys.”

“One was a woman, I think.”

“Yes, we’re aware of that. Did you get a good look at her? Could you do a sketch?”

“No, she wore a mask and then pretty much stayed in the vault room,” the blonde said.

“What about the big man?”