We had reached a meadow across from the field where Quinn and I had parked the Jeep; this place was filled with horse trailers and cars. A copse of trees near the street blocked the view so no one would see us—and even if they did, probably wouldn’t take much notice. Still I was surprised that no one else had hung around, stable lads, maybe, waiting for their horses to return.

Victoria pulled a key fob out of her jacket pocket and hit a button. I heard the sound of the trunk of a car popping open.

“Come on,” she said. “We’re going to Hawthorne.”

Clay’s car was an old Ford Taurus and it was hitched to a horse trailer. Victoria marched me over to the car and indicated the trunk. “Get in.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No. Besides, Clay will wonder where the trailer is. You can’t leave.”

“Of course I can,” she said in a nasty voice. “He’s going hunting after the review. I’m meeting him with the trailer at the polo grounds in a couple of hours. Now don’t make me tell you again to get in.”

“No.” I raised my cane to swing it at her but she was faster, raising the butt end of her gun.

Then everything went black.

I DIDN’T WAKE UP until she opened the trunk. She’d put the kind of adhesive wrapping tape vets and stables used for the horses over my mouth, and my hands and feet were trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey. Hot pink. Thoughtful choice of color.

My head hurt like hell and I blinked in the sudden brightness. If we were at Hawthorne, I’d been out for a good ten minutes. By now Quinn and Eli would be looking for me. Quinn would alert Bobby or else he’d find the Middleburg police chief, whose car always rode first in the 2 P.M. parade. The Loudoun County sheriff was second.

They were going to find me. Hopefully in time.

But first, I had to deal with Victoria, who was standing over the trunk looking down at me. If I could have spat on her I would have.

“I’m going to cut the tape binding your feet,” she said. “Try anything and I’ll shoot you. I can bury your body in the woods where no one will find you.”

She cut the tape with a pocketknife and maneuvered me so I could get out of the trunk. I held out my hands and jerked my head in the direction of my cane, which she’d thrown into the trunk, thank God.

“Mpf, mpf, mpf.”

“What?” She looked exasperated. I repeated myself. “Oh, what the hell.” She ripped the tape off my mouth. It felt as if skin had come off with it.