Hamid gets into the room, puts the tray down, and he and Tonton give the girl’s legs a good pull, and she lets go of the door frame. Hamid drops her on the other bed, crying now, no longer screaming.

Tonton still has his pistol out. Hamid backs away, wishes he had a weapon as well, and is glad that no one from his village is here to see this humiliation.

Tonton says, “Stay still until I close the door. No more moves. Or I will tell Mister Pelayo.”

Hamid steps out first and Tonton follows, slamming the door shut. Tonton replaces the pistol in his holster and says something in his poor English to Hamid, and then laughs.

He has no idea what the other man is laughing about, but Hamid decides to play it safe and laughs as well.

CHAPTER 25

TOM CORNWALL waits a few minutes, standing still, just in case the two men come back in.

They don’t.

The older one, who had the gun and spoke to them, seems Hispanic. The other one, younger, thinner, and with a thick, long beard, isn’t Hispanic. Middle Eastern, Asian, Tom’s not sure.

But they both worked fast to prevent Denise from escaping, and Tom begins to calm down some when it appears that his girl isn’t hurt.

He sits down and she rolls over, eyes still moist from the screaming and crying, but with a sly smile on her face.

“I did good, Dad, didn’t I?”

“The very best.”

“Do you think they noticed?”

“No,” Tom says. “The bigger guy was too busy keeping you from running out, and that other guy, he was too busy trying not to drop the tray.”

She sits up and wipes her eyes with the hem of her T-shirt, and says, “Dad…I really, really hate chewing gum.”

“I know. But you did good.”

Tom gets up and says, “Stay on the bed, all right?” and Denise being Denise, she ignores him and follows him over to the door.

He presses his ear against the metal.

Nothing.

Just the slow hum of machinery being used somewhere, deep in this building.

And where is this building? he thinks, as he draws his head back and goes to the other side of the door, repeats the process.

Someplace tropical, he thinks. Maybe an island in the Caribbean, or off the coast of Mexico. The weather seems warm enough, and he’s noted fine beach sand has trickled into their little cell.

More humming of machinery.

He’s certain they’re in this building’s basement, based on what he’s seen those few times when the door has been open. There are pallets of plastic-wrapped boxes and piles of lumber and pipes, and wires and conduits up above in the open ceiling.

Denise is next to him. “Daddy…did it work? Did I do good?”

“Hold on.”

Tom leans against the door one more time, not listening this time, but thinking.

Was this the time? Should he wait?

Waiting awhile longer had its advantages, as the day went on, but still…