Tonya shrugged off Melissa’s hand. “If he wanted us to die, he would have killed us. There must be something he wants. Something we can negotiate with.”

Footsteps padded against the hardwood. Tonya sensed a figure backing away. “He won’t let us out. He’s waiting for the right time to do it, maybe after he’s pointed the police in your direction. Or he intends to leave us to starve.”

Tears pressed against Tonya’s lower lids. If she died, what would happen to her daughter? Her parents weren’t equipped to care for a child, let alone a city kid accustomed to spending her days riding a subway to a school that had classes in playwriting, Mandarin, and set design. And even if Rick was willing to support Layla, his money wouldn’t come for a while. Without Tonya pressuring him, maybe he wouldn’t pay child support at all.

“We’ll get out of here.” Tonya said it even though part of her was already accepting that she wouldn’t. Part of her was imagining Layla on her parents’ farm, milking cows and shoveling horseshit, watching her dreams shrivel like crops in a drought.

“Do you think Imani knows?” Melissa’s voice cracked on her friend’s name.

Imani’s prior accusations played in Tonya’s mind. Philip’s wife might have been grasping at straws to clear her best friend, but she hadn’t been doing it to exonerate her husband. Imani’s surprise at learning of Nate’s investment in Philip’s restaurant had been too genuine. Too raw. “Not unless she deserves an Oscar,” Tonya quipped.

A sharp gasp was the reply, followed by the distinct sound of sobbing. “She’ll come for us, then.” Melissa’s voice sounded like it was being carried away, fading before the words were fully intelligible.

“She doesn’t know that Philip had anything to do with Nate,” Tonya countered. “People are speculating that you did it and are on the run.”

Melissa coughed. “She’s my best friend. She knows me.” A staccato gasp punctuated each phrase. “She’s smart. She’ll come.”

Tonya leaned against the wall, grabbing her side. She didn’t know Imani like Melissa did. Still, she thought her co-captive’s faith misplaced. All things being equal, of course Imani would want to find and save her friend. But the man who wanted them dead was Imani’s husband. Even if Imani began to suspect Philip—even if Tonya’s diatribe had raised doubts—it would be easier for Imani to turn a blind eye, to buy into the fiction that her friend had done something terrible rather than face the fact that her husband and the father of her children wasn’t who she’d thought.

“She’ll come.” Melissa repeated the words like a prayer. “I’ve been signaling for her. Tapping the pipes.”