He pulled open the rear door of the Malibu, and his heart seized. Again, again, again. A blanket covered Lucy’s body. Blue-and-green wool in the same diamond design. He knelt down, using both hands to peel back the blanket to reveal her face, and there she was. Eyes closed. Perfect and peaceful. He put two fingers on the soft skin of her neck, and he found—

A heartbeat. She was alive.

Frost yanked the blanket from her body. She wore the same outfit as when he’d last seen her. Cropped jeans. Striped top. Gently, he lifted her torso and climbed into the back of the car beside her. He rustled her shoulders and whispered her name.

“Lucy . . . it’s Frost. Lucy, wake up.”

Her eyes blinked open and closed. And open again. She tried to focus, but her gaze wandered, as if she were following the buzz of a fly. Her limbs squirmed. A groan rumbled from her throat.

“Lucy. It’s me.”

She shook off the fog. Her fingers rubbed her face and left pink impressions on her skin. Through dry lips, she said, “Frost?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t—where are we?”

“Long story. Do you remember anything? What’s the last thing you remember?”

Her eyes blinked again. “I don’t even know.”

“That’s okay. Hang on. I’m getting you out of here.”

Frost climbed out of the car and listened for the wail of an ambulance, but he heard nothing. He leaned in again and put his arms under Lucy’s knees and around her back. Instinctively, she clung to his neck and let him carry her out of the car. He kicked the door shut with his foot and half ran across the Great Highway back to his Suburban. Part of him wanted to scream at the Night Bird, knowing the man was watching him.

Why are you doing this?

At his truck, he eased Lucy into the front seat, just as he’d done once before, atop the Bay Bridge. He called in an update and threw his phone on the seat between them. He headed east, driving fast and using his siren to cruise uphill through the stop signs. The nearest hospital was on the other side of Golden Gate Park, three miles away. Lucy stared vacantly through the windshield as the city flashed by on both sides. He kept looking at her as he drove, but she didn’t look back at him. Pieces of a puzzle worked their way through her brain.

Finally, she said, “He took me?”

Frost nodded. “Yes.”

Lucy was silent again as he sped through two more intersections, and then she went on: “How long?”

“More than twenty-four hours.”

“An entire day,” she murmured. “I don’t remember any of it.”

“What do you remember?”

“I—I remember picking out a dress. To meet you. I draped it across the bed. After that, nothing.”