She raised her arm. Pointed at him. It took two tries for her voice to work. “Here! He’s here!”

She’d done an admirable job conveying panic.

Nando knocked her aside, barreling past her, his heavy coat flicking high in his wake. Already he held the transmitter aloft, pinching the button with his thumb.

Evan registered barely a half thought—Oh, fu—and then the current surged into him, radiating through his head and torso.

Convulsing on the floor, he sensed the dogs’ snapping jaws inches from his face. Confused, they barked and snarled; humans weren’t supposed to twitch like that. As they strained their leads, their handlers leaned back to keep them from tearing into him.

A command rang across the concrete from the far side of the barn: “Off.”

The Dobermans waddled back a few steps and sat, panting around wide grins. Ropes of saliva necklaced the sleek, dark fur of their chests.

Evan rolled his head on the rubber mat, catching an upside-down view of René silhouetted in the opening made by the pushed-back barn door.

He said, “You don’t stop, do you?”

Evan made a noise intended to convey assent.

“No more walks for you. No more exercise. And no more time.”

“Until what?” Evan’s words came out fuzzy.

“Until you wire me my money. Open of business tomorrow.” René continued in and stopped behind the Dobermans, stroking their heads. “Good boys. Good, good boys.”

He fished treats from his pocket and rewarded them.

“Do you like dogs?” René asked Evan.

Evan coughed hoarsely into the mat.

“It’s their loyalty that gets me,” René observed. “Purer than love. You know the joke. Lock your dog and your wife in the trunk of your car for twenty-four hours. When you open it, which one is happy to see you?”

The Dobermans bared their teeth. Their marble eyes stayed locked on Evan, who’d managed to shove himself to a standing position, his hands on his knees. The skin of his neck prickled, angry and raw. Behind Nando, Despi caught his eye, her forehead twisted in anguish. He looked down quickly, not wanting to give away their rapport.

“Put him in his room,” René said to Dex. Then, as he breezed past Evan, “Be showered in time for dinner.”

Evan shook his head, trying to clear the static. Too late he realized he was smirking.

René halted. His face reddened. “Is something amusing, Evan?”

“No.”

“Why are you grinning?”

“Because I get it now.”

“Get what?” René waited, growing impatient. “What do you think you get?”

Evan squared to him. “I think you want to be a psychopath, René. But you’re not. I think what you are is lonely. I think the only way you can get guests to your dinner table is by paying them or forcing them. I think you believe you can buy your way out of your misery, and that isn’t amusing—it’s profoundly fucking pathetic.”