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“Where are we?”

“Out.”

The side door slides open, and he pulls me toward it. My shoes hit uneven ground. I stumble, but he keeps his grip on me while the other man yanks the covering from my head.

I blink against the daylight.

We're outside a rundown warehouse surrounded by trees and rusted fencing. There's no sign of another building, and the narrow road leading here is almost completely hidden by overgrown bushes.

My stomach sinks.

Nobody would find this place by accident.

The man holding my arm pushes me through a side door. Inside, the air smells of dust and damp concrete. A few wooden crates sit against one wall, but the rest of the room is empty.

“Sit.”

He points toward a chair.

I stay where I am.

He grabs my shoulders and forces me down, then pulls my wrists behind the chair. A plastic tie tightens around them.

I bite back a cry.

The man who gave the orders at the cab approaches, still wearing his cap and dark glasses.

He takes out his phone.

“I'm going to record a message. You'll look at the camera and keep quiet unless I tell you otherwise.”

“For Torch?”

He doesn't answer.

He starts recording.

“Chavez. I've got your woman.”

He turns the phone toward me.

My heart pounds.

“Let him see you're alive,” he orders.

I look into the camera.

“Torch, I'm okay.”

“That's enough.”

He turns it back toward himself.

“I want the evidence you kept from the fire four years ago. All of it. Every photograph, every report, anything you took from that investigation. You bring it to me, and I'll let her go.”

He pauses.

“And if you're thinking about calling my bluff, remember what happened at your cabin. I'm the one who rigged that gas device. I came close to killing you once, Chavez. Don't give me a reason to try again.”