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Sam dropped to the ground. A narrow, two-foot-wide alley of broken bottles, discarded needles and scraggy weeds ran the length of the building. Being careful of where he stepped, Sam headed down the alley to the end of the block where a flimsy wire fence had been breached so many times it was practically a door.

Sam crossed the side street to the next block and walked to the corner. A quick check told him the Mercedes was still parked under the tree.

Sam took a deep breath, opened the larger blade on his knife until it locked into place, and moved forward.

21

MaryAnn’s scream brought more movement: the shuffling of feet followed by the snap of a bolt and the sandpaper scrape of rusty metal.

The sounds were followed by a stabbing square of blue light that suddenly appeared as a floating mirage in the curtain of darkness.

MaryAnn shielded her eyes from the painful light, using her fingers to filter some of the glare.

‘You’re awake,’ said a male voice. Its cadence was slow and husky. ‘Feeling sick?’

MaryAnn swallowed, her throat dry.

‘Who are you?’ she asked timidly. ‘Where am I?’

‘Unimportant. How do you feel?’

MaryAnn bit back an indignant retort.

‘I’m very thirsty and . . . there are rats in here.’

‘I’ll bring water.’

The square of light vanished and the darkness returned even deeper and more foreboding than before. MaryAnn struggled not to cry, fearing that if she started, she wouldn’t know how to stop.

Soon, the square of light returned.

‘Don’t cause trouble,’ said the voice, ‘and you’ll be fine.’

MaryAnn heard the metallic clunk of the lock.

‘Where’s my mom?’ she asked.

‘Don’t worry about it.’

The square of light shifted and grew into a large rectangle. Inside the rectangle and blocking most of the light was a hulking silhouette.

The man ducked and entered the tiny cell. He had to remain bent over, as the ceiling was too low. Hunched over, his muscular body took on the shape of an ogre.

MaryAnn had difficulty taking her eyes off the man as he approached, but she forced herself to scan her surroundings while she had light.

The cell was a rough square carved out of the earth, barely six feet wide and around the same height. The four corners were supported by thick wooden beams, the rough lumber so dark and slick with creosote it looked like fossilized bone. Decaying panels of oil-soaked wood made a rough skirt around the base. Above the wood, the walls were nothing more than dried mud and flecks of rough stone.

MaryAnn glanced up and gulped. The dirt ceiling had so many cracks it reminded her of a giant spider’s web.

The sudden thought that she might die there sent a steel spike through her carefully maintained control, and MaryAnn felt herself begin to crack.

The man handed her a bottle of water. He stood so close that she could smell his cloying aftershave. He had a square of plastic bandage on his neck, the centre of it spotted with dried blood.

‘I want my mom and dad,’ MaryAnn said weakly.

The man shrugged.

MaryAnn stared up at him, a sudden surge of anger igniting a fire in her pale green eyes. She unscrewed the cap on the bottle, took a deep drink of water to slake her thirst, and then unexpectedly sprang to her feet.

Before the man could react, MaryAnn’s mouth opened and a high-pitched, ear-piercing scream punched from her throat using the full capacity of her adolescent lungs. The startled man lurched in surprise, his head smashing into the low ceiling.

He grunted as broken slabs of dried mud rained down in a dirty shower around him.

MaryAnn didn’t hesitate. She ran for the light, breaking through the doorway into a narrow, dimly lit passage as ancient as the cell. The floor was the same hard-baked mud and occasional wooden board; the walls were cracked and crumbling, as if they might collapse at any second. The only light was from a string of bare bulbs attached to the ceiling.

MaryAnn followed the lights, her pace quickening as an angry roar bellowed from behind.

Tears returned to her eyes as MaryAnn ran
down the endless tunnel, her anger quickly giving way to despair.

‘Mom!’ she cried loudly. ‘Mom!’

A sound from up ahead almost made her stumble:
sobbing
.

‘MOM!’

MaryAnn rushed to a series of cells identical to the one she had fled. Two of the cells were open and empty, but the next four were closed.

MaryAnn stopped at the first closed cell, desperately trying to quiet her breathing as she strained her ears. The sobbing was coming from within.

‘Mom?’ MaryAnn called. ‘Mom, is that you?’

The woman inside whimpered and her sobbing grew in volume. MaryAnn reached for the square window cut in the door, her fingers fumbling with a sliding bolt that hadn’t been oiled in decades.

But before she could get it free, a giant fist grabbed her by the hair and yanked her off the ground.

‘You little bitch!’

MaryAnn couldn’t believe the pain. It felt like her entire scalp was about to be ripped from her skull.

‘I was being nice to you.’

MaryAnn tried to talk, to beg to see her mom, but the agony was so great she couldn’t move her mouth.

‘Put her in cell three,’ said a second voice. ‘Maybe the company will settle her down.’

MaryAnn tried to see the second man’s face, but tears from the pain were blinding her.

The large man lifted her higher and leaned in close to her ear. His face was flushed red and a thin sheen of sweat made his flesh glisten.

‘You just lost a friend,’ he whispered menacingly. ‘Bad move.’

MaryAnn whimpered and then, overcome with pain and fear, promptly fainted.

22

Moving towards the Mercedes, Sam slipped in beside a group of three men ambling past the corner. Their bodies acted as a shield in case the driver’s gaze drifted from the motel. Once he was beside the car, Sam moved out of the trio’s slipstream and reached for the passenger door. It was unlocked.

By the time the driver noticed him, it was too late. Sam had a knife to his throat and the car door was swinging closed to lock out the prying eyes of passers-by.

The man yelped in surprise, his head cracking against the side window as he recoiled from the knife. Sam moved with him, the sharp blade drawing a trickle of blood as he applied pressure.

‘I’m a friend,’ the man cried. ‘I want to help.’

‘Where’s my family?’ Sam asked, his voice cutting a sharper edge than the blade.

‘I don’t know. I swear.’

Sam applied more pressure to the knife and
the trickle widened into a three-inch gash.

‘I’m telling the truth,’ the man pleaded. ‘My name is Zack Parker and my family’s been kidnapped.’

‘Bullshit!’

‘I wish it was,’ Zack groaned. ‘By Christ, I wish it was.’

‘You were outside my house before the explosion.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘He said my family was there.’

‘At my home?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who said it?’

‘The kidnapper. I don’t know who he is.’

Sam growled, baring his teeth like a feral dog.

‘I swear to you,’ Zack said, ‘I don’t know who’s doing this.’

‘The explosion?’

‘I didn’t do it. I . . .’ Zack winced. ‘How could I? My wife and daughter were inside.’

‘
Your
wife?’

‘Yes. My family was switched for yours.’

Sam felt fingers of madness clawing into his mind. ‘Bullshit!’

Zack exploded. ‘You think I don’t want to believe that? You think I wouldn’t give anything for it not to be true?’

‘I don’t know you,’ Sam snapped back. ‘You could be the one who phoned me.’

Zack leaned into the knife, allowing it to slice deeper into his flesh as he forced his face closer to Sam’s.

‘My family died in your house. The man who called you has already destroyed me.’ Zack’s eyes glistened. ‘I don’t know why he let me live. I wish he hadn’t. But since I’m here, I want to help.’

Sam stared deep into Zack’s eyes and felt the man’s warm blood begin to flow over his fingers.

‘Why should I believe you?’

Zack gritted his teeth as the blood from his wound continued to flow freely down his neck.

‘Two bodies were removed from your house this morning. They belonged either to you or to me. What scenario do you want to believe?’

‘I want the truth.’

Zack snorted and moved his head back to rest it against the window. Sam didn’t move with him and the knife lost contact with the wound. Blood soaked into the collar of Zack’s white shirt.

After a moment, Zack sighed. ‘The truth is that I fucked up and paid with the lives of my wife and baby girl.’ Zack’s voice broke and his eyes filled with more tears. ‘I did everything he asked. I just . . .’

‘Just?’ Sam prodded.

Zack raised his chin to stare at Sam through bloodshot espresso-brown eyes.

‘I thought it was about money,’ he said slowly, as though still trying to piece it together in his own brain. ‘I brought what I could. It wasn’t
every dollar he asked for, but everything I could get my hands on. I hoped it would be enough.

‘I waited on the street outside your house. He chose the meeting place. He said it was the final step: the money in exchange for my family. Instead, your house exploded with my family inside.’

‘Jesus!’

Zack continued, his voice so soft it was nearly lost in the buzz of light traffic.

‘I thought I caught a glimpse of Kalli, my baby, standing at the window, waiting for me, alive and trusting I would save her.’

Zack’s eyes were so full of pain, Sam nearly forgot his own.

‘Why did you leave the scene?’

Zack rubbed at his eyes. ‘To do to myself the same thing you wanted to.’

‘What stopped you?’

‘Courage. Or lack of. I got drunk instead.’ Zack sighed heavily. ‘Couldn’t even do that right.’

Sam took a closer look at the face of the man across from him. He looked how Sam felt. His chocolate-coloured skin was sallow with a tinge of grey. His eyes, sunken with weariness, looked even deeper-set against hollow, sucked-in cheeks. He was dangerously thin and it was difficult to gauge his age as his thick, close-cropped hair wavered on the cusp of adding cream to its coffee.

The only feature that hinted at a prosperous normality was his wardrobe. The suit alone,
despite its rumpled state, must have cost more than Sam’s entire liquidated worth.

‘How do you know me?’ Sam asked.

‘I don’t,’ Zack answered. ‘Not really. I guessed you were the owner of the house. I’ve been following to see if you shared the blame.’

‘For the death of your family?’

Zack nodded.

‘And if I did?’ Sam asked.

Zack inclined his head with a subtle nod.

Sam looked down and saw a small silver pistol clutched in Zack’s right hand. He relaxed his arm, bringing the knife down to his lap.

‘You’ve got the better hand,’ he said.

‘But I didn’t use it.’

‘Why should I believe you?’ he asked again.

‘Do you need to?’ Zack removed a linen handkerchief from his pocket and used it to staunch the blood still flowing from his neck. ‘If I’m lying, you’ll find out when the police identify the bodies. If I’m not, I’m the only friend you’ve got.’

Sam rubbed his chin, feeling the sandpaper stubble that had grown over the last few hours. He needed an avenue for his anger; a vent for the burning madness filling his mind, but as he studied the distraught man in front of him, he came to the decision that Zack wasn’t it.

He held out his hand. ‘Sam White.’

Zack’s gaze flicked down at the offered hand before locking with Sam’s rigid stare. The air inside the car was thick and rigid. The moment
lasted less than an eye-blink, but in that flash a bond was formed. Zack returned his gun to his pocket and accepted Sam’s hand.

‘What do we do now?’ Sam asked.

‘Did you pay cash for your room?’

‘Visa.’

‘The police can track it.’

‘So?’

‘The bodies aren’t who they’re expecting. Can you explain that?’

‘I can now.’

‘Will they believe you?’

Sam pondered the question. ‘I wouldn’t.’

‘That’s exactly what he does: puts you in a position where you’ve nowhere to turn. You have to keep running, and when you’re running, you don’t have time to think.’

‘Or to sleep,’ Sam added, but instantly felt guilty for his own weakness.

‘Sleep gives you strength,’ Zack said. ‘I never realized what an important tool it was until I tried to go without. Look at me.’

Sam lifted his gaze.

‘I wore myself to the quick trying to stay ahead of this fucker, but he’s sleeping and plotting and laughing himself sick. If I had to start again, I would take better care of myself so that maybe I would be faster and more alert when it counted.’

Sam lowered his gaze again, his guilt over the weariness he felt undiminished.

‘I have a room we can use,’ Zack continued.
‘The clerk takes cash and doesn’t give a damn what name we give.’

‘We?’ Sam asked.

‘Whoever’s behind this is done with me now,’ Zack said. ‘You’re his new plaything. You may not believe me, but I don’t want anyone to go through what I did, to lose what I’ve lost. I’ll do everything I can to help, but there’s one condition.’

‘Go on.’

‘Once your family is safe, I get to pull the trigger that sends this bastard straight to hell.’

23

MaryAnn opened her eyes to darkness once again, the clunk of a closing door so quickly absorbed by thick walls it could have been a tendril of dream.

She tenderly touched the top of her head, wincing at the pain that pricked her scalp. She smoothed her hair and imagined it was her mother’s hand.

‘Who’s there?’ asked a woman’s voice, just barely above a whisper.

MaryAnn froze. The voice didn’t belong to her mother.

‘I know someone’s there,’ said the voice. ‘I saw them throw you inside.’

MaryAnn sniffled, barely holding on to what little control she had left.

‘I’m MaryAnn.’

‘Are you alone?’

‘I – I think so.’

‘How did you get here?’

‘I don’t know. I was asleep in bed, and then . . . I woke up here.’