I scream, but it comes out muffled. There’s something in my mouth—a gag. The fabric scrapes my tongue when I try to push it out.
My heart starts pounding, each breath ragged. I yank at everything over and over. But it’s no use.
Five things. Five things I can see.
Except I can't see much. I blink hard, trying to focus. The lighting is dim enough that I can make out shapes but not details. Heavy curtains block out whatever's beyond the windows.
Think, Ryan. Think.
The . . . the concert.
I'd stepped out of the bathroom at Citi Field and started to make my way to the concessions, then security approached. They said there was an emergency, that I needed to come with them. I went. Didn't even question it. Thought maybe something happened to Connor.
Stupid. So fucking stupid.
There was a sharp prick on my neck.
Then nothing.
Shit. Someone drugged me. Again.
Connor? Where’s Connor?
I thrash again, trying to look around the room. I twist my head too fast that the room spins, and bile crawls up my throat. After a second, I try again, slower this time.
It’s just me. My husband’s not here.
A door opens and light floods in, burning my eyes. I squint, trying to see through the water pooling behind my lids.
Three men in expensive suits walk in. One looks familiar. The security guy from Walsh International. Behind him are Mr. and Mrs. Walsh.
Every muscle in my body coils tight, my teeth clamping down on the gag hard enough that my jaw aches.
If they hurt Connor,they're dead.
The lights click on, and it takes a second for my eyes to adjust. Goddamn drugs. Two men stand guard near the door while Blake moves off to the side toward a bookcase.
Mr. Walsh shoves his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. “We've cut our losses with Connor. Unfortunately, that makes you a loose end, Mr. Henneman.”
I growl through the gag, trying to lunge forward. The chair rocks a tiny bit before returning to normal, the legs thudding against the hardwood floor.
Mrs. Walsh laughs coldly, walks over, and grips my chin, yanking it up. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be going first.” The corners of her mouth curl into a cruel smile. “It won’t be long. He’s on his way this very second. Love makes people so stupid.”
The hairs on my neck stand up.
This is a trap, and I’m the bait.
No, I can’t be the reason Connor dies.
Blake presses a finger to his ear. “Sir, there’s a vehicle approaching the main gate at high speed.”
Mr. Walsh’s lips curve into a thin, satisfied smile. “Looks like my son has arrived.”
“You’ll both be out of our hair soon enough.” Mrs. Walsh releases my chin, digging her nails into my skin as she does so. “Just hope your foster father doesn’t poke around. I really don’t want to waste more of my time trying to cover up a third death.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath through my nose, then slowly open them.
Five things I see.
