Page 88 of Four Cards Exposed

Enough light to see her hands, which were handcuffed together. A chain ran from the cuffs to a pair of iron rings embedded in the wall.

The cuffs were tight—tighter than she’d ever made them. Her fingers tingled from lack of circulation.

Susan sat up. She tugged on the chain, but the rings held strong. The only throbbing was in her wrist.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

A more pressing problem was her bladder. Moving had made her realize just how full it was. She needed to go to the bathroom, or she was going to have an accident. Suddenly, she realized that had already happened.

In the box.

She’d been so afraid she’d pissed herself.

And somebody had changed her clothes. Somebody had taken off her jeans and put a white semi-translucent gown on her.

What else did they do to me?

She moved her legs gingerly. Nothing hurt, and she was still wearing her bra and underwear.

That’s one good piece of news.

She was freezing, though. That was less good. She’d been sweating before, but now the temperature was cooling, and she was sitting here in what was basically a short-sleeved shift.

Her mind kept moving back to the box.

Where is it?

What if they stick me there again?

She couldn’t survive it.

Whatever happened, even if it meant she’d die here, chained to this wall, she never wanted to see the inside of the box again.

The door opened with a groan.

“Ah, querida, you’re awake. It’s Susan, right? Not Milena,” Miguel Mendoza said, his tone light and musical. She’d imagined him as fish food, but he looked very much alive.

He also had her wallet in his hand, so there was little point in denying that her name was Susan.

“Miguel. You’re alive. I’m glad,” Susan said sincerely. “So glad.”

She’d always liked the mild-mannered man, always wondered what he could have become if he hadn’t been Ernesto’s brother. He’d never had the chance to be himself, but now, now he could be anything he wanted.

“Welcome to Mexico,” he said.

Mexico.

That explained the humidity, and the changing temperature. She’d been to Mexico before, with her parents, knew at this time of year temperatures could be high during the day and go down quickly at night. Thinking about her mother made her want to cry. She pushed the thought back. She needed to get through to Miguel.

She looked behind Miguel, worried Guerrero would appear behind them. She had to speak to Miguel alone before that happened.

“Miguel? You have to let me go, please.”

His brown eyes grew heavy. He unfolded a handkerchief and mopped his brow carefully.

“Do you ever wish you could go back in time?” he asked, his voice so soft she had to strain forward to hear him.

“Please, Miguel,” Susan begged. “Whatever Guerrero has said, whatever he’s threatening you with—“