As Dexter and Natalie slowly progressed through the customs line, his hand remained in the small of her back, a constant reminder of his presence and expectations. On the surface, they appeared the happy yet weary couple. The reality was more ominous. She concentrated on standing, stepping, and taking in the world around her. The drugs—the so-called cocktail he'd given her—weren't completely out of her system. The effects lingered. Speech was back and, according to him, mobility had never been fully lost. It was how he was able to convince the attendant of her intoxication.

Before they left the plane, Dexter explained the effects of his chosen combination of drugs: lower inhibitions, eliminate awareness, and increase obedience. In a deep, soothing voice, the tone that if others heard would sound comforting, he went on. His words contrasted his timbre, but only Natalie was privy to those.

“But, my bug...”

With the crook of his finger, he gently caressed the line of her jaw, burning her with his touch and branding her with his mark. It took all of her willpower not to pull away.

He continued as the plane taxied to the gate, “It's truly a wonderful concoction. No one in the cabin questioned your sincerity.”

“I-I don't remember.”

“Of course you don't. That's the problem. If I gave you more for customs, you'd comply with my every command. Honestly, it would make this easier on me.” He shrugged. “Maybe even on you. But easy isn't as fun or as thrilling.” His hand gripped hers, swallowing it in its girth. “The way you answered the attendant earned you this privilege. Don't disappoint me.”

A madman was threatening her and taking her away from her family. He'd already admitted—and demonstrated—that he was willing to hurt her.

She repeated his word as her neck straightened, “Privilege?”

“Why, yes. If I gave you more of your cocktail, you wouldn't remember what's about to happen. How you willingly obeyed, willingly walked to your destiny.” The aquamarine irises glittered. “I want you to remember that this was your free will. Don't you want that, too?”

Natalie wanted to forget the entire episode. She wanted to return to Boston, wait for Phil, and fly with him beside her, the man who was more than security, more like an uncle. He would have seen this threat and taken care of it—him—before Natalie even realized it was there. That was what she wanted. Instead, she had to face her new reality and construct a plan of escape.

“Bug.” His voice, accompanied by a nudge, brought her back to the large room, the line, and the people.

Reluctantly, she moved, keeping their place in line. With each passing moment, coherency improved. High above, the ceiling was dotted with darkened globes—cameras—recording their movement. Every now and then, she'd look up, hoping that her picture would be recorded. She may have earned this privilege as he called it, but this was her chance to end this bizarre abduction before it could go further.

With the necessary forms in the breast pocket of his jacket, Dexter was never more than a few inches away. She hadn't seen what he'd written, only heard his warnings. Even leaving him for the restroom was out of the question. Truly she didn’t need to. He’d somehow prompted her to take care of business on the plane, before the cocktail began to lose its grip.

Dexter expected obedience. But she couldn't. If she did as he'd said, there was no hope. The person in the booth was her hope. He or she had to believe Natalie when she said her real name, not the one Dexter wanted her to say.

Nellie Smithers.

The name was in her head and on the tip of her tongue. Dexter had made her repeat it, even write it on a paper napkin as they descended airspace. Surprisingly, the signature she wrote resembled the one on the fake passport and the New York driver's license. He also made her say her birth date. At first, she hadn't noticed the subtle alteration: one month and one year different than her real one. Similar, yet changed.

That was how he'd ordered her wine.

By the time their dinner arrived, the world was fuzzy. Natalie had initially assumed that international flights allowed her to drink at twenty; however, a flight's alcohol limitation was based upon the laws of the country of origin. It was her falsified ID that gave Dexter the ability to ply her with alcohol as well as his cocktail.

Step by step, they moved forward. She'd simply nod as he spoke, having difficulty concentrating. She had questions, ones she couldn't ask, but important ones nevertheless.

When was her connecting flight scheduled to leave Munich? Her absence on that flight would set off alarms. After all, she wasn't just any passenger. She was Natalie Rawlings and her father was waiting for her arrival. That was what Jamison had told her.

And Phil.

Jamison had said that Phil would be meeting her at the airport. The dread she'd felt at disappointing him with her grades was forgotten. She longed for the security of his presence.

“With your recent change of plans, you would have gone through customs here.”

She jumped, startled by the way Dexter spoke close to her ear.

“What?”

He tilted his chin toward the ceiling. “You're making it a point to look at the cameras. Your presence here will neither be considered odd nor unusual.”

Nat took a breath and spoke in a low voice. “No. I shouldn't be in customs until France. I don't want my plans to change.”

“My bug, that's no longer an option.” He nodded toward one of the custom booths. “See that woman, barely more than a girl really, the one who just passed this checkpoint?”

Natalie saw her. She was young, tall, and slender. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail that flowed through the back of a cap. Her clothes were expensive yet average: jeans, boots, a dark green top covered by a light brown sweater. Just before the woman disappeared into the crowd, Natalie noticed her bag: it was one identical to the bag she carried.

And the cap...Natalie wasn't wearing it, but she had one exactly the same.

Suddenly, the room grew warmer, and her skin prickled.

Nat's mouth dried as her knees grew weak. “Why? Why did you point her out?”

“I thought you were smarter than that. You're disappointing me.”

There were only a few more passengers ahead of them before they would reach the front of the line. The tears returned as she swallowed the bubbling bile. “She's me?”

“Now there's something you probably didn't expect to say. Who expects to see herself walk away and disappear into a crowd?

“Technically, no, she isn't you. You are you. However, the identity you may be contemplating telling to the man or woman we approach in one of those booths has been cleared to enter Germany. The name you had when you boarded is already officially in Munich. That woman has her—or should I say your—old passport, your boarding pass, all your information.” Dexter pressed the small of her back, forcing her to take a few more steps, moving with the line. “The government officials won't believe you if you claim to be her.”

Nat's heart thundered as the room teetered. What would happen if she fainted? “I’m the real Natalie Rawlings. My parents—”

“What will happen if you make insane claims? Do you know the kind of mental facilities they have in Germany?” Dexter asked. “Not exactly as luxurious as the resort where your mother stayed.”

She looked up to his face, her mouth agape, as her already-twisted stomach formed another knot. “How do you...?”

Her mother's episode had been ages ago, after Nichol was born and before Nate. It was part of the family history no one mentioned. The time before was how it was referenced and by all accounts, there was no need to bring any of it up. Throughout all of Nat's life, her mother was steady and stable, kind and loving. The story Nat had been told was that a traumatic event, combined with an injury she'd suffered in an earlier accident, had sent her mother into what the professionals called a break with reality.

What would happen to her mother if Nat disappeared? Could it send her back? Would that be another traumatic event?

Dexter continued to whisper, “I can't help you if they take you away.”

Help me?

Studying his expression, Nat assessed her captor. Could she simply outrun him? He was tall, taller than she, possibly as tall as her father, and he was a large man—not fat by any means but solid and hard. Those same adjectives could be used to describe his expression. Solid and hard, as if he were discussing the weather, not her mother's mental health or her own. “But if I disappear, my mom...”

“You won't,” he said reassuringly, tenderly rubbing her lower back, his large hand beneath her sweater, yet above her top. To the casual observer, it was a kind, encouraging gesture. “Don't worry, bug. Behave as we've discussed and the other you will send your parents a planned text message. You won't disappear. You simply decided that Munich was as far as you would travel and changed your plans.”

“Why would I do that?”

They were nearly at the front of the line.

“Which do you think would be easier for your mother? Her baby girl missing the Christmas holiday because she's embarrassed about her failing grades or her baby girl in a foreign psychiatric hospital after a mental breakdown brought on by the same thing? I mean, that episode on the plane...and now confusion? A case could be made for a break with reality.”

She might be having a break. How could this really be happening?

And how did Dexter know about her grades? She hadn't even told her parents. Neither her sister nor her brother knew. “I-I...”

“Come, dear,” Dexter said, tugging her hand, “it's our turn. Nellie Smithers,” he reminded softly as they approached the booth.