I hear the door rattle, and my body starts shaking.

Pete has been gone for about half an hour . . . or maybe it has been a whole hour. I don’t know.

There’s nothing I can use to tell the time, and it’s not exactly a priority when I’m scared out of my wits. Does time go slower when you’re scared, or faster?

Guilt plagues my soul.

Do I have to say goodbye to my baby . . . again? There has to be a special place in hell for someone like me.

My therapist told me to stop blaming myself for that first loss. But how can it not be my fault when I keep putting myself in dangerous situations?

I hear the voice of a man cursing. It doesn’t sound like Pete. But again, how do I know? The voice could be distorted by distance, and I don’t know the guy well enough to tell.

I’m second-guessing everything. Every thought that runs through my head. My mind is spinning.

On the bright side, I’m seated. So I won’t fall, at least.

I’ve been holding my head up high, trying to regain some sense of balance. My eyes are closed as I breathe in and breathe out. I try to imagine myself somewhere else.

My happy place. A wide expanse of grassy meadow dotted with white and yellow wildflowers. The sun pouring its rays as friendly animals come out to play—deer, squirrels, and little birds.

Footsteps interrupt my thoughts.

All of a sudden, my serene mental image is gone. Why even try? There’s no use for an exercise in mindfulness when I’m in a situation as fucked up as this.

I open my eyes and squint at the bright, fluorescent light.

Ted is looking in the direction of the door, holding a cigarette between his fingers.

Rosa is elsewhere, probably a room behind one of the doors I saw earlier on my bathroom trip. Before she left, she said she was going to get some shut-eye and asked Ted to wake her up when Pete’s back.

I guess she doesn’t want to miss the show. She probably wants to hand-feed me the pill herself.

My heart pounds in my chest as the footsteps get closer. It sounds like there’s more than one pair of shoes.

Did Pete get a friend to come here and watch, like this is some demented freak show?

Or maybe it’s some other guys, here to conduct business? The tall stacks of oversized cardboard boxes tell me this place is also used for non-hostage-related purposes.

“Is Rosa here?” I hear a deep voice with a slight Italian accent.

I can’t see the man who’s speaking because he’s in a dark corner of the warehouse, but Ted is obviously scared of him. Immediately, he drops his cigarette to the ground and crushes it with his right shoe.

That can’t be Pete.

It’s probably not their “pharmacist” either. From the conversation Rosa had with her minions, it seemed like Pete was going to get the pill and come back here alone.

So this is something unplanned.

As the man who scares Ted comes into the light, I catch sight of the second man walking right behind him.

Logan.

Oh my God.

A surge of mixed emotions rises up my chest and through my throat.

I haven’t cried once since Rosa’s men caught me in the dark park, but now I can’t stop the tears streaming down my face. The liquid drops gather at my chin, quickly grow too heavy to hang on, and fall to my lap, staining my denim a darker shade of blue.

“Harper,” Logan calls out, his voice a balm on the wounds I didn’t even realize I had sustained. “Harper, everything’s going to be fine. I’m here now.”

With the gag over my mouth, there’s nothing I can say. I stare in his direction with tears blurring up my vision and the darkness further obscuring things.

But there’s no doubt about it. That’s Logan.

Why isn’t he coming here and taking the rope off my wrists and waist so we can leave this place?

“Get Rosa for me,” the man who came in with Logan says to Ted.

Right away, Ted hurries toward the back, presumably to find Rosa. The half-run, half-waddle the big, tattooed man does would be funny if the situation weren’t so tense.

Obviously, the man who gave him the order is someone further up the food chain . . . Rosa’s father?

The man steps into the light as he approaches the chair I’m tied to. Logan follows closely behind, keeping his eyes on the man but glancing at me occasionally.

The man is in his fifties. Handsome for his age. Dignified specks of silver in his dark hair. Dark eyes like Rosa’s—with the same wildness I see in hers, tempered by age.

“Good evening, Miss,” he says politely, in contrast to the way he spoke to Ted just a minute ago. He takes off my gag with surprising gentleness and somewhat unnerving proficiency—like he has removed a thousand gags before this one.

What do I do? Do I . . . say “good evening” back? Somehow, that seems like a dumb thing to do.

“Who are you?” I ask instead.

“My name is Enzo Guerriero,” he says, nodding at me. The man is wearing a smooth, well-tailored suit. If he were wearing a hat right now, he’d be tipping it in salutation. “I apologize for not introducing myself right away. And, of course, I apologize for my daughter’s treatment of you.”

So, he really is Rosa’s father. Hard to imagine someone like her being raised by someone like him.

I wonder if he was away a lot when she was growing up. Or maybe he showers her with money and gives her everything she wants, turning her into the bossy, willful person she is today.

“Daddy?” I hear Rosa ask. Her voice is shaking. Obviously, her dad scares her. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Enzo asks, speaking slowly and calmly. Still, there’s an unmistakable undercurrent of anger in his deep voice.

“I, uh . . . Just having some fun with my friends, Daddy,” she says, wringing her hands while she gazes at her father’s back.

“This is your idea of fun?” Enzo looks over his shoulder.

I can’t see his face. But from the way Rosa takes a step back, he must’ve scared her with just one look. Still, when he turns his attention back to me, he’s smiling politely.

“Ted, remove the lady’s restraints, will you?” From the way he speaks, Enzo might as well be addressing a waiter at some fine-dining restaurant, asking for some water. The man is all class.

Ted almost stumbles as he rushes toward me and crouches behind me, cutting the ropes around my wrists and my waist.

My joints protest as I pull my arms to the front and rest my hands on my lap. “Thank you,” I tell Enzo.

“It’s the right thing to do.” He holds a hand out in invitation.

“I’d rather stay seated if that’s okay with you.” I force a smile as my tears start to dry. I can’t help it when he’s treating me so nicely. “My body’s still . . . getting used to things.”

“Yes. Take it easy, please. I hear you’re pregnant. You should take care of yourself,” Enzo says.

I look past Enzo and meet Logan’s gaze. His gaze keeps flicking between Enzo and me. And, he’s breathing rapidly.

I can’t tell if his anxiety is because he has just heard of the news about the baby or because this unresolved hostage situation could still end badly.

Enzo turns around to face Logan. “Now, I believe I’ve delivered my end of the bargain?”

“Yes. You’re a man of your word, Enzo. That’s what everybody says. Now, you’re going to let us go?” Logan keeps glancing at me and the door as if he’s looking for alternative ways to leave this place if Enzo were to go back on whatever their deal is.

“Of course. A man has nothing if his word can’t be trusted,” Enzo says. In a much harsher voice, he says, “Rosa. Come here.”

Rosa trembles. And to my surprise, I feel sorry for her.

“No, Daddy. Please don’t,” she says.

“Ted, bring her here,” Enzo commands.

I watch, as amazed as I am horrified, as Ted grabs Rosa’s skinny arm with his big hand and drags her toward her dad.

“Daddy. I’m so sorry. I really am.” Rosa’s voice shakes, and so do her hands.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it sometimes, sweetheart,” Enzo says. “You need to learn it’s not okay to pull something like this. Your bodyguards are meant for your safety,” he says, shooting a glare in Ted’s direction. “They’re not supposed to buy you drugs or hurt people for you.”

“Yes, Daddy. I’ve learned my lesson. I’m so sorry,” Rosa says.

Enzo steps closer to Rosa. She backs away, but Ted holds her in place.

Enzo takes another step. Then another. Then . . .

Smack!

Enzo slaps Rosa across the face, so hard she would’ve fallen to the cold, hard, concrete floor if it weren’t for Ted holding her upright.

My jaw drops open. I feel a soothing hand on my shoulder, rubbing me, and I realize Logan is standing beside me.

“Don’t look if it bothers you,” he says softly.

More tears escape my eyes at Logan’s kind words.

“Apologize to the lady,” Enzo orders.

Slowly, Rosa raises her gaze to look in my general direction. She hasn’t glanced this way once since her father got here.

“Sorry,” Rosa says, her voice trembling as she begins to sob. “I’m sorry.”

Enzo turns to face me and Logan. His lips curl up to form a small smile.

“Again, I apologize to you both,” he says, all trace of anger or violence gone from his voice. “I hope the rest of your night will be pleasant. And I hope your baby will be healthy and happy.”