“They’re called TruGlass.”

“Right. Then he started looping the footage so I could write him little notes. And now, this. I’m not exactly sure how he’s done it, but I assume he’s using whatever monitoring system they have here. It’s the first time I’ve had a conversation with an alarm clock, so it’s probably not just an alarm clock. They must use it to watch me in some way. Which is silly, because I’m not exactly getting any visitors.”

Boo fucking hoo, she thinks.

“He’s a very resourceful guy, your new boyfriend’s brother.”

Bailey texts. Tick tock.

“He says we don’t have much time,” Charley says.

“OK, then. Get in your car and drive.”

“What?”

“You’re in Altamira, right?”

“I am.”

“Good. Get on the 101 and head north. Can you do that?”

“I can, but why would I?”

“Bailey thinks there’s some sort of security threat there, and Cole’s not being as honest with everyone as he needs to be. Am I wrong?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“I’m wrong in a manner of speaking or I’m wrong about the threat?”

“Something’s up. We’re not sure what. We have a theory. It’s not good.”

“OK, then. I have something that might help.”

“What?”

“Drive and you’ll find out.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t want help?”

“Maybe not from you,” she says. “Your definition of help frightens me.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.”

“Charley, I’m not exactly twirling my mustache at an island compound while I think of ways to make your life difficult. I’ve been a prisoner here for almost half a year. After you left me at the farm, Cole’s men came bursting out of the woods and put me in restraints. Then they injected me with something that could probably kill me the minute I don’t do what they want.”

“Well, you don’t have long to live, then, because you never do what anybody wants.”

“Really? Our mutual friend says you had a successful operation in the Pacific Northwest last week. Perhaps you used some over-the-counter Zypraxon you grabbed at CVS?”

You two have been real chatty, Charley texts Bailey.

The response comes back instantly. He’s super smart. You should really let him help.

She shouldn’t be surprised that a man with half a conscience would be impressed by a man with none.

“Charley, can I just ask a question here?” her former fake psychiatrist asks.

“What’s stopping you?”

“Why, when everything seems to be going so well—for everyone except me, that is—why am I still being treated as if the worst-case scenario came to pass?”

“Which worst-case scenario? The one where I might have torn myself to pieces on the drug you said was for anxiety? Or the one where the drug didn’t work and Jason Briffel raped me in my own house?”

“I never would have let Jason harm you.”

“Sure you would’ve. If that’s what it took to make your drug work. It’s a very, very bad idea for you to ever say Jason Briffel’s name to me again. Got it, Noah?”

The silence on the other end might be the closest he ever comes to admitting fault.

It’s not enough.

It never will be.

“I see you’ve been brought in on the new directive regarding my name,” he finally says.

“I don’t actually like it, to be frank.”

“Then why not call me Dylan?”

“Because that’s the name you used to earn my trust, and you’re never getting that back.”

“Fair enough. I’ve always wanted to be a Michael, if that works. Or maybe an Edward?”

“How about Dickhead?”

He laughs. It sounds genuine. Then she remembers nothing about him can be taken at face value.

“I like you, Charley. I know you might not believe that, but I really do.”

“I wish I could say the feeling is mutual,” she says.

“No, it isn’t, but that’s OK. We can still accomplish great things together. Get in the car, Charley. Let’s go for a drive.”

“Tell me where we’re going.”

“First the 101 North. Once you’re there, I’ll give you the next set of directions.”

“You’re trying to keep me on the phone with you.”

“I am. I’ve really been looking forward to catching up.”

Tick tock, Bailey texts.

She texts back. You initiated this damn call without my consent. If you’re not happy with the timeline we’re under, you fix it, Little B.

Then, her jaw clenched so tightly she’s afraid the bone’s going to snap, she grabs her car keys off the console table.

The next text from Bailey reads, I’m cool with the nickname so long as it’s LI’L B.

“Bite me,” she mumbles.

“What?” the man in her ear asks.

“Nothing,” she whispers.