Something shifted in the doorway.
Someone was out there. Watching her.
She tried to suppress a shudder. “Hello?”
No answer.
But she was sure now—the movement, the soft sound of breathing—it wasn’t her imagination.
“Please… you don’t want to do this. Please, let me go.”
She managed to move the blindfold a little higher. She could see the bed now and the white of her wedding gown. The bodice gaped open, delicate fabric torn from her neckline almost to her waist.
Diana had wanted to be sexy, for Bobby, for their wedding night. She never imagined some stranger would be staring at her instead, eyeing the pink of her nipples, well defined through the white lace bra.
She moved to cover herself, but her hands stopped short, the rope pulling against the steel bed frame.
“Oh, God, please. You’ve got to let me go. Please.” Diana hated the begging tone of her voice. The pleading note she’d had to use too often as a little girl.
It hadn’t worked then either.
“My fiancé. He’s a cop. He’s going to be looking for me.” As Diana said the words, a memory jiggled at the edge of her mind.
Bobby rushing to help.
Bobby hurt.
Bobby bleeding.
She tried to stifle a sob, but the sound eeked out in a strangled whimper. She had no one to protect her. No one to save her. And no clue how to save herself.
Tears clogged the back of her throat, but this time, she let them come. The pounding of her heart blotted out everything.
She was out of control.
She was helpless.
She was going to die.
Sylvie
With Professor Bertram’s address stuffed in her jeans pocket, Sylvie crossed the hotel lobby with Bryce by her side and stepped through the revolving door and onto the sidewalk. Saturday night had fully fallen. The neon glow of nearby shops and restaurants, and the jangle of people walking down State Street turned the city into a confusion of sights and sounds.
Stepping to the curb, Sylvie glanced at the rush of headlights flowing down the one-way street. “Thanks for your help, Bryce. When I find Diana, I’ll let her know you want to get in touch with her.”
Bryce looked at her as if she were speaking in tongues. “I’m going with you.”
“Not necessary.”
“You need someone to drive.”
“That’s okay. I need to rent a car anyway.”
“I have a car right here.” He pointed to his car parked fifty feet away as if she’d forgotten what it looked like.
“Really, I’m used to doing things on my own.” It had been disconcerting enough to be forced to rely on Bryce to get out of Diana’s apartment with the folder. Having him in her hotel room, bouncing ideas off him, had only made her feel more jangled.
“How are you planning to find a car rental office? There aren’t too many of them around here.”
“I’ll take a cab.”
He arched his brows. “And how are you going to find a cab?”
What, was he playing games with her? “I’ll hail one. It’s not hard.”
“You might find it a little harder in Madison.”
She scanned the street. Not one cab spotted in the flood of personal vehicles. He might have a point. She pulled out her phone. “Okay, I’ll Uber.”
“What are you trying to prove, Sylvie? Driving you around is the least I can do. Besides, you need to find your sister, and I need to talk to her. We have shared goals here.”
“Listen, it’s not that I’m not grateful. But...”
“You don’t like me?”
“I like you fine.” Maybe too much. She doubted she’d ever been around a man this attractive before in her life.
“You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t want to be left in the lurch.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Listen, you might have had bad luck with people in the past, but when I give my word, I keep it. No matter what.” He gestured to the BMW. “Now are you going to get in, or do you want me to throw you in?”
“If you try, you’ll get more than you bargained for.”
He held up his hands, palms out. “Kidding. Listen, Sylvie, we made a deal. You help me with my case, I help you find your sister.”
They had made a deal. A deal she wasn’t comfortable with. Not in the least.
He glanced at his watch. “It’s already pushing eight. Do you really want to stand around here and argue about this, or do you want to find your sister? It’s up to you.”
Diana had been missing for four hours. Four hours and the clock was ticking.
“Okay. For now.”
Minutes later, Sylvie gripped the leather armrest and scanned the homes scrolling by, trying to spot the house numbers. When she’d first visited Diana in Madison, she remembered thinking the way the downtown funneled into an isthmus between two large lakes was charming. But after more than half an hour with Bryce negotiating hilly, winding one-way streets in the dark, the charm had worn off.
She finally spotted the address. A beautiful stone Tudor lit with artfully arranged spotlights and covered in ivy. “There it is.”
Bryce piloted the car into the home’s narrow drive, parked, and they walked up the cobblestone sidewalk. Bryce stabbed the doorbell button.
Chimes echoed through the house. A moment later footsteps tapped across a wood floor inside and an eye peered through the peephole.
“Yes?” A woman’s voice.
“My name is Sylvie Hayes and this is Bryce Walker.” Sylvie projected her voice, hoping the woman could hear her through the door. “We’d like a word with Professor Bertram. Is he home?”
“No.”
“Do you know when he will be home?” Bryce asked.
“No.”
“Is this Mrs. Bertram?”
Silence.
Strange. Wisconsin Heights was not a neighborhood that seemed to call for a lot of security. Mostly home to university professors and well-to-do business leaders in Madison, it seemed like a safe neighborhood in an area overflowing with safe neighborhoods. Except for the nighttime visit, which would make anyone wary, there didn’t seem to be a reason for Mrs. Bertram’s apparent fear.
Sylvie couldn’t help but wonder what or who had spooked her.
Bryce raised his eyebrows at Sylvie. “We need to talk to Professor Bertram about a graduate student who is working with him on one of his research projects.”
“My sister, Diana Gale,” Sylvie added.
“He doesn’t live here anymore. He hasn’t for many years.”
“You’re divorced?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
Disappointment seeped into Sylvie’s bones like the chill of approaching winter. “Do you have his address?”
“Of course I have it. That doesn’t mean I’m going to give it to you.”
“We really need to talk to him. My sister has disappeared.”
“And you think Vincent can help you?”
“We hope so,” Bryce answered.
“What project was your sister working on for Vincent?”
Sylvie hesitated. “Diana interviewed Ed Dryden.”
She could hear Mrs. Bertram’s sharp intake of breath even through the door. Silence followed that was so complete Sylvie thought the woman might have walked away.
Suddenly the clack of two deadbolts sliding open cut the quiet. The door inched open and Mrs. Bertram peered out. Skin nearly as white as her hair, she blinked even in the darkness, like a mouse venturing out of a safe, dark hole. “Stop by Vincent’s office. He’ll be happy to help all he can.”