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I study her. “What is your name?”

“Hilda,” she replies. “I’ve been the housekeeper of this estate for fifty-two years.”

“That’s a long time.”

She looks at me. “Phillip was a good man. He was easy to work for.” The way she says it has me studying her even more closely.

“You loved him.”

“He loved his wife,” she says. “And I treated that with the respect it deserved.”

My heart aches for her. “But you stayed so close.”

“His wife was a good woman, and she needed help. So leaving wasn’t an option for me.”

To work so closely beside the man you loved and his wife, all while keeping your feelings buried. That feels like a special kind of torment.

“If you get me a phone, I can call⁠—”

“No,” she interrupts. “They monitor everything these days. Even my own cell phone has to be turned in to security when I enter the premises.”

Complete lockdown.

I swallow hard, the feeling of entrapment smothering me. “I need to get back upstairs. No one comes down here. Stay put, and you’ll be fine, okay?”

“Thank you so much.”

“Anytime, girl.” She smiles. “You look like him, you know. In the eyes. I would have known even if your face wasn’t plastered all over the news.” With that, she slips back into the secret passageway and heads up the steps.

I search for something to prop my injured leg up on. Once I’ve spotted an old rocking chair, I limp over and pull it toward me, being as quiet as possible. Then, I sit down, elevate my leg, and pray.

“Lord, I know You are with me in this place. In my darkest hour, I feel Your presence. Please don’t leave me alone. Please, God, help me escape from this place. Please protect Hilda as well. Thank You for sending her to me.” My throat tightens. “And please let Ryker be okay. God, I—I don’t want to lose him. In the mighty name of Jesus, I pray. Amen.”

“What do you think you’re doing!” A woman’s yell rips me from sleep, and I jolt up. The basement is dark now, the only light coming from soft nightlights that illuminate the main set of stairs.

“Where is she, old woman?” a man snarls.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” the woman replies. “Let me go, or I’ll—” A loud crack fills my ears, and I lunge to my feet.

“Tell me now, or it will be worse.”

I can barely hear them, which means they must be at the top of the stairs. Was she on her way down here?

Either way, I know that I can’t let her suffer on my behalf. I stumble toward the stairs.

“You’re going to tell me what you did with her, or I’ll⁠—”

“She didn’t do anything!” I yell. “I got out! Let her go!”

Silence overhead, and then a door creaks open. Something thuds to the floor—or more likely, someone—moments before the steps creak and José comes into view, a sinister smile on his face.

“You really are a bleeding heart just like him, aren’t you?” He comes down the stairs, sauntering toward me with arrogance in every step.

Panic thrums in my veins, my heart rate increasing until the blood pounding in my ears is all I can hear. “She had nothing to do with it.”

“Sure she didn’t. Which is why I caught her with a bag full of medical supplies, right?” he reaches out and runs a finger over my cheek. “Tell you what, you be a good girl and come with me so I don’t have to scar that pretty face of yours, and I’ll spare the old bat.”

I clench both hands into fists, trying to decide what my odds are if I were to hit him and try to get away. I’ve never actually hit anyone before, so I might be more likely to break my hand, but it could be worth a shot.