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A chain rattles outside, followed by the groan of a gate opening.

“We’re here,” the driver says.

I have seconds.

I saw at the restraint until the plastic begins to weaken.

The sedan moves again, traveling deeper over uneven ground. Through the space beneath the seat, I see brief flashes of yellow light.

Buildings.

Fences.

Armed men.

The mine isn’t abandoned.

The vehicle stops.

I close my eyes and let my body go limp.

A door opens.

Someone grabs my ankle.

“She’s still out.”

“Check her.”

Fingers press against my throat.

My pulse pounds beneath them.

“She’s alive.”

“Navarro said not to damage her.”

“She did this to my face.”

The man I struck outside the motel.

His hand closes around my hair and jerks my head back.

I bite down on a cry.

“Save it,” Greg says. “We need her conscious later.”

They pull me from the vehicle.

My shoulder strikes the doorframe before I fall onto gravel. I open my eyes and drag in a breath as if I’m only now waking.

Floodlights illuminate a wide canyon surrounded by dark cliffs. Rusted mining equipment rises from the desert floor. Several metal buildings stand behind a tall fence topped with razor wire.

A tunnel entrance cuts into the mountain.

Men with rifles guard it.

This isn’t only a temporary hiding place.