I resisted the urge to cry. We were back to square one.

“Any other idea where they could be?” he asked.

“No.” I felt like I was going to be sick.

“If you find out anything—anything—let me know.”

“I will.”

He hung up and I immediately called Marco to tell him the news.

“So we have no idea where they are,” he said.

“I guess not.” Then I said, “You never told me what you found at the library.”

“I checked on his references. The people who answered sounded like they’d genuinely never heard of him, which says a whole lot about Greener Pastures’ screenin’ process.”

“And the fact there’s a thief workin’ there,” I added.

“The property on record belongs to a Dennis Jones, who does have a son named Shane. Our guy could have perpetrated identity theft, or he could have just given his father’s property address to throw off anyone who might come lookin’ for him. Maybe Charlie’s the assumed name.”

“So their operation is run out of another location,” I said. “We just need to figure out where.”

“It could be the funeral home,” Marco said. “Or it could be some place they rented, which will make it harder to find. It would be easier if we had the resources to tail them.”

I pushed out a breath. “Okay. We start fresh in the morning.”

“That’s the spirit,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “We’ll find them. I swear it. But it’s not safe for you to go home with Ruth tonight. I’m gonna pick you up.”

I almost argued that we’d be fine, but the last thing I wanted to do was put Ruth at risk. “We’re not very busy tonight, and there’s a new snowstorm coming in. Ruth’s planning on closing early. Can you come around eleven?”

“See you then.”

I hung up and headed back into the dining room. Ruth looked curious about my call, but she didn’t ask questions. She surely would have if she’d recognized Bingham’s voice.

Jerry was at one of our few remaining tables, talking to a couple of older men, and they waved me down to get their check.

“We need to get home before the snow hits,” one of the men said.

His comment made me remember the coat I’d gotten Jerry but hadn’t given him yet. “Don’t leave yet, Jerry,” I said, setting the ticket on the table. “I got you something in Greeneville last week, and I keep forgetting to give it to you. It’s in the back. Let me run and grab it.”

I hurried to the back room and pulled out the Target bag I’d stuffed into one of the empty lockers. It was really jammed inside, so I gave it a hard tug. I pulled it loose but stumbled backward and into something firm.

A person.

A hand covered my mouth as I felt a sharp jab in my thigh. I glanced down to see a hand holding a syringe against my leg.

“Time to go nighty-night,” a man whispered in my ear.

I felt woozy and started to slump to the floor, but a strong arm held me up against a hard chest.

And then everything went black.

Chapter Thirty-Two

When I came to, my head felt fuzzy and my body shivered from cold. I released an involuntary groan.

“Carly?”

It took me a moment to recognize Greta’s voice.

“Greta?” I said, but my mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and my voice came out as a croak.

“Yeah,” she said softly.

“I feel like shit.” Everything in my body ached, from my head to my toes. I was lying against something cold and uneven. The air reeked of mold and pee.

“If they dosed you with the same drug they used on me, it’s one of the aftereffects. It’s probably gonna get worse before it gets better.”

Great.

My eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and I could see slivers of pale light shining through rectangular slats on the wall. The dirt floor was damp beneath me. “Where are we?”

“Some sort of shed. It’s not insulated.”

My hands were tied behind my back, and my fingertips tingled from cold. “Why are we here?”

“They’re lookin’ for Lula.”

I struggled to keep my eyes open. “Lula’s not here?”

“No. But they want her. Bad.”

A wave of nausea rose up, and I pushed up on a shoulder and turned my head as I vomited violently.

“That’s also part of it,” she said sympathetically.

I vomited again. After the last spasm passed, I tried to sit up, but my stomach muscles ached too badly, so I rolled away from the mess, toward Greta. I began to shake and she edged closer to me, pressing her jeans-covered leg against my bare arm. My eyes were still adjusting to the dark, but I could tell she was wearing the thick sweater she’d had on the night she’d walked into the tavern. Her left eye and her lips were swollen. She’d been beaten.

“You’re gonna freeze to death,” she said, her voice full of concern.

Whoever had taken me from the tavern had dumped me in here without a coat. “Who took us?”

“That guy who came into the café askin’ about Lula,” she said.

“Shane Jones,” I said. “Only some people know him as Charlie. I found out he works at Greener Pastures. I think he was the one who took your wallet. Marco got his employment application. We got his address, and Bingham and his men searched the property, but they didn’t find anything. Do you know where we are?”

“I was unconscious when I got here too. I don’t leave this shed, so I have no idea.”

“They don’t take you somewhere else to question you?”

“There is no they. Just that guy. He asks where Lula went, I tell him I don’t know, and he knocks me around. Over and over.”

“Do you hear any sounds?” I asked. “Cars? Planes? Water?”

“Birds,” she said. “Just birds…and leaves.”

“No people talking?”

“No.”

“Have you tried the door?”

“He locks it from the outside. I think it’s a padlock.”

I finally managed to push myself up to sitting, my back resting against the wall, wood splitters digging into my skin. Another wave of nausea rose up, but I swallowed the bile and then took several breaths through my mouth.

Greta leaned against me. “It takes a few hours to recover.”

I wasn’t sure I had a few hours. It was freezing outside, and I thought I could see snowflakes through the slats of the shed. I was only wearing jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt.

I’d gone to the back room at around nine thirty. Marco wouldn’t show up until eleven, but it wouldn’t take Ruth and Tiny long to notice I was missing. What would they do? Call Marco? Wyatt? Would they assume I’d just walked out? Even if they contacted Marco, how would he find me?

Bottom line: I couldn’t wait for someone to come rescue us. We had to save ourselves.

“Are your hands tied behind your back?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Get them to the front. We’re breaking out of here.”

“But the door’s locked,” she protested.