THE NIGHT ELENA CRAWLED OUT

The final screw trembled beneath Elena Ward's fingers.

Behind her, a floorboard groaned at the top of the staircase.

"Elena?"

Andrew's voice floated down through the dark house, soft enough to sound loving. That was the voice he used when neighbors were near, when a waiter brought the wrong wine, when he wanted the world to believe patience lived naturally inside him. Elena knew the other voice now. She had heard it two hours earlier while she lay on the kitchen floor with pain flashing white through her leg.

You need to learn to obey.

Rain battered the windows. Wind pushed wet branches against the glass like fingernails. Elena pressed herself flat beside the back door and held her breath. The rusty bottle opener remained wedged beneath the last screw of the ventilation grate. Beyond the grate waited six inches of brick, a narrow service passage, and perhaps freedom. Or perhaps another locked gate. She had never been allowed to inspect that side of the house.

Another stair creaked.

"I know you're awake," Andrew called.

Elena turned the opener a fraction. Metal scraped metal.

Silence followed.

Then Andrew descended faster.

Elena wrenched the screw. It dropped into her palm. She caught it before it struck the tile, pulled the grate free, and shoved one arm into the black opening. Cold air touched her skin. Her fingers found a latch on the other side, exactly where she had prayed it would be.

The kitchen light snapped on.

Andrew stood in the doorway in his blue shirt and bare feet. His hair was disordered, but his face was perfectly calm. Margaret hovered behind him with the rolling pin still in her hand. Harold stood three steps higher, pale and silent.

"What are you doing?" Andrew asked.

Elena pulled the latch.

The back door released with a heavy click.

Andrew lunged.

Elena dragged the door toward herself and threw her body through the gap. Her injured leg caught on the threshold. Pain tore a scream from her throat, but momentum carried her onto rain-black stone. She clawed forward with both hands.

Andrew seized her ankle.

"Help!" Elena screamed into the storm. "Somebody help me!"

There were no nearby houses, only the Ward estate's hedges and old trees. The security lamps remained dark. Andrew pulled her backward. Her nails broke against the stone.

Then Harold said, "Let her go."

Andrew glanced over his shoulder. Elena felt his grip loosen for one instant.

She kicked with her good foot and caught him beneath the chin. He fell backward. Elena rolled into the narrow service passage and pulled herself toward the garden wall. She had gone barely ten feet when headlights swept across the rain.

A car was approaching the rear gate.

Andrew rose behind her. "That gate is locked."

The car stopped beyond the iron bars. A woman stepped out beneath a red umbrella and stared through the gate. Elena recognized her before lightning illuminated her face.

Detective Lena Brooks.

Elena had met her once, three months earlier, after a stranger followed her through a grocery store. Andrew had told the detective his wife suffered from anxiety. He had smiled. Elena had apologized.

Now Brooks saw Elena on the ground and drew her weapon.

"Move away from her!"

Andrew froze.

Margaret whispered something behind him. Harold backed into the house.

Brooks punched a code into the gate panel. The lock opened.

Elena watched in disbelief. "How did you know the code?"

The detective crouched beside her, removed her coat, and placed it over Elena's shoulders. "Your message told me."

"I didn't send a message."

Brooks looked toward the house. For the first time, uncertainty crossed her face.

Andrew began to smile.

"Detective," he said, "you should check who owns the phone that summoned you."

Brooks kept her weapon trained on him, but Elena saw her other hand move toward the radio at her shoulder.