The next morning Vanna called to Jenny through the vent. There was no reply.
“Jenny?” Vanna raised her voice. “You awake?”
Still no answer.
Goose bumps spread up and down her arms, and her skin crawled with fear. “Jenny?”
Was she still asleep? Or down in the kitchen? Usually they were taken downstairs together. She lay in her bed, worrying a hand through her hair until she heard a tread on the stairs.
Someone knocked on the door. “Get up,” the voice said harshly. Vanna’s stomach flipped. Whoever it was spoke English without an accent.
She threw on sweats. A new guard unlocked the door and entered. Shaved head, not too tall, but barrel-chested and built like an eighteen-wheeler. He wore jeans, a sweatshirt, and a holster with a gun belted around his waist.
“Who are you?” Vanna asked.
“Your worst nightmare.”
“But where is—”
“Shut up. Or you’ll end up like your friend.”
What was he talking about?
“Downstairs.” He pulled out his gun and aimed it at her. “And remember this is loaded.”
Vanna made her way down the stairs. Something was very wrong. No one had ever pointed a gun at her. Where was Jenny? Where was Sergei, for that matter?
In the kitchen Zoya was on her cell. The smelly guard was by the door, but the new guard stayed only inches away, invading her personal space.
“Sit,” he ordered.
She did.
Zoya disconnected and stared hard at Vanna. “What you know?”
Vanna was confused. “About what?”
“Jinny,” Zoya said, pronouncing the e like an i. “I know you talk through vent. What she say?”
“Nothing.” Vanna looked around, her fear rising. “Where is she?”
Zoya’s lips pressed into a grim, tight line. “What she say you last night?”
“Nothing.” Panic skipped up Vanna’s spine. “What happened?”
The new guard and Zoya exchanged glances. Zoya threw him a nod, and he spoke. “Your friend managed to escape last night during the—when the other girl was screaming.”
Vanna’s eyes went wide. “Jenny?” She didn’t think Jenny had it in her to run. Especially by herself.
“Yeah, well, she didn’t make it far.”
Vanna froze.
“We eventually found her on 173 near Harvard. Let’s just say…” He hesitated. “…she won’t be coming back.”