The journey from the isle of the Shadow Dealers to London seemed longer than possible. Jony checked the time. Only nine hours since takeoff? It seemed like it had been twice as long. Hunter was not an ideal travel companion; his complaints and whining always became tiresome.

When the plane landed at last, Jony stepped off and walked into Terminal 5 at Heathrow.

He picked up his car and contemplated the events of the previous day as he drove the forty minutes to his flat in London’s West End. He was eager to check on the progress of one of his passion projects once he got home; Jony made it a habit to profile and monitor the activity of unsuspecting creeps, such as pedophiles. They paid well when they slipped into his traps. His latest project had the potential to take him to the western United States. He loved the weather there, especially in Southern California; Seattle reminded him too much of dreary London. But the United States was not the only country that his passion projects took him to; he often visited offenders in his backyard of London’s West End.

His phone rang. After glancing at the caller ID, he answered. “D—”

“Where are you?” she barked back.

“Just arrived at my flat.”

“I need you at the chateau.”

“When?”

“Now!”

“On my way.”

Jony didn’t want to disappoint Dahlia; she was both like a big sister and mother to him. Jony owed her everything. She saved me from myself, he thought. He remembered their first encounter. I needed a fix, and I found Dahlia, the Black Heart instead. She got me off the drugs before I ended up in a grave. She must have thought I was an excellent hacker, because she had a reputation for only hiring the best. Excellent enough to get me out of that assault charge. A pang of guilt overcame him. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of that girl. But then his mind flipped to anger. She was coming on to me—she deserved what she got! Jony slapped his head. Focus. D needs me.

Two hours later

Jony pulled up to the chateau, just south of Locksbottom. He glanced at his watch and noted that he was a lot later than he wanted to be. He’d taken a shower before leaving his flat. I need to be fresh for D, Jony thought. He steeled himself, and then entered.

Dahlia was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of red wine.

“Where have you been?” Dahlia said. She was not the type of woman to wait around for men.

“I just got back from Phantom Island and wanted to be fresh. I—took a shower.”

“You shouldn’t have; you won’t stay clean for long.”

I never do.

“Follow me,” Dahlia said.

Jony followed her through the kitchen and into a large room. Based on the furnishings, Jony thought it was the living room. A fire had been started, and several pictures lined the mantle. Dahlia lifted one end of the rug and started to roll the carpet in the opposite direction of the fireplace. Jony could see some lines that looked unnatural. Dahlia smacked her fist down on the side closest to the fireplace, and a section of the floor raised. Jony helped her lift the section of the floor. It was heavy, and it stuck, but eventually, they got it open.

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Dahlia produced a flashlight.

Where did she get that light? No pockets in that skintight outfit, Jony thought.

Jony followed her descend into darkness, fumbled for a rope or something to pull the door shut.

“Leave it open,” Dahlia commanded.

After a moment, Jony followed. He hadn’t been to this safe house before, and he had no idea where they were going. He followed her through a series of narrow passages until they were met with a single wooden door, reinforced with iron. Dahlia handed Jony the flashlight. She was searching around the edge of the door and on the walls. She pressed something, and a small panel opened slightly. Dahlia used her fingers to force open the stuck panel, and after some effort, it moved. She felt around in the crevice with her thumb and index finger until she found what she was looking for; it was an old, iron key. It looked medieval. Dahlia used the key to unlock the door.

“Help me. On my mark, just tug,” Dahlia said. “Now!” she yelled.

Together they pulled in unison, and the door made a loud creaking sound, giving way to even a smaller passage. To Jony, the door looked way too big for the passage that was before him. Dahlia was able to contort her body in order to traverse the passage, narrowly avoiding the sharp rocks jutting out of the walls. Jony enjoyed watching her wiggle through. Boy, for someone pushing fifty, she is so nimble, Jony thought. His shoulders were too big for him to fit.

“It’s pitch-black over here,” Dahlia called. “Throw me the flashlight.”

Jony did what she asked. Seconds later, he saw the faint illumination that revealed a small room. Dahlia was using her free hand to find something from behind a large hewn surface. A few minutes later, she resurfaced from the narrow crack that was the passage.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Of course. Our guest is waiting, and time is of the essence.”

Dahlia brushed past Jony, and he followed her into the living room. Following her lead, Jony put the room back in order then followed her into the cool evening. Nothing was said as they walked around the house and over to a barn that was far enough behind the house for Jony to not have noticed. Dahlia stopped short before the reaching the barn.

She raised a small vial. “With this, we will be able to loosen his tongue.”

Dahlia opened the barn door. There was a man at the far end. He was tied to a chair tilted at a forty-five degree angle. He had a noose around his neck, and he had to keep the chair positioned using his legs with just enough pressure to keep the noose from tightening.

He looks exhausted. Good! Dahlia thought, satisfied. She removed the noose and moved the chair back into a normal position.

“I brought a friend,” she told the man. “He is going to have a chat with you. If he doesn’t like what you have to say, or if you say nothing, then he will cause pain.” She paused. “Do you understand?”

The man in the chair nodded.

Dahlia approached a table that Jony hadn’t noticed when they’d entered the barn. She grabbed something then handed it to Jony. It was a pair of pliers.

“Make him sing,” Dahlia said as she exited the barn, leaving them alone.

Jony looked down at the pliers. He tried to move the handle, which stuck as he tried to get a feel for the tool. After a moment, he put the pliers behind his back and faced the man.

“Let’s start with your name,” Jony said.

The man said nothing.

I’m not in the torturing mood, Jony thought.

He smacked the man square in the face with the pliers; they struck the man’s forehead with enough force to make a big purple bruise. The man smiled and then spat on Jony. The beatings continued. When Jony tired of hitting him, he thought of more creative ways to use the pliers.

He had removed three of his fingernails before the man howled. Jony felt numb and detached. This is not me. Why am I inflicting so much pain?

After what seemed like an eternity, the man finally said, “Gerr—”

“What was that?” Jony asked.

“Gregor! My name is Gregor.”

Jony froze. No way this is Gregor!

The man started making moaning sounds.

“Shut up. I need to think,” Jony said.

He consulted his phone for a very long time. He didn’t have any recent photos of Gregor to make a comparison, but he did have some information.

“Okay, what is your home address?”

“Grozny.”

“That is not an address, only part of one.”

“Can’t think . . . the pain! Can I have water?”

Jony turned away. He was met by Dahlia, who’d silently reentered. She was expressionless.

How long has she been there?

“This is not the time for a break,” Dahlia said.

“Mum, I’m thirsty and need five minutes of fresh air.”

“Very well, then, but our friend will continue to answer.” She snatched the pliers from Jony’s hands.

Jony left the room, cringing as he heard more screams.