The first thing Claire Bennett heard after the van door slammed shut was a man saying, “Oh, hell. This is not the senator’s daughter.”

The second thing she heard was the unmistakable click of a handgun.

Claire froze.

A rough black hood covered her head, turning the world into darkness. She could smell wet pavement clinging to somebody’s shoes, engine oil, leather seats, and the sharp peppermint gum being chewed by the man sitting somewhere to her left.

Plastic restraints cut painfully into her wrists.

The van accelerated.

Claire’s shoulder struck the metal wall.

“I told you she had the red umbrella,” one man snapped.

“She’s also older than the picture, genius.”

“It was dark.”

“It was outside a mansion with six people leaving at once.”

“Shut up.”

Claire swallowed.

Twenty minutes earlier, her greatest concern had been dinner.

Pepperoni or mushroom.

That had been the debate occupying her mind as she walked away from the Carver mansion in Chicago’s Gold Coast neighborhood.

Her supervisor at Northbridge Freight Solutions had asked her to deliver a packet of tax documents to one of their wealthiest clients. Claire had complained about having to cross half the city on a Friday evening, but she had done it anyway.

Because Claire Bennett always did what needed to be done.

At twenty-nine, she had built a life that was deliberately ordinary.

She rented a modest one-bedroom apartment in Avondale.

She owned an overweight orange tabby named Winston.

Her air conditioner rattled.

Her upstairs neighbor seemed determined to rearrange furniture every Sunday morning.

And Claire worked in corporate accounting for Northbridge Freight Solutions, a midsize transportation company headquartered near the Chicago River.

Her mother described her as dependable.

Claire sometimes suspected that was the polite word for boring.

Tonight, boring suddenly seemed like the greatest luxury in the world.

“You have the wrong woman,” Claire finally said.

Silence filled the van.

Then Peppermint Gum sighed.

“Yeah,” he said. “We figured that out.”

“That means you can let me go.”

Nobody answered.

Claire tried again.

“I didn't see your faces.”

“You saw the van.”

“I’ll forget the van.”

“It’s black.”

“There are thousands of black vans in Chicago.”

Another silence.

Claire’s heart hammered.

“I have forty-seven dollars in my checking account until payday,” she added. “So if this is about ransom, you’ve made a terrible investment.”

Someone near the front laughed.

“Lady, please stop talking.”

“I’m nervous.”

“We noticed.”

“My cat also needs medication.”

“Oh, for—”

“He has kidney disease.”

Peppermint Gum muttered something Claire couldn’t hear.

Then the van turned sharply.

Claire slid across the floor.

Several minutes later, it stopped.

The doors opened.

Cold November air rushed inside.

Hands guided Claire out.

She heard rain.

Footsteps.

A door.

Then another.

She counted twelve stairs before someone pushed her into a chair.

The plastic restraints were removed, but rope replaced them.

“Seriously?” Claire whispered.

“Boss is coming.”

Every sarcastic thought disappeared.

Footsteps approached.

Slow.

Controlled.

Unhurried.

A door opened.

“Take off the hood.”

The voice was deep and calm.

The hood disappeared.

Claire blinked against the light.

She had expected a basement.

Instead, she was sitting inside an enormous industrial loft overlooking downtown Chicago.

Exposed brick walls rose toward steel beams. Rain crawled down floor-to-ceiling windows. Leather furniture surrounded a low fireplace. The city glowed beyond the glass.

Four men in dark suits stood around the room.

Claire immediately noticed the fifth.

He was walking toward her.

Late thirties, perhaps.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.

Dark hair swept naturally away from his forehead.

A charcoal suit fitted him perfectly.

A pale scar crossed one side of his jaw.

He would have been strikingly handsome if his expression contained even a trace of warmth.

It didn’t.

His eyes were dark, calm, and observant.

He looked at Claire.

Then at the man beside the door.

Then back at Claire.

“Eddie.”

Peppermint Gum straightened.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Explain.”

“We grabbed her outside the Carver house.”

The man stared at him.

“Obviously.”

“She had the red umbrella. Brown hair. Same general height.”

“You were sent to bring Madison Carver.”

“Yes.”

“Madison Carver is twenty-three.”

Eddie swallowed.

“Yes.”

The man looked at Claire.

Her wet brown hair clung to her cheeks. Her navy wrap dress was wrinkled from the van. Her sensible flats were muddy. Her tote bag sat on a nearby table.

She looked nothing like a senator’s glamorous daughter.

The man returned his gaze to Eddie.

“You had one photograph.”

“It was raining.”

“You had one job.”

Claire almost felt sorry for Eddie.

Almost.

Then the stranger looked at her.

“What is your name?”

“Claire Bennett.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an accountant.”

“Who do you work for?”

Claire hesitated.

“Why?”

Eddie closed his eyes.

The suited man stepped closer.

“Ms. Bennett, I recommend answering questions before asking them.”

“Northbridge Freight Solutions.”

The atmosphere changed.

Nobody shouted.

Nobody moved dramatically.

But Claire saw it.

The man’s eyes sharpened.

The stocky man near the windows stopped looking bored.

Even Eddie stopped chewing his gum.

“Northbridge?” the stranger repeated.

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Four years.”

“What department?”

“Corporate accounting.”

His expression became unreadable.

“Ray.”

The stocky man approached.

“Boss?”

“Verify her employment.”

Claire leaned forward.

“Why?”

The stranger ignored her.

Ray took Claire’s tote bag from the table.

“Hey.”

He opened it.

“Those are confidential documents.”

Ray looked amused.

“You’re worried about confidentiality?”

“I can be kidnapped and professionally responsible at the same time.”

For the first time, something almost human passed through the stranger’s eyes.

Not a smile.

But close.

Ray removed her wallet, phone, company identification card, and several papers.

Then he found the Northbridge employee badge.

He handed it to his boss.

The man studied Claire’s photograph.

CLAIRE BENNETT.

SENIOR ACCOUNTING SPECIALIST.

NORTHBRIDGE FREIGHT SOLUTIONS.

His thumb stopped beneath her employee number.

“Senior accounting specialist?”

Claire nodded cautiously.

“What accounts do you handle?”

“I’m not discussing client information.”

Eddie stared at her as if she had lost her mind.

The stranger tilted his head.

“You understand where you are?”

“No.”

That answer caught him off guard.

Claire continued.

“I was grabbed off a sidewalk, put inside a van, brought here blindfolded, and tied to a chair. Nobody gave me an address.”

Ray coughed to hide a laugh.

The stranger looked toward him.

Ray immediately became serious.

Then the man crouched slightly so his eyes were level with Claire’s.

“My name is Adrian Vale.”

Claire felt nothing.

Apparently he expected something else.

“You’ve never heard that name?”

“No.”

Adrian studied her.

Claire wished she were pretending.

She wasn’t.

His name meant absolutely nothing to her.

“Should I have?”

Eddie whispered, “Unbelievable.”

Adrian stood.

“Untie her.”

Claire blinked.

Ray hesitated.

“Adrian—”

“Untie her.”

The rope disappeared from Claire’s wrists.

She rubbed them immediately.

“Thank you.”

“You’re not leaving.”

Her relief vanished.

“Then why untie me?”

“Because you’re no longer a hostage.”

“What am I?”

Adrian looked toward the windows.

“A complication.”

Claire stood slowly.

“Mr. Vale, your employees kidnapped me by mistake. I haven’t seen anything except this room. I don’t know who you are, and frankly I don’t want to know. Take me somewhere public, let me out, and I’ll go home.”