TWENTY
Chaise received the phone call early the next morning. Very early. He groped for the bedside lamp switch and peered at his mobile buzzing into life. The contact flashed as Linny’s mother. Chaise groaned. Suppressing the tiny tickle of panic running through his gut, he picked up the phone and croaked, “Yes?”
“Ryan, I’m sorry,” she began, voice quivering, frayed at the edges. “I didn’t know who else to phone.”
He rubbed his eyes, sat up and glanced at his watch. Four o’clock. “What’s wrong, Brigit.”
“Something ... I don’t know where to start. I’m ... Ryan, please ...”
As the sobbing grew more pronounced, Chaise lowered his voice, trying to sound as caring as he could, “Take your time. Tell me from the beginning.”
So she did. Everything. The three men who came for her, how she kn
