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"Yes. I was given a list of who to contact."

Rachel looked around and saw a name on an empty vial: B. Young. She cleared her throat. "Mr. Young? Can you hear me?"

He didn't respond.

"What are we going to do?" Naomi asked.

She put her fingers on the man's wrist. His pulse was weak. He could be dying right in front of her. "Let's get him hooked back up to the IV. We need to hydrate him. Look around. See what you can find."

While it appeared that they'd removed all the medications, they had left a couple of IV bags filled with hydrating solution. With Naomi's help, she got the man hooked up to an IV, while he remained unconscious. It wasn't much, but maybe it would keep him alive until they could figure out their next move.

A loud crash from the other side of the door suddenly made them both jump.

"What was that?" Naomi asked fearfully.

"I don't know." She moved across the room to the door and tried to turn the handle, but it didn't move. As she'd expected, it was locked.

"I can't believe this," Naomi said, shaking her head in disbelief as she wrapped her arms around herself. "Why am I here? Why did they take me, too? You were the one asking questions. I was doing what they said."

"Because you're a loose end. You know too much." She paused. "Who sent you to St. Anne's?"

"Ethan asked me to find out more about Dr. Prescott's condition. I know a nurse there. I was just going to talk to her and report back."

"You do realize that Dr. Prescott was stabbed and nearly died, and that Ethan might be responsible for that, too?"

Naomi shook her head, still unwilling to see that the man she loved and admired so much was a criminal. "No. He said that was a home invasion, that he was just worried about Dr. Prescott, because she was a friend. And I knew she was a friend, because he called her sometimes. There's no way he would kill anyone."

"Maybe he just wasn't doing it himself."

"He was just sending the patients to Waverly Health for a kickback. He lost a lot of money in his divorce. I don't think he knew what was happening there."

"You're either naïve or stupid. I'm not sure which. Ethan sent you to St. Anne's and now you're here."

"The only reason I'm here is because I was with you. Ethan wouldn't do this to me. He cares about me. He cared about Megan, too. He was worried when he heard what happened to her."

"I don't believe Ethan cares about anyone," she said coldly, realizing she'd been fooled by Ethan's charm and Naomi's eager willingness. But that didn't matter now. She had to find a way out.

"Do you smell that?" Naomi asked.

She sniffed, realizing that she'd been so focused on their conversation that she hadn't noticed the smoke that was seeping under the door. "Oh, my God!" She looked at Naomi. "I think the building is on fire."

When Tyler arrived at Waverly, the building was shut down for the night, lights off, doors locked. He banged his hand on the wheel in frustration, wondering if Rachel was in the basement or if they'd taken her to the warehouse. "What's Levitan's home address?" Before Zane could answer, his phone rang. "Hello?"

"It's Evan. We may have figured out where the warehouse is."

His pulse jumped. Tyler put the phone on speaker as he slammed his foot down on the gas and turned toward the exit. "Where?"

"Jack remembered passing a fried chicken restaurant, smelling fish, and seeing a statue of a girl in a park," Evan said tersely. "We brought up satellite images of the Queens waterfront and found Hannah's Fried Chicken right next to Laurel Park, a block off the river. On that block, there are three warehouses. We're not sure which one he was in⁠—"

"What are the cross-streets?" Tyler asked.

Evan rattled off the information while Zane took notes.

"Okay, we're headed there now. Thanks for this, Evan. I needed this. Rachel was taken from the hospital when we went to check on Megan Prescott. They might be holding her in the warehouse."

"I hope to God we're on the right track," Evan said, his tone grim. "Good luck."

"The team will meet us there," Zane told him, texting someone as Tyler ended the call.