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I let her finish, then let the silence sit. I drag my eyes to hers like I've got all the time in the world, holding them until she stops breathing so loud. “You think I'm a rookie? You really think I brought you to a place where a scream would be heard?” With a shake of my head, I go back to my phone. “I expected better from you.”

She goes quiet after that—not the quiet of someone who's given up. I know that quiet. I know what it sounds like when a person goes empty. This is different. She's decided to wait me out, recalculating. That's fine. She can do whatever she wants. I've got all the time in the world, and she's not going anywhere.

I work for a good hour, maybe more. I lose track of time the way I always do when I'm working on a problem. The room goes quiet, except for the low hum of the city outside and the occasional shift of her weight on the mattress. A few times I look up. “Ready?”

She answers me with radio silence and a stubborn, clenched jaw.

When I look up again, she's got her head turned toward the window. The city lights come through the gap in the curtains, catching the line of her jaw and the curve of her neck where it meets her shoulder. She's graceful. Elegant. Beautiful. I look away. My own eyes are heavy with sleep.

An hour later, her breathing changes. I watch her. She's fighting it. Her head lolls to the side, bobs up again, dips, and she pulls herself back—twice, three times. Her wrists are still secured to the bar above her head, and she's trying to stay upright against the pillow to keep herself awake. She doesn't want to fall asleep like that, which makes sense.

The fourth time her head drops, it stays. I wait a few more minutes, then cross to the bed and check her rope. Her breathing is slow and even. She didn't answer my question, and she didn't give an inch. Neither will I.

I lie lengthwise at the foot of the bed, far enough that if I wake up swinging, I won't hurt her. I curl onto my side, punch the pillow down, and fall asleep.

For reasons I don't understand, it's the first time I’ve slept without waking up fighting.

When her head snaps up, I yawn lazily. “Morning, beautiful,” I drawl. “You ready to tell me?”

She glares at me. “Fuck you.” Her eyes meet mine in defiance. She tries to roll her neck—likely stiff from sleeping that way. She’d feel a fuck of a lot more uncomfortable if I'd taken my belt to her fucking arse.

My eyes narrow. “When I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”

“Why the hell do you care that I know your name?” I don't answer her. The truth is, the less she knows about me, the safer it is for both of us.

She's not going to tell me. I can already see it in the set of her jaw and the way her eyes spark with defiance. She's decided.

”If you don't tell me,” I say in a low voice, “I'll punish you. I told you that spanking was only a touch of what I could do to you.”

“Of course you could. I've known that since the auction block.” She pauses. “That's not the same thing as being afraid of you.”

“So you're really prepared to stay there the rest of the day, locked to my headboard?” I pretend to scratch my chin and cast my eyes heavenward. “Or maybe you do need another spanking, this time with my belt.” My voice drops. “But you'd like that, wouldn't you?”

A slow smile crosses her lips, as if she knows something I don't. I don't hate it. “Yes,” she says. “There's only one way to find out, Torin.”

“I think I already have, Valentina.”

I push up on one elbow. “You did take my wallet, didn't you? I felt guilty because I punished you. I thought you were innocent, but the only way you found out my name was that you took my wallet, then dropped it back on the floor.”

She doesn’t confirm or deny it.

I shake my head, push out of bed, and walk to the bathroom. When I come out, she hasn’t moved. I reach for my phone and go back to standing sentry.

“What are you working on?” she asks.

“Boston.”

“Can I see?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

I look up just long enough to let her see my face. “Because you’re being punished. You really haven't learned your lesson, have you? I said no, and the only correct response to that is ‘Yes, sir.’”

Seamus's contact in Boston is a man named Roberts. He’s old enough to know the first generation, which means he's got history with the men who took her and might have a reason. That's the knot I'm working on.

Seamus said that when her brother Lorenzo and her father came to our house, they were very convincing when they showed surprise that Valentina wasn't there. They left with the imposter, but now we're really starting to wonder—what else happened?