"Emilie." Jeremy's frantic voice came through the speaker. "Where are you?"

"Home. No lights." A heavy thud sounded in the living room. Terror stalled her heart. She twisted around, her phone high in the air. Jeremy shouted her name. Panic seized her. Her breath came in short, painful rasps. Numbness consumed her entire body. Darkness stretched in front of her, a long tunnel with no end in sight.

Emilie flailed blindly. Her foot came down on something squishy. Otis's screech filled the house, and the angry cat shot between her legs. Emilie stumbled and lost her footing.

She plummeted backwards, dropping the phone. White-hot pain rushed over Emilie as her head connected with a hard, pointed surface.

Her body slammed against the tile floor. Then the pain was gone. Emilie floated in a black abyss, surrounded by silence. A face appeared: a man with olive-colored skin and several days' beard growth. He had a strong brow, prominent cheekbones, and bow-shaped lips. He smiled down at her.

His eyes. Dark. Beautiful. Terrifying.

"Remember, Miss Emilie," the Taker whispered. "Remember me."

And then her mind slipped away.

Chapter Fifteen.

A shrill ring jerked Nathan awake. He fumbled for the phone lying somewhere on his old wooden nightstand.

"I just came off a twelve hour shift. This better be important."

"It is."

"G.o.d, Chris. You should be sleeping, too."

"You know I have to unwind after we have a busy night. You need to read this morning's edition of The Sun."

"You still get a paper? Like an actual hard copy?"

"I'm old school. You've got a fancy phone. Get on their website.

"Why?"

"Emilie Davis is in the hospital."

"What?" Nathan sat up. "Was she attacked?"

"Sounds like she had some kind of breakdown. Got hurt. You need to read."

"Why?"

"Because you're interested in the case. And her. And there's some really good info in that article."

"I'm not interested in Emilie. The case, yes. The Taker is fascinating and-"

"Save it. I know you. Just read it."

Nathan hit 'end' and pulled up The Sun's website on his iPhone. Dread settled in his stomach when he saw the reporter's byline.

Attempted Kidnapping Victim Admitted to Hospital Emilie Davis, the attempted kidnapping victim of the masked man known only as 'The Taker,' has been admitted to St. Rose Dominican Hospital in Henderson after suffering a panic attack and hitting her head.

As reported previously, following her divorce three years ago, she was a patient at University Medical Center's psych ward for depression.

Her estranged mother, Claire Davis, said her hospitalization came as no surprise.An anonymous source close to the investigation said Davis was "volatile and argumentative." "Getting information from her is like pulling teeth," the source said. "She prefers to berate the abilities of law enforcement rather than a.s.sist them. Her breakdown is no surprise."

At this time, Metro Police still have no information regarding the ident.i.ty or whereabouts of the cunning 'Taker.'

Nathan jumped out of bed and searched for a clean pair of jeans. "That dirty son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h. Anonymous source my a.s.s."

An endless white blur hovered above Emilie. Streaks of light became visible, stretching across the blur's surface. Then, texture. The mist wasn't entirely smooth. There were strange, grainy patterns within it. She realized it was an unfamiliar ceiling.

She blinked. Her eyelids felt heavy.

"Em?"

"Jeremy?" Her unfocused gaze descended, searching for the voice.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Am I in the hospital?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Don't you remember?"

Her right hand hurt. She raised her arm and searched for the pain's source. An IV. Why did she have a d.a.m.ned medicine tube stuck in her?

"Remember what?"

Jeremy's hand rested on hers. She was struck by its femininity: soft and smooth, his fingernails perfectly manicured. Weren't a man's hands supposed to invoke a feeling of strength and power? Unlike Nathan Madigan's calloused touch, Jeremy's left Emilie feeling insecure.

Why was she thinking about Nathan Madigan?

"You had a panic attack last night," Jeremy said. "You called me and pa.s.sed out before I could get to the phone. Can you remember anything?"

She touched her aching head. "I tripped over Otis."

"You hit your head on the corner of the kitchen table. Doctor kept you overnight."

Images from last night played back in her head like a movie: darkness, the paralyzing fear, the inability to breathe, and the mysterious face.

"He was there." Emilie attempted to sit up. Jeremy laid his hand on her shoulder, pressing her tired body back into the bed.

"Lie down. Who was there?"

"The Taker. I saw him."

Jeremy's sun-kissed cheeks turned white. "That's impossible."

"I saw him."

Jeremy ran a hand through his hair making it stand on end. "Em, no one was in the apartment with you when I got there. I unlocked the door with the spare key and let paramedics in. There was no sign of a break-in. He wasn't there."

"He was." Even as the words fell from her mouth, uncertainty set in. Had she been hallucinating? The sense of not being alone had been incredibly real, and the Taker's face was solid as he bent over her. His features were etched in her mind.

And yet she was in the hospital with an IV and a pounding headache.

"How bad am I injured?"

"You hit your head. You were unresponsive when paramedics showed up, and your pulse was sky high. I thought you'd had a heart attack. You regained consciousness in the ER, but you were a mess. They had to sedate you."

"Well, I'm fine now." She kicked off the scratchy sheet and sat up. Her head throbbed. "Can you get a nurse in here to take out this IV? I want to go home."

"You're not going anywhere. Judging by the circles under your eyes, I'd say you've barely slept in the past few days. You've lost weight, and the doctor said you were dehydrated. You're not taking care of yourself."

"I had a few bad days. I'm fine."

"Bulls.h.i.t."

Emilie ground her teeth. "I need to tell Agent Ronson about my flashback."

"She and that detective were here last night, but you were in no shape to talk. They'll be back this morning."

The chair sc.r.a.ped against the floor as Jeremy stood up. He pulled his hair again.

"What?" Emilie didn't need a lecture.

"You don't really think the Taker was in your apartment, do you?"

"I saw his face."

"But you've never seen his face, Em. How do you know the face you saw wasn't just some random man your mind conjured up?"

"Because I've talked to him before." The answer came without thought, but she knew it was true.

"Are you sure?" Jeremy's normally smooth tenor cracked with antic.i.p.ation.

"Yes. I just have no idea when or where."

Nathan ignored the desk sergeant's greeting. He stormed down the hall and across the crowded squad room. Avery wasn't sitting out with the common folk. His narrow a.s.s was planted firmly in his posh leather chair as he lounged in his office, no doubt admiring all the faux awards on his wall.

Nathan shoved open the door without bothering to knock. "What do we have here? Giving some more anonymous information to that shady reporter?"

Avery dropped the cellphone that had been pressed to his large ear. "Madigan. Who do you think you are barging into my office?"

Nathan pushed the fancy gold nameplate out of his way and planted his hands on Avery's gleaming mahogany desk. "You're a piece of s.h.i.t."

The detective's neck turned red. "What's your problem, Wonder Boy?"

"Let me jog your memory." Nathan opened the browser on his phone. "Getting information from her is like pulling teeth. She prefers to berate the abilities of law enforcement rather than a.s.sist them. Her breakdown is no surprise."

"What are you referring to?" Avery picked at his fingernails.

"Cut the s.h.i.t. You're the anonymous source. You're feeding this reporter information because you're p.i.s.sed Emilie stood up to you."

"Please. I have better things to do than talk to the vultures."

"Right. You're so busy on this case you didn't even go back to the scene with Ronson."

"How would you know that?"

"She asked me to guide her through the tunnel. Were you afraid of getting your suit dirty or just scared of the creepy-crawlies?"

Avery jumped from his seat, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Nathan raised his eyebrow. "Touchy subject I see."

He didn't flinch as Avery circled the desk and came to stand toe-to-toe with him.

"You're a c.o.c.ky p.r.i.c.k, Madigan. A jealous kid from the wrong side of the tracks. What would Jimmy think of your att.i.tude?"

"Don't bring him into this." Nathan grabbed Avery by his expensive lapels.

"Watch out, Madigan." Avery's skinny fingers clawed at Nathan's grip. "SWAT wouldn't want its superstar suspended, would they?"

"Knocking your teeth out would be worth a suspension." Nathan shoved Avery away, sending him into a filing cabinet. "But not today."

"Typical." Avery adjusted his suit. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not this 'source' you're so upset with."

"Right." Nathan picked up a crystal paperweight and envisioned leveling it at Avery's bulbous head. "I'm warning you, Dalton. Stop feeding the press information about Emilie Davis. It's bad enough reporters are digging up dirt on her when she's the one who's been harmed. Don't add to her problems by using the media in a personal vendetta because your delicate ego is bruised."

Avery s.n.a.t.c.hed the paperweight and set it carefully back down on the desk. "I find your concern about Davis interesting. Personal, even."

"I really don't care what you think."

"It's just fascinating to me. You've barely had any contact with her, and yet here you are, acting as her champion. Odd thing to do for a near stranger, even if she is a hot piece."