Instead, Du Pont waits for the kettle to boil, then he dumps it into the cold water in the tub, warming it up. He pours in some powdered soap, swishing it around with his hand to mix it in.

“Get in,” he says.

I stare at him.

“W—what?” I say.

“Get in the tub. Wash yourself,” he orders.

He holds out a washcloth, threadbare but reasonably clean.

I don’t want to get in the tub. But I know he can force me to do it, if I refuse.

I walk over to the tub, planning to wash my face and hands.

“Take off your clothes,” he barks.

I pause beside the tub, my stomach churning.

Slowly, I reach behind me and unzip the dress. I slip it off, stepping out of it. Then I take off my underwear, too.

Du Pont watches me, eyes bright but face totally still.

I step into the tub. It’s too small for me to sit down, so I have to stand.

“Wash yourself,” Du Pont orders again, holding out the washcloth.

I take the cloth. I dip it into the water and start using it to soap down my arms.

“Slower,” Du Pont says.

Gritting my teeth, I slowly wash my arms, shoulders, chest, belly, and legs.

Du Pont instructs me how to do it. He tells me to wash between my fingers and toes, between my thighs, even the bottom of my feet. The water is reasonably warm, and the soap smells fresh and clean, like laundry detergent. But it’s incredibly uncomfortable doing this under his eye, especially because I’m still shivering, standing out of the water, and my nipples are hard as glass.

Just when I’m hoping it’s over, Du Pont tells me to turn around. He takes the cloth and he starts washing my back.

The tenderness with which he scrubs me is utterly disturbing. The cloth slides lightly over my skin, making my flesh crawl. At least he doesn’t touch me with his hands—only the washcloth.

He slides the cloth down between my ass cheeks, and I jerk away from him, jumping out of the tub.

“Don’t touch me!” I snap. “If you try to . . . if you try to do anything to me, I’ll fight you. I’ll bite you and claw you and hit you, and I know you’re stronger than me, but I’m not going to stop. You’ll have to kill me right now, and spoil all your psycho plans.”

Du Pont looks amused.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Simone,” he says, in a bored tone. “You’re exactly right. That would spoil all the fun. I want you in your best condition for the hunt.”

I don’t know how he can say those words with such a calm, pleasant expression on his face. His thin lips are turned up at the corners in a hint of a smile.

“Get dressed,” he says. “Then you can have something to eat.”

He holds out a dress to me. Not the one I was wearing before—this one is light cotton, loose and soft. It’s pure white. I shudder as I pull it over my head. I know why he chose this—it will be like a white flag in the woods. Giving away my position wherever I go.

Du Pont takes a loaf of French bread out of his duffle bag. He tears it in two, holding out half to me.

“Eat,” he says.

40

Dante

At 4:40 am, my phone buzzes with a text message from Simone. It’s not really from Simone, of course.

It’s a pin, sending me a location.

A spot in the Wisconsin woods, two hours and twenty-eight minutes from where I’m currently located.

Raylan and I start speeding in that direction immediately.

I have to go ten over the limit, or faster. Otherwise we won’t make it there by 7:00 am.

“Watch out for cops,” I say to Raylan, through gritted teeth. I don’t have a second to spare for getting pulled over.

“How do you want to do this?” Raylan asks me.

“We have to triangulate. Try to figure out his location. Then close in on him from two sides.”

“You don’t know what he’s got set up,” Raylan says. “He could have traps. Mines. Other people.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone else,” I shake my head. “You said he didn’t have friends in the army. I doubt he has any now. The hotel room above the rally, and the shooting at the restaurant . . . that was one person. Same with his little shack outside his aunt’s house.”

“One person on their own ground still has the advantage,” Raylan says.

I know he’s right.

“If you see Simone, you get her out of there,” I tell Raylan. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Yeah, likewise,” Raylan says. “Though, I really don’t want to get shot by Du Pont. He was such a little creep. It would be embarrassing, you know?”

I snort and shake my head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Now, if it was a bear or a wolf that got me . . .” Raylan says, looking around at the woods on either side of the road. “That would be cool, at least.”

“There’s no wolves in Wisconsin.”

“Oh there damn well is, my friend. Big gray wolves. Not as big as the ones in Alaska, but still twice the size of a husky.”

We crossed over the border into the other state about a half-hour ago. I know it’s probably mostly in my head, but the woods look thicker and darker here, more menacing. I don’t know this area. I don’t know what Du Pont has planned.

All I know is that he’s determined to use Simone to hurt me.

He couldn’t have picked a better target.

When I was in the army, I was never afraid. I was too unhappy for that. I didn’t want to die, but I also didn’t care that much if I did.

Now, for the first time, I have a vision of a possible future. Me, Simone, and Henry. Living in Chicago or living in Europe, I don’t give a fuck which. All I care about is that the three of us could be together.

Nothing is more important to me than the idea of us together in the same room, as a family. I haven’t experienced that, not for a moment. I won’t let Du Pont take that away from me.

I have to see Simone. I have to tell her I forgive her. And most of all, I have to save her.

If I have to choose . . . if only one of us makes it out of this . . . it’s going to be her.

Raylan and I are speeding closer to the pin. The closer we get, the less we talk. We’ve already run over our potential strategies. We won’t know exactly what to do until we get there, until we see what the fuck Du Pont is up to.

For now, all we can do is mentally prepare ourselves.

It’s 6:22. The edges of the sky are beginning to turn deep purple instead of black. It’ll be sunrise, soon.

As we drive on, the sky lightens a little more.

Thank god it stopped raining. The ground is still wet and muddy, though. The pavement is dark with silvery patches of standing water.

At last we come to the place where the map tells us to turn right. We’re leaving the empty two-lane highway, turning onto a winding dirt road leading into the woods. The pin looks to be about eight miles up.

I’m on edge as we slowly creepy up the rough road. The road becomes fainter and fainter as we go, so rocky that I wouldn’t be able to drive up it at all in a normal car. Luckily, I brought the Escalade. It bumps and jolts us, but never bottoms out.