Sirens wail in the distance and the kidnappers disappear. She looks around the dark, gloomy warehouse and waits. Thick chains hang from the ceilings and molding wooden boxes sit in tall stacks along the walls. She wants to scream for help, but a part of her worries that the kidnappers are still lurking nearby.
The sirens get louder and blue and red lights flicker through the dusty windows overhead. She hears rushed footsteps and then the sound of a door being kicked in. The footsteps get louder and then a dozen bright flashlights blind her.
“Miss, are you all right?” the police commander asks.
“No,” she says shaking her head. “They knew you were coming—I almost died. Who called you?”
“A concerned gentleman,” the commander answers.
“Did he give his name?” she asks. “Was it Lance?”
