Scott repeats, puzzled as he follows me into the living room. “Who’s Freya?” “I mean Holly. Freya’s her real name. We had to—” Just then Dennis reels into the room in a light linen suit, asking, “What was the ruckus?” His expression changes from annoyance to alarm when he sees me. “Robbie, is everything all right? We got a phone call from Holly a little earlier telling us about her concussion. She’s not worse, is she?” “Not worse, she’s gone.” “What?” Dennis and Scott ask in stereo. They stand close to each other while I face off against them, hurriedly telling them about the men who took Freya. The whole truth would only make me sound like someone in need of a rubber room, but from the sketchy details I offer, Dennis says he assumes that Holly and I somehow got ourselves involved with criminal elements back East. “We’re not criminals,”
