“Let me call a friend of mine,” Mara said.

“He used to do data recovery for the federal court system. He’s expensive, but he’s fast.”

“I don’t care about the cost,” I said.

“I’ll text you his name as soon as he answers,” Mara said.

“Keep your head down, Elizabeth. Don’t answer the door for anyone else.”

“I won’t,” I said.

I hung up the phone and set it on the coffee table.

The red indicator light on the smoke detector on the ceiling blinked once every thirty seconds.

I watched it, counting the seconds in the dark, waiting for the text to arrive.

My phone buzzed against the wooden table.

The screen lit up the dark living room, casting a blue glow over my hands.

It was a text from Mara.

“Marcus Vance,” the message read, followed by a phone number and a short note: “He’s expecting your call. Use my name.”

I dialed the number immediately.

The phone rang twice before a dry, quiet voice answered.

“Vance,” he said.

“My name is Elizabeth Morgan,” I said. “Dr. Mara Singh gave me your number.”