He reached into his pocket, pulled out his heavy leather wallet, and took out his business card—embossed in heavy gold lettering: **VANCE COMMERCIAL CONTRACTING & STRUCTURAL ENGINEERING — ARTHUR VANCE, PRESIDENT**.
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He slid the card beneath the plastic handle of the food bag.
“I am going to walk back to my car, ma’am,” Arthur said, taking a step backward into the brambles. “I am going to drive down this access road and park beside the storage units with my hazard lights flashing. If you want to stay in this container tonight… I will leave the food here, I will leave my coat on this fender, and I will not disturb you again.”
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He paused, his gray eyes locking onto hers through the falling sleet.
“But if you want your daughter to wake up tomorrow morning in a room with a hot bath, clean sheets, and a real breakfast… you gather your things, bring Chloe through the briars, and get in my back seat. You have my word as an officer of the court and a Christian man: no one will touch you, no one will question you, and you will be safe.”
