Weston groans.
Bruce’s tail thunks the floor, this time louder, becoming an irritated club.
Fear stabs me through the rage. Even if his instinct is to protect me, there’s no telling what a Bengal tiger might do if he gets pissed and claustrophobic enough.
“Better tell your kitty cat to calm down, dearie,” she snaps. “But here’s another question: do you have any idea how much a Javan rhino horn is worth?”
Rhino horns? The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
“Someone’s coming,” a man snaps urgently.
I can’t see out the trailer, but I recognize Niles’ voice.
“Again? Damn it, what did I tell you? We don’t have time for this shit,” Priscilla whines.
The clanking near the side of the trailer tells me she’s stepping down, and I gingerly rise to my feet, forcing myself not to fall from the dizziness.
First I stagger over and check Weston’s pulse. He’s breathing and I can feel his heartbeat, slow but seemingly regular. There’s a nasty bruise running up the side of his head and dried blood under his nose.
He’s alive and well, though, which seems like a small hope.
Then I slowly scramble up on a wheel well and peek out one of the slats.
We’re inside a building. A large one by the looks of it.
“It’s the police, again,” Niles says sharply.
“Wait here,” Priscilla tells him right before she disappears out of my vision.
I hear a door open and close. Something scrapes the side of the trailer.
Quickly, I lower myself back to the floor.
Bruce is near the front of the trailer, watching me intently.
I’m near the back door, and so is Weston, slumped against the sidewall like he’d just been hoisted up and thrown inside. I think we both were before they parked this trailer inside the mystery building.
I have no idea how long I’ve been out, how long we’ve been here.
But it must’ve been hours.
More clanking sounds, and another ugly, pissed-off face looks through the slats.
“Don’t make a single whimper or you’re all dead,” Niles whispers, drawing the words out like the snake he is.
I lean my head back, trying to think of a way out of this trailer. Out of this mess.
“Yeah, it’s kinda late for that. The FBI’s onto you, Niles.”
His bitter laugh sounds just as soulless as Priscilla’s. “We know. They hit the sanctuary around the same time you arrived.” He chortles again—yes, flipping chortles. “But we aren’t there now, are we? And as fortune would have it, we’re going to ensure we make up our losses.”
I try not to shudder or even guess what he means.
I hadn’t taken a good look at the trailer earlier. Not when I was too focused on leaving Grady and my heart in pieces to think about much of anything.
Now, though, as I look around...I realize there are large side windows that open—only from the outside.
Crap.
“I knew hiring you would be an asset one way or another,” Niles says matter-of-factly.
My heart stalls. “You sure? Seems like I’ve brought you nothing but ruin, and I’m not sorry.”
“You could have joined us,” he sneers. “Your connections would have made us all a lot of money, but you chose your pride, and pride goeth before a fall.”
I roll my eyes, despising when he slips into his mask of civility and starts quoting literature or Bible verses. It’s a false, mocking, entirely twisted wisdom this man thinks he has.
A door opens and closes again somewhere behind him.
“Cook got rid of them, said she hadn’t shown up yet. Just a couple bumbling Barney Fife townies. Of course, Wilco had his gun the entire time...” Priscilla says, pausing with what must be relief. “Is she still awake? Talking?”
I frown at hearing the name Wilco, Priscilla’s brother. Probably the other big man I saw who knocked out Weston.
“Yes,” Niles answers, climbing down. “Time to call her father.”
...Dad? What the hell?
I stand up and climb back on the wheel well, looking down.
Priscilla has a phone to her ear, pulling at her leopard shirt like it’s suddenly too tight.
“Is it ringing?” Niles asks.
“Quiet!” Priscilla barks back. Then come the words I dread. “Mr. Macklin, hi. You wanted to hear your daughter’s voice, and we can make that happen.”
My heart slips into my gut.
I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I know it’s really Dad on the other end.
And by now I’m sure he knows they’ve kidnapped me. That’s the whole reason they hired me in the first place, to play their dirty game and get agonizingly rare rhino parts from my father. When that didn’t work, it was onto Plan B: direct extortion.
How stupid can a person be? I fell into their web from the start.
“Is the transfer ready?” Priscilla asks again.
My father says something, but his voice is too low and garbled for me to make out.
“Hold on,” Priscilla says, walking toward the trailer.
She sees me looking through the slat and freezes.
I don’t bother moving.
She steps up on something with an annoyed huff, so she’s eye level with me. Then she holds her phone out and clicks on the speaker button.
“Tell your daddy dearest hello, Miss Macklin,” she says with a cruel smile.
I pinch my lips together.
“Willow? Willow!” Dad sounds frantic. “Are you there? Talk to me, honey. Talk to me!”
Nothing could’ve prepared me for this.
My eyes sting. My throat closes. My pulse slows to mud.
“Willow?”
Jesus, I can’t take it. I don’t want to go along with them. I hate being their hostage, but I can’t stand the sad desperation in my father’s voice.
“Yeah, Dad, I’m here,” I whisper numbly.
“Oh, thank God. Listen, you’re going to be fine, baby,” he slurs into the speaker through his fear. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll give them whatever the hell they want. Anything to get you home safe.”
Priscilla jerks the phone away and steps down. Taking it off speaker, she holds it up to her ear again. “Yes, sir. As soon as the money hits our account, she’ll be released. We’ll drop her at a neutral pickup site where she can be collected by the local authorities, and we can all go about our merry way.”
I’m going to be sick.
Priscilla walks away, her ice-cold voice fading to nothing, and I can’t hear the conversation.
My knees lose their ability to keep me upright and I slide off the wheel well, crumbling onto the floor.
Bruce tilts his head and lets out one of his low purring growls.
“It’s all right, dude,” I whisper, knowing full well nothing’s all right.
Not anymore.
“Wha...what the fuck?” Weston mumbles quietly, smacking his lips.
I scramble over and plant my hand across his mouth.
“Shhhh,” I whisper near his ear. “Pretend you’re out.”
The poor man looks like he’s hurt worse than I am, and it’s better not to remind them they can do more damage. I’m also terrified how he’ll react if he opens his eyes and sees we’re trapped with Bruce.