Drawing his service weapon, he headed for the front door. Two swift kicks had the door slamming open, cracking against the interior wall. Shoving down the terror, he stepped into the house, forcing himself to follow protocol and clear each room, even as he listened for sounds of struggle or escape. A lamp lay broken on the floor. A few feet beyond that, a glass lay on the carpet, a dark stain splattered out from it. The scent of wine was sharp in his nose. A pane was broken out of the French door. Obviously, the point of entry. Moving into the kitchen, he saw the open bottle of wine and the corkscrew on the counter. A light was on in the garage. The empty garage. Miranda’s Jeep was gone, the garage door down. Not letting himself think about that yet, Ethan raced upstairs, heart pounding with every step. Nothing appeared disturbed up here, save for the shoes and sweater Miranda had obviously ditched, when she got home. Whatever had happened had gone down in the den and hallway.
“Chief!” Darius called out from downstairs.
He met his officer halfway down. “She’s not here.” A part of him had known that as soon as he entered the house, but he’d needed to clear it, needed to make sure there wasn’t a body.
Harley hadn’t killed her. Yet.
Terror and fury over what the bastard had planned for her all but brought Ethan to his knees. All his training, all his skills, and the son of a bitch had still managed to kidnap his woman. He hadn’t been able to keep her safe.
But he’d sure as hell be bringing her home.
Darius watched him, expression horrified. “I shouldn’t have left her. I thought she’d be safe in the house, and I got a call—”
“Not your fault. I didn’t give you orders to stay.”
Ethan let out a long, slow breath, locking away emotion. He’d be no good to her if he was freaking out. He needed to be calm, cold, and collected—a hunter of men. He’d spent the better part of his Marshal career doing exactly that against criminals far smarter and far deadlier than Harley Forbes.
“Secure the scene.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rowan hustled across the yard as Ethan hit the porch.
“Beale, I want you canvassing the neighborhood. Find out from the neighbors if they’ve seen a beat-up GMC pickup or Miranda’s Grand Cherokee. In particular, I want to know if they saw her vehicle leave in the last fifteen minutes, and if so, which way it went. I also want to check with the neighbors on the street behind her house. He broke in through the back, which means he slipped through somebody’s yard to get there. If anybody saw anybody, I want to know about it.”
“Yes, Chief.” She fell into step beside him as he skirted the cruiser. “Do you know who we’re looking for?”
Ethan held up a finger as he reached for the handset of the radio. “Cleveland, this is Greer. Come back.”
“Yes, Chief.”
“Issue a BOLO for Harley Forbes.”
Rowan hissed and nodded before hustling toward the nearest neighbor.
“Pull his details from his file,” Ethan continued. “The son of a bitch is wanted for kidnapping, and should be presumed armed and dangerous. His victim is Dr. Miranda Campbell.” Ethan’s voice skipped a beat on her name. “Caucasian female, dark blonde hair, hazel eyes. 5’10”, approximately 170 pounds. Presumed to be injured or under duress. It is believed he may be in her vehicle, a black Jeep Grand Cherokee.” He reeled off the license plate.
There was a beat of silence, and Ethan could hear Cleveland audibly swallow. “Yes, Chief. Anything else?”
“Call Clint and have him track down Rene Forbes. She’s probably out at Monarch House. Have her brought into the station. And bring in Nash and Reuben. I want every able-bodied cop in this town working on this.”
“On it.”
Replacing the handset, Ethan grabbed his cell phone. It was still connected to Miranda’s. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if she had it on her, if they could triangulate her position. Then he heard Darius call his name, heard the echo of the other man’s voice through the speaker, and knew it had been left behind.
Hang on, Legs. I’m coming.
Hanging up the call, he popped the trunk and grabbed some gloves and booties before returning to the scene. Then he made the call he’d prayed he’d never have to make.
Judd picked up on the second ring. “Hey man, what’s up?”
“I need you. Miranda’s been kidnapped.”
“I’m on my way.”
Chapter 22
Miranda struggled to keep her breathing slow and even, so he wouldn’t know she was awake again. Fighting through the fog of pain, she took stock. Her mouth was covered. Taped. Flexing her numb fingers, it seemed her wrists and ankles were bound with that as well. The son of a bitch had hog tied her with duct tape. He might even have used the big roll in her garage. Some kind of blindfold was tied around her eyes.
Another bump threw her body. They were moving. In a car? Then he was probably in the driver’s seat. She shifted, feeling a roughness against her face. Carpet. Trunk or the back of an SUV? The road noise didn’t sound as muffled as she imagined a trunk would. As they continued jolting down what she now recognized as a rutted gravel road, she strained, trying to hear past the ringing in her ears.
Was that Harley breathing? Surely if she could hear him breathing, she was in the back of an SUV instead of a car. Maybe her own Jeep. Didn’t Harley have a truck? Miranda couldn’t remember.
How long had she been out?
Where were they going?
With aching slowness, she rolled her ankles and wrists, struggling to get the blood flowing again without making noise. If an opportunity to escape presented itself, she’d never be able to run like this. Her limbs felt like painful blocks of ice. How was she going to get free? Duct tape was universal, utilitarian, and damned near impossible to tear.
Think.
What had Ethan said? Harley was angry they’d finally convinced Rene to leave him. He’d been targeting her to get back at Ethan. Every harassment had been an escalation, and nearly every one had involved a knife. Would Harley go so far as to use it on her? What exactly was his plan here? Did he even have one? Kidnapping wasn’t something he’d get out of. If he’d been smart enough to coerce his step-son into acting on his behalf, he’d be smart enough to know that. Which meant he probably didn’t plan on her surviving to press charges.
A fresh dose of adrenaline dumped into her system. Harley Forbes was going to kill her.
The vehicle turned, skidding to a stop a few seconds later. A driveway?
It took everything she had not to whimper when Harley got out of the vehicle and slammed the door.
How long did she have before he came around to get her? His footsteps seemed to go away from the car. For a few frantic seconds she struggled against the tape, feeling it dig into her wrists. There was no way she’d get out of this without a knife or something sharp. If this was her Jeep, did she keep anything in the back that might be useful? Could she even reach it if she did?
Something loud scraped outside, as if a large door were being shoved open. The sound of returning footsteps had her going still again, fighting to slow her breath.
The back hatch popped. Even behind the blindfold, she could see the rear cabin light pop on. Hands grabbed her arms and legs, dragging her to the edge of the cargo compartment. She briefly considered thrashing, but what good would that do? If he dropped her, she’d just get further injured and would probably piss him off. Better to keep playing possum for now.