Miranda came to in agony. A sharp pain radiated from her temple and nausea roiled in her stomach. Her whole world felt fuzzy. Some part of her brain catalogued injuries. Concussion. Multiple contusions. Abrasions. One eye would barely open. Her limbs were numb with pain. She couldn’t breathe properly, and copper coated the back of her throat. Blood.
The relief of unconsciousness dragged at her like a riptide. Everything would feel better if she could just sleep... But there was some reason she couldn’t do that.
What the hell had happened? Had she been in a wreck?
Something dinged. What was that? Some kind of monitor? Was she in the hospital?
“Son of a bitch.”
The angry male voice had her one good eye going wide.
Harley.
She’d come so close to escaping, but he’d caught her at the edge of the fields, taking her down with a flying tackle worthy of Super Bowl Sunday. She’d fought back, slashing with the hoof pick and catching him in the shoulder. But she hadn’t hit anything vital, and he’d struck her full in the face. Given the pain radiating out, he’d probably broken her nose. Jesus, it was a miracle she hadn’t choked on her own blood.
Now she was back in the rear of her Grand Cherokee, bound again, beneath a blanket. From the front, Harley continued to curse, muttering something about irresponsible women and proper car maintenance. What was he talking about?
The low fuel light. She knew she’d been getting low, but she’d intended to wait until morning. He didn’t have more than forty miles left in the tank. Either he’d have to stop to refuel or he wouldn’t be able to go far.
Surely everyone would be looking for her by now. They’d know he had her Jeep. He’d be sticking to back roads, and there was no way he’d return to his own place in search of gas. Ethan would undoubtedly have it under surveillance. So where could he go?
Judging by the amount of cursing going on, his original plan had been screwed. Was that a good thing? No time for the long, drawn out torture session he’d apparently been imagining. And surely, no opportunity to set up any kind of sophisticated trap for Ethan. But did that mean he’d cut his losses and kill her quickly? She knew he wouldn’t just let her go. He was in too deep, so he had to finish this, one way or the other.
Her brain felt sluggish and the temptation to slide back into oblivion was huge. She just wanted to stop feeling the pain.
Must. Stay. Awake.
The caution did nothing to stop her drooping eyes. The next thing she knew, a crash yanked her back to consciousness as a shudder ripped through the Jeep. The engine revved high as Harley swerved and skidded along the road. Miranda’s stomach rolled as she tensed, waiting for the car to flip. But Harley managed to right it. What had he hit?
A minute later, he rolled to a stop and turned off the motor. For a few seconds, Miranda panicked, trying to come up with something, anything she could use to fight. But there was nothing. She’d lost her one chance.
The back hatch opened. Harley flipped the blanket back and chill night air rolled over her, cooling her heated skin. He grabbed her ankles and dragged her to the edge.
“Sit up. I know you’re awake.”
Miranda struggled to move, her abused limbs refusing to cooperate. The pain in her side had her gasping. She added bruised ribs to her inventory. Probably from the kicks.
“I ain’t gonna ask again.” The unmistakable sound of a gun being chambered punctuated his statement.
Her mouth went impossibly drier, but she made it more or less vertical.
Harley grabbed her roughly by the arm and hauled her to standing. She almost went down in a heap the moment her feet touched the ground. Only his vise-like grip kept her upright. This time he’d only bound her knees together, leaving her ankles free. “Walk.”
Walk? Walk where?
He navigated her around the end of the Jeep and toward a long metal building. As best as she could, Miranda scanned her surroundings as she shuffled along with her captor. He’d parked in the lea of a loading dock. She could just make out a chainlink perimeter fence. Was that what he’d hit? Had he driven straight through a gate?
If they were still near Wishful, this had to be one of the defunct factories. Which one was it that Harley had worked for? Heirloom Home Furnishings. The place had stood empty for more than a year and a half since the parent company moved manufacturing to Mexico. Miranda knew Norah had been trying to find some means of repurposing the space, but so far, there’d been no bites. It was about five miles out from town proper. It backed up to woods on two sides and had a long stretch of empty space between it and the roads, with no farms or neighborhoods nearby. There were some isolated houses, but even if she managed to get off the gag, there’d be no one to hear her scream, and she’d never make it back to the main road before he caught her again. Her only hope was that there was some kind of alarm system that he’d set off when they went inside.
The trip up the stairs was slow and painful, with regular prodding from the barrel of the gun against her back. When he simply lifted a broken padlock off the door and shoved it open, she gave up on the idea of an alarm. The sound of her scuffing steps echoed in the empty space. Except, no. It wasn’t empty. Hulking shapes rose up in the gloom. Apparently the company hadn’t seen the need to take its equipment when it left. She had no idea what any of it did, but surely with furniture manufacture there were saws, industrial staplers, and other machines and sharp implements that could tear up a human body. Was there still electricity turned on out here?
Harley paused, studying the place. “Nobody comes out here much anymore. Should’ve thought of it sooner. It’ll do nicely for what I have in mind.”
And what is that? But Miranda didn’t give voice to the thought.
He didn’t seem to need any input from her, just steered her through the dark with a familiarity that suggested he’d spent a lot of time here, probably since the factory closed.
He shoved her back against one of the empty industrial racks that had once probably held pallets of materials. When he grasped her bound wrists and started to fasten them to the rack above her head, she bucked, trying to catch him with her feet. His answer was a back fist to her face that left her ears ringing. Then the gun was in her mouth, the metallic oily taste coating her tongue.
“Cooperate. I’m gonna be real pissed if you make me kill you before I’ve done what I need to do.”
Tears streaming down her cheeks, Miranda pressed back against the cold metal support.
Ethan, where are you?
Ethan made it back to the station first. Judd and his deputies were tied up at Willig’s place, waiting on a forensics team and one of the other Wachoxee County investigators. A crowd had gathered outside the police station. Media and a shit ton of locals. He laid on the horn and they parted like the proverbial Red Sea so he could make it into a parking place. Questions were hurled at him from every direction, as soon as he stepped free of the car.
“Do you have any leads?”
“Have you found Dr. Campbell yet?”
“Do you know who took her?”
Ethan ground his teeth and ignored them all, stalking toward the door. Clay was near the front, expression as grim as Ethan had ever seen it. Without a word, Ethan took his friend by the arm and towed him inside. They stopped just past the vestibule because the station was a hive of activity, with officers and people of interest all over the place. Ethan hoped like hell somebody had decent, actionable intel.