She could see through to the front seat. She was in an SUV, and the man had shoved her in the cargo area with all the seats folded down. The sun’s rays barely peeked over the horizon as night gave way to morning.
A man sat in the driver's seat—with a baseball cap. The same cap she’d seen that night she went out with Ashley. The night she’d been hit by a car.
It couldn’t be.
"Where are you taking me?" Her voice came out hoarse, raw. "What do you want?"
"Be quiet." The man turned his head. The cap had the same logo. It was distinctive. And she remembered it.
"Please, just tell me what's going on. I don't understand?—"
"I said, be quiet. Or I'll shut you up, again. Your choice."
Emery's head throbbed where he'd hit her. Bile rose in her throat at the threat of being knocked unconscious again. She bit her lip, tasting blood, and tried to think through the panic.
They were on a highway. She glanced out the window, looking for signs. There was one up ahead. They were headed north. She shifted her gaze toward the dashboard. It was 5:32. It hadn’t been that long since she’d been snatched.
Would Devon even know she was gone?
A phone rang—the driver's phone, lighting up where it sat in a cup holder. He grabbed it, answered with a clipped, "What?"
Emery strained to hear the other side of the conversation but couldn't make out any words. Just muffled sound, the cadence of someone—a female—speaking urgently.
"No." The driver's voice rose, agitated. "I'm not going to meet you. I have to get out of town. This whole thing's blown up?—"
More muffled speaking on the phone.
“I can’t dump her here. I can’t even do it, California.” He was getting angrier, his free hand gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. “Stopping is too risky, and I’m not doing it for any amount?—”
The voice on the other end cut him off.
"Fine." The driver bit the word off. “But you’re going to have to pay me double, and you better bring it.”
He ended the call and tossed the phone back into the cup holder.
Emery's heart hammered against her ribs.
They were going to kill her. Take her somewhere remote and kill her.
"Please." The word came out small, desperate. "Please, I'll give you whatever you want. Money. I have money—my boyfriend will pay whatever you ask. Just let me go."
"Your boyfriend." The man laughed, harsh and without humor. "Yeah, I'm sure he'd pay. Right before he killed me himself. No thanks."
"Then what do you want? Why are you doing this?"
"I was paid to do a job. Nothing personal." The man reached into the passenger seat, and when his hand came back, he was holding a gun. He didn't point it at her—just held it where she could see it, the metal catching ambient light from passing cars.
"Hush," he said quietly. "Or I'll hush you myself. We clear?"
Emery looked at the door, then shifted her gaze to the dashboard, contemplating what might happen if she managed to open that door and try to jump at seventy miles an hour.
Probably not a good idea.
"Good." He set the gun on the passenger seat within easy reach. "Now shut up, and let me drive."
The car merged onto what felt like an off-ramp, the smooth highway giving way to rougher road. They were leaving the interstate. Going somewhere more isolated.
Somewhere no one would hear her scream.
