Ricky was silent. His eyes stayed on the road, both hands on the wheel, as if she hadn't spoken at all.
“Marvis, then.” She tried to keep her voice steady. Professional. As if she were conducting an interview and not sitting in a locked car with her baby and no weapon. “You're working with Marvis.”
Nothing. Not even a flicker in the mirror.
The silence was worse than any threat he could have made. Threats she could negotiate with. Threats meant he wanted something and was willing to talk. Silence meant he'd alreadymade every decision he needed to make, and none of them required her input.
Grace stirred against her chest, making soft sucking sounds on the pacifier. Peyton tightened her arms around the baby and forced herself to think. Panic wouldn't save them. Fear wouldn't either. Only her training and her God could do that.
Keeping her movements small, she searched the pockets of her jeans and then her jacket for anything to use as a weapon, but only came up with lint, a hair tie, and an old pack of gum. The USB drive Dawson had handed her was tucked in the coin pocket of her jeans. Did Ricky know she had it? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, it wouldn’t help her get out of this situation.
She was weaponless. Okay. Time to run through alternatives. Hand to hand combat would be impossible with Grace strapped to her chest. She could attack Ricky now, wrap an arm around his throat and use her body weight to choke him, but that would likely cause a car accident that would endanger Grace. Peyton had no issue risking her own life, but she wouldn’t put the baby in a more dangerous position than they were already in. Whatever Ricky wanted, whoever he was working for, they wanted Grace alive.
Peyton, on the other hand, knew she wasn’t likely to make it out of this.
Tears pricked her eyes.God, if it’s my time, then I accept that, but please…I beg you, save Grace. Do not let her fall into Cade’s hands.She wrapped her arms around Grace’s tiny body. So small, so helpless. Peyton would do anything to protect her.
Her fingers brushed across the small GPS tracker attached to the baby’s undershirt and tucked under her onesie. Her heart thumped twice as hope sprang free. If Dawson had survived the shooting, once he realized they’d been taken, he could use the tracker to find them.
It was a big if. Dawson could’ve lost consciousness or worse…
No!She shoved the thought aside. Faith meant having hope even when things were bleak. Peyton needed to be smart. Bide her time and wait for an opening to save Grace.
And she believed in her heart that Dawson would come for them.
The sedan slowed, and then Ricky made a sudden right turn onto a rutted road. They bounced down the short drive to a run-down farmhouse that looked like it hadn't been lived in for years. Paint peeled from the clapboard siding in long, curling strips. The porch sagged in the middle, and one of the front windows was covered with plywood. A single light burned behind a curtain on the ground floor.
Ricky killed the engine and got out, circling around to Peyton’s side of the vehicle. He held his gun at the ready when he opened her door. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
Fear thrummed through her. “You don’t need?—”
“Do not argue, Peyton, or I will kill you here and now.” His gaze was hard, his tone controlled and flat. “Do you want that? A gunshot at close proximity would damage Grace’s hearing. Maybe permanently.”
Dear heaven above, he meant it. He’d shoot her right here. Peyton stifled the shudder of horror that rippled through her and did as he ordered, turning her back to him and placing her hands behind her. The cold bite of metal wrapped around her wrists.
Handcuffs.
Ricky hauled Peyton out of the car, his rough grip sending a riot of pain through her side as her stitches pulled. Drizzle dampened her bare skin. Thunder rumbling in the distance promised more storms ahead.
He marched her up the sagging porch steps, the wood groaning under their weight. Grace whimpered at the jostling,and Peyton murmured softly to her, keeping her voice steady even as a fresh dose of terror ate her insides. Ricky shoved the front door open, the ancient hinges squealing in protest. Then he shoved Peyton across the threshold.
The inside of the farmhouse was barely better than the outside. Bare bulbs cast harsh light over peeling wallpaper and water-stained ceilings. The air smelled of mildew and stale cigarettes. A folding table sat in the center of what had once been a living room, a laptop open on its surface.
And there, in the corner, handcuffed to a radiator pipe, was Lilia.
Peyton's knees nearly buckled.
Her cousin was alive. Alive! But the relief was immediately doused as she registered the scene before her. Lilia’s face was gaunt and hollow-eyed, her dark hair hanging in greasy tangles down to her shoulders. A bruise yellowed along her jawline, and her lower lip was split and scabbed. She wore a thin sweatshirt and jeans, both filthy, and her bare feet were tucked beneath her on the cold floor. She looked as if she hadn't eaten properly in days.
Then Lilia's eyes found Peyton. They widened. First with disbelief, then with something that shattered Peyton's heart. Hope.
“Peyton?” Her voice was a rasp, barely audible. Then her gaze dropped to the baby nestled against Peyton's chest, and a sob tore from her throat. “Grace? No…no, please?—”
“Family reunion over.” Ricky patted Peyton’s pockets, unearthing the USB drive. Then he manhandled her over to a wall, forcing her to sit. His dark-eyed gaze bored into hers, sending a chill down her spine. “If you so much as breathe the wrong way, I’ll kill you. Understand?”
The weight of Grace’s small form strapped to her chest in the sling set her priority. Bide her time. Search for an escape. Pray that Dawson was on his way.
She licked her lips. “I won’t move.”
