Diego’s voice snapped back into his head—no cops. No detective boyfriend.
Fear cinched tighter. Andy shoved the phone into his pocket as he continued to pace, the boards creaking beneath his feet. He couldn’t call.
But if Brian showed up on his own...
That’s the same as calling the police. Right?
He turned that thought over and over in his mind, clinging to it like a loophole he could squeeze through.
Outside, a car drove by, the distant hum barely reaching the house. Waves pounded the shoreline. A gull screamed. The fridge hummed. The world stayed horrifyingly normal.
His brain wouldn’t stop replaying that thin, terrified sound in Tess’s voice. “Do what they say, Andy.Don’tcall the police.”
He sank onto the arm of the couch, elbows on his knees, hands laced behind his neck. His breaths cameshort and shallow until he forced them longer, in through his nose, out through his mouth.
He had about twenty minutes before Brian was supposed to show. Maybe less. He also had no plan. No good options. Just a weakness and a threat.
A knock rattled the back door.
Andy’s head snapped up, his heart leaping into his throat.
For a split second, terror shot through him—they wouldn’t just come here, would they?
He pushed to his feet and crossed the room, each step feeling strangely disconnected from his body. He peeked through the curtain.
Brian stood on the porch, shoulders filling the doorway, a pizza box in one hand and a bag in the other.
Relief hit so hard it was almost painful.
Andy unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Brian’s easy smile faltered the second he saw Andy’s face. “Hey. You okay?”
The question broke whatever thin dam was left.
“No.” His voice wavered as he shook his head violently. “Something’s wrong.Verywrong. With Tess.”
Chapter 28
Time warped in the van—rushing and dragging all at once, until she couldn’t figure out how long it’d been since she’d been kidnapped. After the initial burst out of the parking lot and a few hasty turns, the van settled into a speed that felt like local traffic.
At first, she tried to pay attention to the route they took—counting turns, marking the sway of the vehicle as it curved left, then right, and listening hard for anything that might anchor her to a place. Train tracks. A horn. The rhythm of tires changing from asphalt to concrete or gravel. But it was all too much—too many details piling on top of one another until none of them stuck. Minutes stretched and slipped through her fingers. Eventually, she stopped trying to track everything. The effort only made her head pound harder.
When the van finally slowed and stopped, handsclosed around her upper arms and yanked her upright. She stumbled, disoriented, and her panic spiked. She screamed—once, sharp and desperate—before a fist caught the side of her head. Light exploded behind her eyes. She would’ve gone down if the grips on her arms didn’t tighten, keeping her on her feet just long enough to throw her over a shoulder.
The world tipped and bounced as they carried her. Downward. Steps—too many to count—each one jarring her skull until her vision swam. Then she was dumped unceremoniously onto concrete. Pain shot through her already bruised hip and shoulder, knocking the breath from her lungs. She lay there for a second, dizzy and spinning, forcing herself to stay awake. Passing out could be dangerous, and she was afraid she’d never wake up again.
The air was cool and damp, carrying a musty smell. Beyond her own breathing and their movements, there was nothing—no voices, no traffic, no TV hum, nothing to suggest anyone nearby who might hear her if she screamed again. Her best guess was that she was in a basement—but whether it belonged to a house, an apartment building, or a business, there was no way to know.
She swallowed a wave of nausea. “Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?
The only response she received was a gruff command to shut up.
Footsteps moved away. Voices followed—low, indistinct murmurs she couldn’t understand. She twisted her wrists, testing the restraints, but the plastic only chafed and burned, scraping skin raw without giving an inch. When she stretched her legs, she hit something hard with her foot, realizing after a moment that it was a wall.
Shifting to sit up as best she could, she pressed her back against the hard surface, her breathing shallow as she waited—but for what?
The space in front of her filled again, close enough that she caught the smell of stale smoke mixed with a masculine scent. Without seeing him, she felt the attention narrow and sharpen. Then he leaned closer, close enough that his voice brushed her ear.
