The realization hit with a cold clarity that cut through the fog. Her pulse jumped, and with it came memory.
The kennel. Juno and the puppies. The look Juno had given her as if trying desperately to communicate that she was in danger.
Then a sound behind her. A footstep.
Hadley’s breath hitched as the scene replayed in her mind. She’d started to turn, her instincts already prickling with unease.
Before she could see who it was, something had struck her head, fast and hard. Everything had gone dark.
Kenny. This had to be Kenny, didn’t it?
Hadley’s stomach twisted as awareness sharpened further, and with it came another sensation.
Movement.
There was a subtle, uneven jostling beneath her body.
She stilled, forcing herself to focus.
The motion came again—a bump, then another—and she became aware of the surface beneath her. Rough carpet pressed against her palms. The space around her felt tight and enclosed. The air smelled faintly stale.
Understanding settled in, heavy and undeniable.
She wasn’t in a room.
She was in a car trunk.
Her chest tightened as panic tried to take hold, clawing its way up her throat.
Think.
She swallowed hard and drew in a careful breath, fighting to stay in control of her thoughts. Max’s face flickered through her mind—his voice, the concern in his eyes, the calls from him earlier that she’d ignored. She’d even turned her phone offto avoid them, to buy herself some time as she gathered her thoughts.
She should have answered. Should have talked to him.
If she’d known this would happen . . .
No. She stopped her thoughts. Regret wouldn’t help her now. She didn’t have time for that.
She needed to put all her energy into coming up with a survival plan.
Hadley shifted, ignoring the way her head protested, and she began feeling along the interior of the trunk. She searched the edges of the space for anything that might give her an advantage.
Most car trunks had release mechanisms, she remembered. She’d seen them before.
She just needed to find it.
Her fingers brushed along a seam. Then she felt a small indentation.
Hope flared as she pressed against it.
Nothing happened.
She tried again, more deliberately this time. The shape was there, but something was wrong.
It was gone, she realized.
The handle—the release—had been removed.
