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. Very wrong. With Tess.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
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, hands closed 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.
“You’re going to talk to your brother,” he said quietly. The statement startled her—what did Andy have to do with any of this?
The man continued. “You’re going to sound scared. You’re going to tell him to do what we say and not to call the police. And you are not going to ask questions. Understand?”
Her pulse hammered. Yup, she understood all of that—especially the scared part. She wouldn’t have to fake that at all.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“If you say anything else,” his hand closed around her upper arm, fingers digging in just enough to make his point, “this ends badly. For him and for you.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat.
The grip loosened. A phone began to ring nearby—not muffled, not distant. Loud. On speaker.
“Hello?”
Her mouth was as dry as sandpaper. She forced the words out anyway. “And—Andy?”
Her voice sounded wrong to her own ears—thin, stretched, like it had traveled too far to reach him. But it was hers.
Relief broke through the fear just enough to hurt.
“Tess?” Andy’s voice came through the phone, sharp with panic. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
Her chest seized. She clenched her hands behind her back, nails digging into her palms as she focused on the one thing she’d been told to do.
“Listen to me,” she said, the words tumbling out too fast, fear bleeding through despite her effort. “Do what they say. Don’t call the police.”
