Page 80 of Still Afraid

Pushing through the front doors, he continued to scan the area. Where was she?

“Chloe!”

Poirot pulled him forward into the parking lot.

There. He spotted her ponytail. “Chloe.”

A person, clothed completely in black again, including a bandana and hood over their head, shoved her forward and opened the driver’s side of an old pickup truck.

Josh ran.

The person holding Chloe shoved her inside the truck before climbing in too.

The truck peeled out of its spot, dodging people who jumped out of its path.

No!

Josh was too far away. His car was on the other end of the lot. He couldn’t get to her.

Chloe adjusted herself on the bench seat of the old pickup truck. She’d barely been able to sit up before the guy had taken off out of the parking lot, forcing her to brace herself instead of contemplating an escape.

Maybe she could jump out if he … or she … slowed going around a corner.

“Don’t even think about jumping out. That door is busted anyway. You won’t be able to open it.”

The handle was missing. She would have noticed eventually.

She slid all the way over and put on her seatbelt. Might as well not die if they were in a wreck, and the way this lunatic was driving could very likely result in a crash.

“Where is it, Chloe?”

“I don’t have your journal. I gave it to the cops. You know you could have contacted me and claimed it and not gone to all this ridiculous trouble.”

“Journal? I don’t want a stupid journal.”

“Then what is this about? I don’t have anything you would want.”

“Yes, you do.” The person banged their fist against the steering wheel. And yelped.

“Cut your hand pretty bad on the broken glass last night, didn’t you?”

Her kidnapper grunted.

Chloe considered the person. The height was similar to Breana … but no … movement and demeanor, now that she could actually analyze it, was much more masculine. As much as she had been tempted to think Breana was behind it, this was a man.

“Who are you?”

“Don’t ask questions, Chloe.”

Wait, this entire time she’d thought the person was intentionally pitching their voice lower … but maybe they were pitching it higher. If he was masking his voice, did that mean she knew him?

“I need to know who I’m dealing with. You clearly know me. I think it’s only fair.”

“Chloe. Don’t.”

The voice was familiar—

No, it couldn’t be. Her heart felt like it was being crushed. God, please don’t let my suspicion be true.