Shutting the door behind her, Sabrina fumbled with the lock, her hands shaking violently on the simple push mechanism. Someone could break through it easily.
Boom!
Sabrina shrieked at the gunshot, louder now, closer, and instinctively dropped to her knees in the dark bathroom.
Then the whole house seemed to fill with gunshots, and the sounds seemed to be all around her. She slapped her hands over her ears, blinking to try and see in the darkened room. Vague shapes took form—the bathtub, the toilet, a vanity—and she launched herself at the medicine cabinet.
She knocked her hand through it, searching for something useful, in the process dumping half the contents out. Then her hands closed around a straight razor. But what good would it do against a gun?
As another blast and then a loud thump sounded from right outside the bathroom, Sabrina dropped the razor and grabbed the lid off the toilet tank. Standing just past the edge of where the door would open, she hefted it, ready to swing, even as she prayed Max would knock and tell her the threat was gone.
Instead, the door smashed inward with a loud thud, making Sabrina jump. It bounced against the wall, and then a hand caught it.
Sabrina lurched forward, raising the porcelain lid with shaky arms, hoping Adam would pause long enough at seeing her to let her get a swing in before he fired.
But it wasn’t Adam who entered. It was someone shorter, but much more muscular. Someone decked out in dark fatigues, a ski mask over his face and a pistol in his hand.
In her surprise, she hesitated, and then his fist flew toward her, smashing into her face before she could jerk out of the way. The lid flew out of her hands, shattering as it hit the ground. She fell hard after it, the sight of Max’s prone, bloodied form wavering at the edge of her vision before the world went dark.
Chapter Twenty
“What’s going on?” Tate barked into the phone, sliding Sitka’s vest on as Angie took the roads at dangerous speeds.
She was handling his vehicle like a pro, instead of a rookie who’d probably only done tactical driving at police academy.
“We’re heading there now,” Chief Griffith replied. “I don’t have any updates. You know most of the officers were with you.” His voice was dark and filled with self-blame as he said, “I didn’t see this move coming.”
Neither had Tate. In fact, Tate had thought this was the best way to keep Sabrina far away from any danger.
“Have Charlie or Max checked in?” If they had, the chief already would have told him, but Tate couldn’t stop himself from asking the question. “Do we know if Sabrina is okay?”
“I don’t know anything right now,” the chief told him patiently. “Sam and I are on our way to your place. We closed up the station. I’ll update you as soon as I can.”
He hung up without another word, and Tate looked at Angie.
She didn’t even glance his way, just hit the gas harder as Tate put his arms around Sitka to keep her from sliding around the truck. Then, mostly one-handed, he slid his own vest over his T-shirt, thankful that Angie had had the foresight to put hers on while he was trying to call Charlie back at the cabin.
Two other vehicles kept pace behind them, filled with the rest of the Desparre PD officers who’d been at the cabin to provide backup to him instead of watching Sabrina.
Frustration and anger built inside him until they burst out in a single curse.
“It’s not your fault,” Angie said, her voice high-pitched enough that he knew her outward calm was a facade. “This guy’s a software engineer. Yeah, he’s killed before, but I saw the report before I agreed to help. That murder was sloppy. He was going against a civilian, a marketing specialist with no reason to think he was in danger, not a pair of experienced officers.”
How the hell had Adam gotten the jump on Charlie and Max?
Off the job, Tate was neutral on both of them. Max was the kind of guy who loved the power of the job, who didn’t fraternize much with his fellow officers and wouldn’t stick his neck out if you were in trouble with the brass. Charlie was a longtime veteran with strict ideas about who belonged on the force—and that hadn’t included Tate’s former partner, because Peter was hard of hearing. Still, if you were in danger on the job, both men would be there in an instant. In fact, they’d both risked their lives for him in the past. He respected them as officers.
He’d trusted them to watch over Sabrina without question. Even now, having heard the sheer amount of firepower Adam must have brought to the scene, Tate wasn’t sure how Adam had gotten past both men.
Maybe he hadn’t. The hope that refused to die was foolish, he knew. But he hung on to it as tightly as he could. Because ultimately, Adam’s target wasn’t Charlie or Max. It was Sabrina.
Stalkers who got to this level of obsession often killed their targets and anyone who stood in their way. But sometimes, they’d go a different route—abduction, assault.
Tate closed his eyes, wishing he didn’t need to pray for the second choice. But at least she’d still be alive. At least he’d still have a chance to find her.
“We’re close,” Angie announced, and Tate opened his eyes, realizing he’d had them closed awhile, praying for Sabrina, Charlie and Max.
“All right,” Tate said. “Let’s—” He frowned as his phone buzzed with a text from the chief at the same time that an ambulance rounded the corner, coming from the direction of his house, sirens blaring.
They’d gotten help fast. The nearest hospital was an hour away, so they’d probably also gotten lucky, with medics happening to be nearby. It meant someone was still able to be saved. But who?
Tate’s pulse rocketed as he opened the chief’s text, hands shaking. But all it said was Scene is contained.
“Shit,” Tate breathed. It was bad if the chief wasn’t giving him news over text. The screen on his phone went blurry as tears flooded his vision. He blinked, swiping a hand over his eyes, and told himself it didn’t mean Sabrina was dead.
It didn’t mean all the impossible dreams he’d had about a real future with her were forever gone. It didn’t mean the promises he’d made to her about getting her life back had been lies.
“We’re here,” Angie announced, slamming his truck to a stop and making Sitka yelp. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Tate said, his hoarse voice marking him a liar. But even if the scene was contained, he still had a job to do. Justice to mete out.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to shove his fear and grief as deep as he could. Because being unfocused right now could get someone killed.
He stepped out of the truck, and Sitka leaped out beside him, moving one pace ahead of him as if she was trying to protect him from what he was about to see.
His house looked okay from the outside, except for the trail of blood leading down his front steps. His breath caught at the sight, then lodged painfully in his chest, and Tate faltered.
Before he could get moving again, the chief stepped outside. There was blood on his arms beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his uniform, and exhaustion and grief on his face.
As other vehicles slammed to a stop behind him and his fellow officers crowded around him to hear the news about their own, Tate stared at the chief. The air felt too heavy, too thick to get a solid breath, and his house wavered in front of him.
“Charlie was just rushed to the hospital,” the chief said. “Max died at the scene.”
A collective gasp behind him registered as the words hit Tate like a punch to the gut. No, he hadn’t been personal friends with Max, but the man had put his life on the line for Sabrina. He was only a few years older than Tate, with a wife and two young sons at home.
“Sabrina is missing.”
Tate blinked, trying to focus. Sabrina wasn’t dead.
“There were at least two gunmen here today,” the chief continued. “As Charlie was being load
ed into the ambulance, he said they were wearing all black, looked like tactical gear. And black ski masks.”
Tate swayed violently on his feet, an image in his mind of two masked men emerging from the trail parallel to him on a run five and a half years ago. Someone’s hand—Angie’s?—slapped his back and kept him upright as the chief demanded, “Talk to me, Emory. Could Adam have an accomplice?”
“It’s not Adam,” Tate breathed, a million regrets filling his mind.
He should have left Desparre the moment that news story had gone national, if not before then, when it had first been printed. He should have left Sabrina in the capable care of his fellow officers. Instead, he’d been selfish and stayed. That mistake had probably just cost Sabrina her life.
But not in a quick burst of gunfire like it might have happened if this were Adam. No, the officers who’d tried to kill him back in Boston were out for blood. His blood. And if they couldn’t have it, they’d settle for making someone he loved suffer.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sabrina’s head throbbed violently, shooting pain through her eyes as she tried to open them. Her mouth was cotton dry, and her hands and feet felt swollen and heavy.
She tried to move, tried to open her eyes. Panic flooded when she couldn’t seem to do either, and her heart pounded frantically, almost painfully. Fear sent adrenaline shooting through her system, along with a realization of the last thing she’d seen.
Officer Max Becker lying in a pool of blood outside the bathroom door. A masked man standing over her, wielding a pistol. Then, the world had shifted and disappeared.
Was she still in Tate’s house? Had the gunman left her for dead?
Swallowing back the sudden nausea, Sabrina forced her eyes open. The world in front of her swayed as it finally emerged from darkness.
She was lying awkwardly on her side on the floor. She definitely wasn’t in Tate’s bathroom or hallway but lying on dusty concrete. The world around her was dim, and she didn’t think it was just her vision. The light seemed to be coming from certain areas only, the rest of the space in darkness. She could make out the wall across from her. It was concrete, too.
Where the hell was she?
Did Tate’s house have a basement? Could she be down there? Or had the man taken her from Tate’s house?
As she tried to push herself upright, her hands and feet caught, refusing to separate. The panic intensified, bringing tears to her eyes. She was bound at her wrists and ankles, tight enough that her hands and feet were partially asleep. Movement sent pins and needles pricking her nerve endings.
“She’s awake.”
The hard, emotionless statement made Sabrina jerk, searching for the source.
Booted feet stepped into view and she twisted, straining to see the face above her.
It wasn’t covered by a mask anymore, yet she still didn’t recognize him. Somehow, her abductor looked much taller than he had in Tate’s bathroom. Lankier, too, with pale skin and reddish-blond hair. As he leaned toward her, she saw light blue eyes that didn’t match her memory of hazel eyes behind the mask. He smirked at her and stood straight again as she tried to get her mouth to work.
“Whhhoare you?” she slurred.
“Get the camera,” he called, and it took Sabrina a minute to realize he wasn’t alone.
Another set of boots moved toward her, and as she twisted to look up at the person wearing them, she saw the hazel eyes from Tate’s house. The man who’d knocked her out.
He was shorter than the first one by a solid nine inches, but he made up for it in bulk. His dark hair was sheared short, and his nose looked like it had been broken, probably more than once.
Hired guns Adam had found? It seemed more likely than him having made friends in Alaska who were willing to abduct someone for him.
The muscle-bound guy dragged a tripod across from her and set an old-fashioned video camera on it.
Dread dropped to her stomach as her fear multiplied and tears rushed to her eyes. What were they planning to do to her that they wanted to record?
Instinctively, she fought the bonds at her wrists and ankles, even though it just caused more pain.
The lanky one let out a harsh laugh and muttered, “No need. We’ll take these off for you.” The tone was so dark, it sent new fear through her.
“Who are you?” she managed, blinking until her vision cleared. “Why are you doing this?” Her voice came out stronger than she’d expected, sounded less afraid.
If Adam had sent them, why? Was he too much of a coward to hurt her himself?
“You picked the wrong man to shack up with,” the lanky one said.
His accent registered as Bostonian, and Sabrina frowned, trying to understand. Did they think she’d wanted Adam to chase after her?
The bulky one snorted. “She doesn’t get it,” he told his friend.
His accent was also distinctly Boston. But none of the information Tate had shared about Adam’s past mentioned him having lived there.
The lanky guy leaned close to her again, and Sabrina instinctively jerked back, wanting to get away.
“He didn’t warn you, did he? He let you think he was some kind of stand-up guy, but the truth is he’s a rat who’s only loyal to himself.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Sorry, honey, but you’re going to pay for it.”
“I didn’t even know who he was until a week ago,” she insisted, even though the dread building in her chest told her this wasn’t about Adam at all.
The bulky guy shrugged, standing again. “When you found out, you should have run.”
“Wouldn’t have mattered,” the lanky one put in. “He loves her, so it doesn’t matter how she feels about him.” Then he told his friend, “Get the ropes off. Camera is ready to go.”
As his friend reached for her hands, Sabrina tried to wriggle away, but he yanked her arms upward, making her gasp at the sharp pain across her shoulders.
“Stay still.” The blade of a knife slid too close to her wrists, and then her arms fell loose.
She wanted to wrench them in front of her, use them to claw at the guy’s eyes while he was close to her, but they dropped uselessly, pain pricking like a thousand tiny pins.
How long had she been restrained and unconscious? How far away from Tate’s house had they taken her?
The knife sliced again, this time through the bonds at her ankles, and then her feet were free, too. The sharp pains dancing across her feet at the sudden blood flow brought tears to her eyes.
“Get her up,” the lanky guy said. “Remember, he’ll probably take this to the cops, so no talking.”
The bulky guy pulled her to her feet, but they were still asleep and wouldn’t hold her. He grabbed her before she hit the ground, rolling his eyes as she tried to get her body to work.
She wiggled her toes and fingers, trying to get the blood flowing properly again, and just as she was starting to feel more stable, the guy let go. She swayed and fell backward against the cold concrete wall.
Glancing up, she saw more concrete above her. Where the hell was she?
The lanky guy stood across from her by the camera, against another wall. On either side of her, the space narrowed into what looked like hallways without doors to block the way. But there was only darkness, so she had no idea where either led.
“Let’s do this,” the bulky guy said, drawing her attention back to them as they both slid the masks over their faces again.
Panic struck. She knew she wouldn’t make it, but she had to try. Shoving herself off the wall, she veered toward the hallway farther from the men, but her feet still weren’t working properly, and the run she’d expected was an awkward stumble.
The lanky guy caught her easily and shoved her back into the wall.
She bounced off it, righting herself before she fell again.
“Sorry, honey. Y
ou sealed your own fate when you hooked your future to Tate Donnoly.”
This was about Tate? The nonsensical words ran through her mind as she tried to process the wrong last name they’d used. Had they confused him with someone else?
Then the red light on the camera flashed on, and they both stepped purposely toward her.
Sabrina backed up, then she hit the wall again, and they were still coming. She threw her hands in front of her face, her mind whirling. Tate had grown up in the Midwest. He’d never mentioned Boston. But these men must have seen him picking her up at the hotel, dropping her at his house. They’d seen his face, so presumably they knew him.
“Please don’t,” she begged as they took another step closer and the lanky one smiled.
Panic overtook her, sending her heart rate into overdrive. “Tate doesn’t care about me! It was all a setup. We’re not really dating.”
The bulky one snorted and then threw a punch that smashed into her cheekbone. It lifted her feet out from under her and made bright flashes of light strobe in front of her eyes.
She hit first the wall and then the ground, slamming into the hard concrete with a force that stole her breath. The sound seemed to echo in the hard-surfaced room, worsening her already-shaky equilibrium.
The other one swung a boot at her ribs, and she rolled, but not far or fast enough. It connected, sending new pain through her chest, and she curled into a ball, hoping to protect herself.
But one of them yanked her to her feet, only to hit her again, this time a punch to the other side of her face near her lips that made blood splatter across her face and fill her mouth. She flew backward, slamming into the wall.
Her head bounced against it, and her vision went dark, so she didn’t see the next hit coming.
It landed under her chin, snapping her head back into the wall yet again. Her legs crumpled, and she threw her hands out to try and catch herself. Then, she hit the ground face-first, and the whole world blessedly disappeared.
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