I wanted you in my bed.
Rowan snorted in amusement.Work those V-lines extra hard. They frame something delicious.
Why you should be in my bed. Right now. Lunch?
She was in the middle of replying that he could help her move her stuff in, and then they could eat when someone grabbed her from behind and wrapped their hand tight across her mouth. Their other arm wrapped tight around her middle, pulling her body tight against a large frame.
Shock immobilized her until finally, her fight or flight kicked in. There would be no flight. Whoever held her was strong and much larger than she was. Fight then. She went from petrified to a rabid animal. Twisting and jerking and drumming her shoes against the person’s shins. Her backward headbutt was rewarded with a grunt.
She felt her phone slip from her hand. Not good.
“Fucking shoot her up already,” the man demanded. His deep voice telling her that it was definitely a male holding her.
Oh God, she thought, they were going to inject her with something. She kept struggling, but the man’s grip was crushing.
“Listen, lady, this will all be over soon enough if your boyfriend Stanton gives my boss what they want. If he doesn’t...well then, I imagine you’ll be an early holiday bonus for me.”
Rowan went completely still, stunned. Was this man insinuating he’d keep her if Will didn’t do what this guy’s bossasked? Was this truly happening because of William? What the hell had he gotten himself involved in? How would these people even known the two had dated? Moaning against her kidnapper’s hand as the ‘how’ came to her. The newspaper article.
Her body was shaking now as she realized she wasn’t getting out of this one on her own. Oh God, her sisters would panic. And Hugh…tears pricked her eyes at the same moment she felt a sting at her neck. The shot.
“Find a smaller trail back to the parking lot, G. No one can see me carrying a woman out of here. She’ll be knocked out in a few minutes.”
Less than that, she thought, as her body went limp.
Rowan cameto disoriented and very thirsty. She was hot and sweaty and had a hellacious headache, and…oh God, she’d been kidnapped. A moan escaped her taped mouth. She yanked at her tied hands and wiggled her bound feet.
Panic fully set in as she took in her surroundings. She was in the back of a van. There was no carpet beneath her cheek, just chipped paint. A work van? The windows were tinted, so it was hard to gauge the time of day. There were dim interior lights that, once her eyes adjusted, she could decently see. It was dark, but it could be evening or early morning, for all she knew.
She was able to squirm slightly sideways to see more of the front of the vehicle. The front proved fruitless. A metal divider was the only thing to see. There were a few plastic totes with hinged yellow lids and a folded extension ladder. There was no way of knowing how many people were upfront. Surely, not more than two if the cab was the normal two-seater work van most of the contractors she’d met drove. She then wiggled a bitmore to get a better angle of the back, and if her mouth hadn’t been taped, she would have screamed.
There was another woman bound and lying limp amongst paint-splattered canvases and tarps. Her eyes were closed, but Rowan could see that her chest was moving...she was sleeping, or drugged like she’d been. She didn’t recognize the woman, but it was apparent from what Rowan could make out in the dim interior that her clothes were designer.
It was hard to tell her hair color, but it appeared to be shoulder length. Light brown, maybe. Her age was also something she couldn’t determine with black masking tape covering half of her face. She desperately wanted the woman to wake up, not that they could communicate, but so that Rowan wouldn’t feel so alone.
She could feel tears wanting to bead and fall. She ruthlessly shut them down. Tears would do nothing for her. Panic wouldn’t serve her. She had to stay alert and focused. She decided to mentally flip through the few things she did know. The man she’d seen outside the hotel and at the stoplight had definitely been one of her kidnappers. He’d been wearing khaki cargo pants, military-style boots, and a black t-shirt.
He was a big guy, which meant he was most likely the man who’d grabbed and held her. Military? Ex-military? A mercenary? From the millisecond they’d locked eyes, Rowan could definitively say he had a dark flattop. If there was a second man, she hadn’t noticed, but then she’d been busy poo-pooing her “overactive imagination.”
One of the men was called G. Short for George? Guy? Gregory? Gregor? Unimportant for the moment. The most important bit of information she had was why she’d been taken. Not the whole story, of course, but a partial explanation. The men’s boss believed she was William’s girlfriend, and that’s why she was taken. She was blackmail and insurance all rolled intoone. Give them what they wanted, or he wouldn’t get her back. The other woman must be someone important to Will too.
Thinking back to the night of the Philbrook Museum event, William had been distracted and mentioned he was having an issue at work. A security breach…It had to be connected. It was clear she was a mistake. Not that that knowledge would help her now.
Hugh would be looking for her. Hewouldfind her. He was the fiercest man she knew. He wouldn’t rest until she was back in his arms. She blinked back more tears that wanted to fall, thinking of what her family must be going through. She’d been shot only a few months ago, but at least they’d known where she was.
The van hit a pothole in the road, bouncing both women’s bodies against the hard floor. The other woman’s eyes flew open, and terror-filled eyes met Rowan’s.
22
Hugh thought he’d felt real fear before. He’d hydroplaned on an interstate with both his young sons in the backseat. Nine-year-old Bran fell out of a tree he wasn’t supposed to climb, dislocating his shoulder and suffering a concussion. Patrick and his friends were robbed at gunpoint during his high school senior Spring Break. Mom calling to tell him his father was having chest pains, and they were on their way to the hospital. Rowan getting shot.
There had been fear—this was terror. Blind, frantic terror. Rowan was missing. Gone.
She never texted him back about meeting for lunch even though his phone showed she was texting, the bubbles just bubbled. He didn’t think much of it then. She’d been jogging. He assumed she thought she’d hit send and put her phone away. An hour later, when he hadn’t heard anything, he called.
No answer.
Agitated but far from panicking, he phoned his mom.
