Stone turned to look at his boss. “No. I—”
Ford held up his hand. “DowhatI tell you,whenI tell you, or I’m locking you down.”
Instead of reprimanding him, Ford’s words gave Stone a sense of relief. With fear eating at his insides, Stone couldn’t think beyond what Hagar might be doing to Soph. Every instinct told him his boss was right. The fucker had her. And he’d been the one to let her talk him into putting her at risk and his worst nightmare had come true.
He’d known. From the second he’d agreed to Jack and Soph’s plan, he’d known the situation wasn’t under their control. Too many variables. Too many places where their surveillance would be compromised. Too many chances for Hagar to get close to Soph.
Anger and fear rose up inside him until he vibrated with energy. Before he registered what he was doing, he’d formed a fist and slammed it into Jack’s stomach.
Ford’s arms banded around Stone as Jack doubled over.
“You let him take her!” he yelled.
Jack straightened. “I’m giving you that one as a freebie.”
He eyed his colleague, his friend, and struggled against the urge to punch him again.
“Take a breath, Stone. You’re no good to her if you panic,” Ford said in his ear.
“Fuck!” He broke out of his boss’s hold and paced away. Ran both hands over his head and pulled at his hair. “We have to find her.”
“We will.” Jack moved beside him. “This fucker got her on my watch. Don’t think that doesn’t grind at me. We’ll find her. We’ll findhim. And when we do, the fucker is going down.”
“Hard.” Stone took a deep breath and held it for a second. “The fucker is going down hard.”
***
Sophie’s head hurt and her stomach churned. Moaning, she rolled to the side, her hands flying to her head as it spun to match her belly. Swallowing the bile rising up her throat, she licked her dry lips and retched at the fowl taste that coated them. Fighting to keep from throwing up, she squeezed her eyes tight and tried to remember what the hell she’d done last night.
Stomach somewhat under control, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When that didn’t bring about the threat of vomiting, she drew in another one. And another. Feeling steadier, she decided to brave moving again.
With great effort, she cracked her eyelids and tried to focus. Her vision was blurred but even that didn’t disguise the dirt beneath her.
Where the bloody hell was she?
Looking up, she took in the wood wall opposite and raked her memories for some kind of recognition. The timber boards were grayed, the gaps between them widened with age. Neither of which triggered a memory.
Deep silence surrounded her. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed and the dead quiet—and her steadier belly—gave her the courage to turn her head and look around more.
She pushed up to her hands and knees and rode out the woozy sensation that followed. Using the wall beside her, she climbed to her feet. Her head pounded.
“Bloody hell,” she whispered, setting off another beat inside her skull. Her throat felt tight, raw, as though she’d spent hours and hours singing. But she couldn’t recall doing a concert or being in the studio. Other than her aching head, tumbling stomach and sore throat, she seemed unharmed. Well, as unharmed as having a blank memory made her. Had she hit her head?
With her head still spinning, the possibility of being in an accident seemed plausible. It also made it difficult to concentrate. The last thing she remembered was… Moving through the haunted house? Laughing with—
Karen!
Head whipping around, eyes wide, Sophie lost her balance. Crashing to the ground, she cried out as pain stabbed through her hip. Crumpled on the dirt, she panted and whimpered, focused on getting her breathing even, her stomach still.
When the nausea and dizziness finally passed, Sophie rolled over and eased into a sitting position against the wall behind her. Supported, she glanced around the cavernous building and discovered she was definitely alone.
Wherever she was, and it appeared to be some sort of an abandoned barn, it hadn’t been frequented by people or animals in a long long time.
Dirt and dust lay in piles where she imagined the breeze blew through the cracks in the walls. Sun streamed in through holes in the roof above her and the large doors at the far end of the building sat crooked on their rusty hinges.
The place was a death trap, waiting to collapse at the first strong wind or go up in flames at the drop of a match.
Regardless of the fact she still had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten here, she had to get out. Waiting around wasn’t her style. It was how she’d ended up in the States, why she’d finally had enough of the madman following her…
