Page 145 of Missile Strike

The back of her neck prickled, instinct warning her to keep perfectly still. She slanted her gaze to the right. Dark wood, tall, like a bookcase or chest of drawers. Close enough to brush with her elbow.

A wall?

No. A piece of furniture. To her left, boxes stacked in a tower, the edge of a rug draped over them.

The surrounding space was cramped. Claustrophobic.

Her breath hitched. She raised her head.

Talia sat in a straight-backed wooden chair, less than three feet away, the light from her phone casting eerie shadows across her face. Head down, she stared intently at the screen.

Memory snapped into place. Her kitchen. The syringe.

The betrayal.

Isabella’s eyes adjusted, bringing the shadows into sharper focus, aided by the light from Talia’s phone. Furniture. Boxes. Corrugated metal walls.

No windows. No light.

The realization slammed into her.

A storage unit.

No. No. No—

She tried to breathe, but her ribs refused to expand. The edges of her vision blurred.

“Finally.” Talia looked up. “You’re awake. I was beginning to think I gave you too much.” Her tone—as if this were any other day—and she hadn’t just drugged and kidnapped someone.

Isabella’s fingers itched with the desperate need to ground herself. But they wouldn’t bend. She couldn’t reach—

“I know what you’re thinking.” Talia sank back into her chair and crossed her legs. “Dig your nails into your skin, feel the pain. That’s how you cope.” She moved her head as if she could see around the piles of boxes to Isabella’s bound hands. “Just enough to anchor yourself.”

She studied Isabella for long moments. “But not tonight.”

A low rattling wheeze left Isabella’s throat. Panic shuddered through her limbs, vibrating the chair.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Izzy, stop that or I’ll have to put tape over your mouth.” Talia reached down to where a roll of silver duct tape rested next to her chair. “It’s a good thing it’s the middle of the night and no one else is around.”

Isabella’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth when she tried to swallow, and her throat felt too tight, too thick. If she lost control, she’d never make it out of here alive.

Danny.

You feel vulnerable right now. Helpless.

He’d frightened her. Exposed her deepest fear.

You’ll have to overcome that feeling and focus if you want to save yourself.

Then he’d shown her how to defeat it.

He’d given her the tools to save herself.

Her eyes fell shut. She pictured him asleep in her bed, hair falling across his cheek, his bare chest rising and falling beneath the sheet.

Peaceful. Calm.

Her lungs expanded a bit more, just enough for her to choke out a question. “Why?”