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There in the small ditch is the beach cruiser. I’m out of the truck, running to where it lies, and I see the contents of her purse spilled beside the basket—including her phone.
“Fuck,” I growl, gripping the sides of my hair and looking up and down the road.
Nothing is out here, and at night, no one would’ve seen. Whipping out my phone, I text Doug to get out here ASAP, then I call the Beaufort guys I know for backup.
My insides are in knots as I slowly retrace my steps to the shoulder, scanning the ground for anything, any footprints or tire tracks or lost items. The thick grass obscures everything except in one spot where it’s slightly uprooted, where a vehicle might have pulled off the road.
My next text is to Gwen.Found the bike, no Britt. Need Edward.
There’s only one way off this road, but after that, they could’ve gone anywhere. Britt’s new theory about the case is in my head. We were trying to find a reason Stan would hide behind Gary. Maybe this was it.
CHAPTER28
BRITT
Intense sunlight shines on me, and I sit up to find I’m in a small tower room overlooking the ocean. My mouth is so dry, and a metallic taste is on my tongue. I squint against the sun, trying to get my bearings.
In front of me, a door leads to a balcony, and I run to open it, rushing out into the brisk morning air. It’s more of a widow’s walk, and a briny wind whips steadily against my face. Spinning all around, I try to figure out where I am. I don’t see a single house. My only surroundings are the ocean straight ahead and shrubby wax myrtles spreading out on each side.
Taking a deep breath, I yell for help as loud as I can, but a gust of wind hits me in the mouth, stealing my breath and muffling my cry.
Returning to the small room, my heart beats too fast. A set of stairs is against a back wall, and I rush down them only to find a locked door at the bottom. It’s dark at the bottom of the stairwell, but I beat on the door, yelling for anyone to let me out.
Silence is my only reply.
Walking up the stairs again slowly, I see a wet bar with a small sink in the opposite corner. I pour myself a glass of water and sip it as I look around for a restroom. Nothing. Sitting on the bed, I rub my fingers over my eyes trying to remember what happened.
The man who kidnapped me knew who I was. I didn’t know for sure, but I’m certain it was Stan Roswell.Why is he doing this?Aiden’s question is the same as mine, and I still don’t know the answer.
A scuff of footsteps coming up the stairs tells me I’m about to find out.
Keys rattle as the door is unlocked, and the stepping resumes, climbing higher. Fear tightens my throat with every tap, and I back slowly to the balcony door. A dark head appears, and he turns on the landing, leveling his eyes on mine and giving me an unsettling smile.
“Good. You’re awake.” His voice is even with a touch of an accent I can’t place.
“Who are you?”
“You don’t remember me?” He places a hand on his chest, feigning sadness. “You hurt my feelings.” Closing the space between us, he drops the pretense. “I guess it has been a while. Hold this.”
Shoving a copy of theEureka Gazettein my hand, he positions it under my chin. Lifting his phone, he snaps a photo and turns like he’s about to leave.
“What do you want from me?” My voice is a panicked cry.
“Nothing.” He’s back on the stairs, walking down quickly.
I don’t understand, but it might be my last chance. “I need to use the restroom!”
The top of his head is all I can see when he stops, and he lifts his eyes to mine, studying my expression. I imagine I look pretty wild, but I hold steady. Turning, he walks up the stairs again, crossing the room to where I’m standing.
His hand shoots out, and he grips my chin so hard, I yelp. “At this time you have value to me. But if you become a problem, I will get rid of you. Understand?”
I don’t understand at all, but I nod quickly. He releases my face and turns away again. “Follow me.”
Hesitating, I watch him start down the stairs again. He’s near the bottom when he stops. “Last chance.”
Moving quickly, I go to the stairs and follow him to the door. When we’re on the other side, he grips my arm, guiding me along a wood-paneled, wood-floored hall lined with pictures of people I don’t know to a small bathroom.
He pushes me inside and pulls the door shut. “You’ve got five minutes.”
