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My heart begins to slam against my ribs, beating hard and fast as my brain screams at me that this is my chance. The blood rushes to my ears, pulsing so loudly that I worry I might miss all the sounds I’ve come to know: the sound of the car door closing, the sound of the lock opening, the squeak of the rusty hinges on the door.
I grab the toilet tank lid, racing over to the door, I press my back against the wall next to it. My only hope is that I can surprise him and manage to hit him over the head with the ceramic lid.
I swallow hard, choking back the scream I feel building, the fear and anxiety, pushing their way to the surface, but I can’t let that stop me. I lift the lid over my head, poised and waiting.
This is my only chance.
The door flies open, slamming against the wall and the guy stops in the doorway. It takes him a second to realize that I’m not where he left me.
“What the fuck!” he screams, thrusting himself through the doorway, ready to search for me. But I don’t give him that chance.
“Call me princess again, motherfucker!” I yell out and when he turns around, I swing the ceramic lid, connecting with his face and head, knocking him to the ground. The impact reverberates back down my arms and I drop the lid on his limp body as he lies on the floor, unconscious.
I don’t bother to wait to see if he wakes up or to see who he is. I don’t care to find out and I have no time to waste.
I run out the open door, finding the car parked out front of the motel, the engine still running. This moron left the fucking car running like he thought it would be his quick getaway if he needed it. He only set himself up for failure.
I climb into the driver’s seat, slamming the car into reverse, I haul ass out of the parking lot. The gravel kicks up behind me and that’s when I hear the gunshot, shattering the back window of the car. I scream out loud, the car swerving all over the road as I shift into drive.
Ducking down, I drive out onto the road, trying to get away as he continues to fire the gun, missing me, missing the car. And when I look in the rearview mirror, I see him standing in the road, an outline of the figure in the dark, flanked by a sign.
Redwood Motel.
That’s where he kept me. I burn that name and the look of the sign into my brain, needing to remember it.
I have no idea where I am, and I don’t want to pull over. Luckily for me, this idiot has a car with a GPS and I tap the screen, looking for a police station. As much as I want to go home, as much as I want to find Ethan and my family, I know that I want this guy caught.
He’s now stuck at that old, rundown abandoned motel without any way of getting out of there. He can’t get far on foot, so if I can get to the police first, maybe they can find him. Maybe this will all be over.
CHAPTER5
ETHAN
It’s been twenty-four hours since Zoey went missing. The worst twenty-four hours of my life.
The police found nothing between her place and mine when they walked the route and the detective found nothing when he came back here with me last night either. Neither her parents nor her brother have heard anything, which means that as of right now, the cops have absolutely nothing to go on.
Absolutely fucking nothing.
“Ethan?”
I look up from the stool I’m sitting on at the kitchen island to see Brandon standing there, a concerned look on his face. He should be back in Seattle, was supposed to fly out earlier today now the press release and expansion plans are out. But when I didn’t show up at work and he called to ask why, he’d dropped everything to stay here and help out.
I have no idea if Tracy is still here. I haven’t been to work or thought about any of it, grateful that Cameron and Brandon are taking care of everything. I don’t give a shit about anything at this point, nothing except for Zoey and where she might be.
“Yeah?”
“You should eat something,” he says, gesturing toward the untouched plate of food in front of me.
I shake my head, running my hands over my face. I barely slept last night, even though it had been close to three in the morning by the time the detective had left. I couldn’t switch off, my mind churning through every possible worst-case scenario imaginable. When I finally nodded off, it felt like I jerked awake only moments later, instinctively reaching for Zoey on the other side of the bed, only to find it cold and empty.
“Not hungry,” I reply.
He pushes the plate closer to me. “I know you aren’t, but you still need to eat.”
Exhaling, I reluctantly pick up the fork and take a bite of food, knowing he’s not going to back down. I’m sure the food is nice, but to me it tastes like fucking cardboard and takes all my energy just to chew and swallow it.
“You want a drink?”
