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No matter how she fought.
Someone cursed. Another yelled. They just got loud.
She tried to open her eyes to see why, but she couldn’t.
A hard jerk sent the man on top of her to the side. His knee caught her in the chest. It hurt, but she couldn’t move away. She couldn’t move.
She knew…the drug…
“What in the hell!” Cultured voice.
“Someone’s running us off the damned road!” Older guy. “What the fuck is going on?”
Another crash sounded. Haldyn’s entire body jerked from the impact.
“There are at least three of them,” a new voice said. Higher pitched, almost feminine, but not. He hadn’t said anything before. She hadn’t realized he was even there. Was that four men? Or maybe five? Haldyn couldn’t think.
She couldn’t escape, if she couldn’t think.
“There are five of us, you bitches. Keep it together.” Cultured. Five—there were five. She had to remember that. Five.
“We can’t afford a firefight now,” Cultured voice almost growled. “Get out of here. Run, damn it. Our cars aren’t even a quarter of a mile from here. Anyone gets caught, and you’re dead. You won’t get a chance to say a fucking word. I’ll see to it myself.”
Haldyn somehow rolled sharply to the side as a loud thud almost shook the van apart. The sound of doors came next—men yelling. Lots of men.
For a moment, she thought it was Gunnar. It sounded like Gunnar.
Gunnar had seen—he would be the type to commandeer a car and chase them down. Cowboy-style. Rescue her, no matter what. Gunnar would. Gunnar and the boys of Major Crimes—they’d save her. Haldyn had complete faith in them.
Then sunlight stabbed her in the eyes.
Strong arms pulled her from the carpeted floor of the van. Haldyn felt them. She tried to fight. Her arms…lead. There was a hard muscled arm behind her back, another beneath her knees.
“There’s a transdermal patch on her neck, boss. Those damned bastards drugged her,” the one holding her now said. “She’s almost under now.”
Haldyn felt something pull. The skin of her neck.
“It’s off now.” A different voice was there then. Calmer. More refined and cultured, too. “It’s okay, Haldyn, you’re safe now. Hurry, get her to the car. I have no doubt those bastards will return. And the last thing I want to do now is get caught anywhere near this mess.”
“We can leave her here. Call 911,” another voice said. One closer to her. She felt the man’s chest rumble as he spoke. He was holding her. “Bastards took off. They had other cars parked near here.”
“No. Bring her to the car. I won’t take the risk they come back for her first. Or the wrong TSP respond. We all know the chances of getting a good cop in this town are about as likely as Congress getting real things accomplished. Haldyn’s safer with us now. Hurry. Get her to the car.”
That was the last thing Haldyn heard before the darkness took her completely.
3
Former lieutenant governor Justin Albright. Albright’s dim bulb of a brother Alex Rush. Albright’s uncle Bennett Russell. Billionaire Handley Barratt. Millionaire pharmaceutical manufacturer Banks Claireson. City councilman Dennis Lee Arnold. Councilwoman Jennifer Henedy and her dumbass husband Dr. Wallace Henedy. Millionaire entrepreneur Victor Scott and his asshole son Kyle.
And last, but not least, the latest mega-villain of Finley Creek.
Dr. Gregory Eastman’s photograph went on Detective Jarrod Foster’s case board next.
His theory stared back at him—in nonliving color. Everyone on that board except two men were dead. Funny coincidence, that.
He strongly suspected they’d all had secrets someone else had killed to protect. Maybe even the last guy standing? It was possible. It was even probable. But proving it and finding the guy—not so easy. Jarrod had been trying.
“Find anything yet? People around here are right, aren’t they? You do obsess over this guy.” The amused feminine voice came from behind him. Jarrod turned.
