Page 93

The janitor. The mall. A hand clamping over her mouth. Being shoved into that old brown van.

She’d fought hard—kicked, screamed against the hand silencing her, clawed at her attacker, even broken his nose. But the sharp prick in her neck had ended her efforts to escape. As the drug took hold, she’d tried desperately to focus on the men in the van. The hulk who had grabbed her. The driver with the ball cap pulled low. Their accomplice with terrifyingly dead eyes waiting for her with the chilling smile. She’d demanded answers and tried to reason with them. But they’d ignored her completely as darkness claimed her.

Now she forced her eyes open, blinking against harsh fluorescent light. A cell. Maybe eight by ten feet. Concrete walls, a tiny barred window too high to reach, and a steel door with a small observation window. A narrow cot beneath her and another against the opposite wall where a woman in nondescript gray scrubs huddled, knees drawn to her chest.

“Where are we?” Haisley asked, her voice a raspy whisper.

The woman—girl really, probably around twenty—glanced nervously at the door. “An island,” she whispered. “That’s all I know. I’ve only been here a few days.”

Haisley’s heart hammered. An island. That meant they’d transported her somewhere—probably out of the country—while she was unconscious. How long had she been out? God, what day was it? “Do you know what they plan to do with us?”

The girl shrank further into herself. “I’ve tried to listen. Earlier, I heard chatter about some big event coming soon.” A guard shuffled in the hallway just outside their door. She gasped and paled. Then her voice dropped even lower. “No more questions. They’re always watching, and we’re not supposed to talk.”

Haisley glanced up and found a pair of cameras in the corner of the room.

“I understand. Has anyone hurt you?” Haisley tried to catch her eye, to forge a connection.

But the girl turned toward the wall. “Sorry. I don’t want trouble.”

Haisley’s throat tightened as she took in their prison. No obvious weaknesses in the walls or door. The narrow window might as well have been decorative. From outside, dusk poured in. Waves crashed against rocks. Normally, she would have found the sound soothing, but now it only emphasized how isolated they were.

She should never have gone to meet that janitor alone. She’d been so excited about the potential lead that she’d thoughtlessly put herself in the deserted hallway and walked right into their trap.

Nash would be frantic by now. The memory of him sleeping beside her, his protective arms around her, made her chest ache. She’d wasted so much time running from him, from them. Two years ago, she’d convinced herself that leaving was her only option.

She’d been wrong. Being without him these past years had been far worse.

And now she might never get the chance to tell him the whole truth or confess how much she regretted ever leaving him.

Focus. She had to. That was her only hope of escape.

Haisley forced herself to study the cell again. She needed to note every detail, memorize the guards’ routines. Then she could look for patterns and weaknesses, see if she could persuade anyone to help her. She refused to wait helplessly for rescue. Even though Nash would tear the world apart to find her, these bastards were good. He might not be able to scrape together enough clues to track her down.

Her best guess? She’d been abducted by the ring who used that bogus rug import business’s website to sell their prey. Would she be next—another listing, another woman to be auctioned off to a brutal, wealthy stranger to endure whatever his sick, entitled mind wanted? Haisley’s blood froze. Bile rose in her throat.

No. She refused to be just another victim. She’d observe. Gather intelligence. And the moment an opportunity presented itself, she’d be ready.

Because she had too much left unsaid, too much left undone. She had a life to get back to. A love to fight for.

Somehow, some way, shehadto make it home to Nash.

Suddenly, a sharp rap on the cell door made both women jump. The metallic clink of a key in the lock had Haisley whipping around. Two male guards entered, too hulking to resist. They hauled her to her feet before dragging her out the door.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded in a bright-white, sterile hallway. “Where am I? What’s going on?”

Neither answered, merely tightening their grips as they forced her toward a blue metal door, punched in a code on the keypad, then shoved her inside.

Inside was a sterile examination room where a woman in scrubs under a white lab coat sat behind a computer.

The middle-aged blonde looked up from her laptop and sent the guards an impassive expression. “4479?”

“Yes, doctor,” answered the goon on her right.

“I’m good here. Resume your post.”

Both sentries nodded and took up positions on either side of the door, blocking any hope Haisley had of escape.

She tried not to despair. At some point, someone in this facility would get complacent, slip up.