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Rusty straightened his shoulders and rolled out his neck as the kidnap van slowed to a crawl, about twenty minutes into the drive.

He and Cross hadn’t talked much, with ski-mask dude peering in at them.

Rusty’s heart was slowing though, and his sweat was drying.

He couldn’t be at max adrenaline forever.

If it is Tyler, what does he want? Memories of the slasher horror films Tyler liked had played like a drumbeat in his head the whole ride, making his stomach hurt. Has to be money, right? Please let it be money.

He’d tried to be cool, pay attention, had wished he got enough of a view out the small window past the masked kidnapper to recognize landmarks, but all he’d seen was gray sky and occasional overpasses or traffic lights. No convenient street signs, no store signage.

Twenty minutes from Mrs. Murinko’s. That covered a fair bit of Eugene. The angle of the sun suggested they’d driven south, rather than west toward the arena, but that was all the information he’d managed to gather.

Mrs. Murinko. God, I hope she’s okay. If they hurt her… A wash of acid hate rose in the back of his throat. If fucking Tyler had done something to that old lady, Rusty would rip his bleach-blond head right off his shoulders and spit in his neck. And if they hurt Cross…

Fuck.

He was going to wear that word out at this rate. He hated being helpless, hated worse seeing Cross there with him.

The van turned another sharp corner, slowed more, bounced slightly, and stopped.

The familiar rattle of a closing garage door dimmed the light.

The masked guy’s face disappeared from the window and a moment later, the doors of the van opened revealing short douchebag.

Taller douchebag was pulling his ski mask straight.

Probably just put it back on. Driving in a ski mask would attract notice.

Short-guy said, “We’re going to take you out one at a time.

” He was pitching his voice low and different, but now Rusty had no doubt at all that was his nasty ex behind the mask.

Tyler. Motherfucker. Rusty struggled to keep the anger front and center, trying to crowd out his fear and guilt at bringing Tyler into Cross’s life.

Most people survive kidnapping, right? He was pretty sure he’d read that somewhere.

The van stood inside a double-car garage.

Tools lined the walls, and the only light came from a pathetic overhead bulb.

The marked-up studs and pitted floor suggested the place had seen better days.

Tall-guy pulled out his gun and stood back, watching them.

Tyler unlocked Cross’s handcuff from the floor bolt and closed it on his other wrist. “Get out. Stand over there.”

“I need to help him. He doesn’t have his crutches,” Rusty told Tyler.

“That’s a walking boot thing. He’ll manage.”

“If he destroys his ankle worse, the Rafters will sue you for every penny you’ll ever make.”

Tyler’s wild laughter made Rusty flush, suddenly aware how stupid that sounded. “You’re so cute.” Tyler smacked Rusty’s cheek hard. “I’m going to unlock you. Put your hands behind you and I’ll cuff your wrists together. Try anything stupid, and my friend will make sure Cross never walks again.”

Seething, nauseous, new sharp sweat running down his back, Rusty held still as Tyler unlocked him from the eye bolt. He put his hands together obediently, shivering as the steel closed around his other arm.

“Right,” Tyler said. “Out of the truck and inside through the door. You first. Move it.”

Rusty stumbled ahead at Tyler’s shove and climbed the two shallow steps. “How do I open the door?” He nudged the handle with his hip, trying to scan the garage, stalling. Must be a way out, right? A weapon, a something.

“Fuck. You know what, come back down and stand back five feet.” When he obeyed, Tyler edged past him and opened the door, then gestured with the gun. “Inside.”

Rusty wasn’t sure if it was reassuring that Tyler wasn’t suddenly a super genius. On the whole, probably not.

The garage opened up into a bare, low-ceilinged family room with the musty staleness of unused space. “Straight ahead,” Tyler told him. “First door on the left.”

The door stood ajar. Rusty walked through into a small room with indoor-outdoor carpet, exposed floor trusses overhead, and cinderblock at the far end. Two sleeping bags and two buckets sat along the side walls, and Rusty really didn’t like the look of those. How long will they keep us here?

The door slammed shut behind him, and he turned in a circle, eyeing the space. Those side walls were probably drywall under the paint, which meant they might be kicked through. Something to think about.

Footsteps approached, then the door opened again and Cross limped in, his hands locked behind him, tall-guy gripping his arm.

Tyler peered in the room from behind them, still masked.

The tall man shoved Cross roughly at Rusty.

With Rusty’s wrists cuffed, he had to try to catch Cross’s impact with his hip and shoulder.

He managed well enough that Cross didn’t fall.

Cross turned to eye the kidnappers. “How are you getting in touch with my father? Or are you ransoming me with the Rafters?”

The tall man barked a laugh. “You’re pretty useless to the Rafters right now. Hopefully, Daddy still wants his kid, though.”

“I can give you his direct number. You know, make it go smoother?”

Rusty kept his mouth shut, not sure what Cross was doing.

Anyhow, the guy just laughed again. “I’m sure we’ll manage without your help. Oh.” He put away his gun and dug out a phone. “Say cheese!” He snapped a couple of pictures.

Tyler said, “Stay calm and you won’t get hurt.

Yet.” He stepped up to Rusty, peering at him out the eyeholes of the mask, the gun muzzle up against Rusty’s chest. With a tug on Rusty’s shirt collar, he pulled him one step away from Cross, two steps.

Then he slapped Rusty’s cheek, harder this time.

“Not like you know how to keep out of trouble. You’re gonna learn. ”

“Cut it out,” the other man growled at him. “I didn’t bail you out to fuck around. Money first.”

Tyler kept his gaze fixed on Rusty, breathing hard, his rank odor puffed into Rusty’s face as he trailed his fingers down Rusty’s cheek, then wrapped his hand loosely around his throat. Tyler’s pupils were dilated wide with excitement or drugs.

Rusty held his breath. Tyler tightened his grip slowly until Rusty’s neck ached, then let go. “Later.”

The masked men backed out of the room and shut the door. Rusty heard the sound of some kind of bar thumping into place, then their footsteps retreated. His throat burned. His chest throbbed where the muzzle of Tyler’s gun had sat. “I don’t think he’s quite normal.” His voice shook.

“The other dude said money. We’re no use to them dead,” Cross said loudly. He put his shoulders to the wall, eased down to sitting, and lowered his voice. “Are you okay?”

“Hanging in there.” Rusty sat next to him, trying to relax and center, like he was facing a penalty kill. “I’m just glad your folks have money.” Because whatever Tyler meant by later was scarier than a million-dollar ransom.

Cross leaned his head on Rusty’s shoulder and murmured, “See if you can spot any cameras.”

Rusty ran his gaze over the bare walls. At the same pitch, he said, “If there are any, they’d have to be in the rafters.

Let me look.” He pushed to his feet and stretched, then decided there was nothing suspicious about a captive checking every inch of their prison.

Methodically, he paced the room, staring upward, but spotted nothing more than clumps of spiderweb.

How small can a camera be these days? How the fuck would I know? Turning to Cross, he shrugged.

Cross motioned with his chin, a come-here gesture. When Rusty slid back to the floor beside him, Cross breathed, “Can you get my wallet out and into my hands? Back right pocket.”

“Sure, I guess.” They turned back-to-back. Rusty worked his fingers into Cross’s jeans, got a grip on his wallet, and dragged it free. Cross took it from him, did something, then the wallet fell between them.

“Should I get it again.”

“No. Hold still and let me work on your hands.” Cross fumbled between them, his fingers on Rusty’s wrist, then his handcuffs. Rusty heard a little click, then flinched as something narrow like a blade slid across his wrist.

“What?”

“Shh. Don’t move.”

Minutes crept by as Cross worked, then there was a grating sound and Rusty realized the band around one wrist had gone loose.

“That got it, right?” Cross asked softly.

“Yeah, I think so.” Rusty worked his hand free. “Yes.”

“Keep your hands like that, hold onto the open cuff like it’s still on, while I get mine.”

“Can you do your own?”

“Probably. It’s a bit trickier at this angle.”

Rusty stayed put, feeling Cross’s biceps rub against his own. Eventually, Cross said, “There. Done it.” He scrabbled on the floor between them for his wallet, did something to it, then slid it back in his pocket.

“Now what?” Rusty asked. “Do we lure them in here? Try to jump them?”

“Not unless we have to. Trust me?” His rising tone made that a question.

“Of course.”

Cross eased around beside him and leaned close to kiss him. Rusty let himself have this moment of comfort, his mouth open to Cross’s tongue, breathing together. The metal of the open cuff bit into his palm where he clenched it.

“Help is coming,” Cross murmured against his lips. “I promise, I swear. Not being cuffed is just to give us an added edge if it comes to a crisis. Pretend you’re still captive. Don’t do anything reckless. They have all the guns. But Amy will be coming.”