Page 23 of Girl Lost

Luna reached for the card he held between his first two fingers, but he pulled it back and said, “I expect a call in the next hour. Until then, if you so much as breathe on a police cruiser before I clear you, I’ll throw you in jail so fast your head will spin. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. I understand how to follow orders. Maybe some of us understand that better than others.” She couldn’t resist a little dig at Corbin.

Tinch held out the card again. “Good. Then we understand each other.”

“Thank you, sir.” Corbin said as Luna accepted the business card. “I’ll keep an eye on her until I hear from you.”

“Don’t push it, King.” Tinch walked to his vehicle, opened the door, and got in.

Corbin waited until Tinch drove away before he spoke. “What was that all about?”

“What does it look like?” She slid the card into her pocket. “I’m helping you. Unless you’d rather face Tinch’s wrath alone?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his expression frustrated. “I don’t get you, Luna.”

The officer who’d loaded Abercorn into the patrol car approached them. “Taking him to the station. Need a ride?”

“Yes,” Corbin said at the same time Luna said, “No.”

Corbin frowned. “What?”

“I’ve got a call to make,” she said, already pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Besides, if I so much as breathe on a police car, remember? I’ll just walk back to Abercorn’s place and catch a ride from there.” And maybe have someone look at that burn. She glanced down at her ankle. The denim was stiff and wet. She was guessing it wasn’t sweat.

“You sure?” Corbin gestured. “It’s not exactly the safest neighborhood.”

“Clearly.” She laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

She turned and walked away, rubbing the burn of sand out of her eyes. She could feel his gaze on her, but she didn’t look back. He was trying. She could see that. But it wasn’t enough.

She wasn’t ready to forgive him. Not yet.

Maybe never.

8

CONSCIOUSNESSCREPT IN SLOW,like waves lapping at the edge ofhis mind. Stryker clawed his way back to awareness,hismind sluggish and uncooperative. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Hetried to move, but his body refused to respond. Limbs heavy. Unresponsive. Why couldn’t he move?

Focus. Assess thesituation.

He was lying down. That much he could tell. Something hard and cold beneath him. Concrete? The chill seeped into his bones, intensifying the dull ache that permeated his entire body.

His arms. Behind his head. Bound. The bite of rope against his wrists. Expertly tied. No give when he tested them.

Darkness pressed in from all sides. He blinked. Once. Twice. No change. A blindfold? No ... the air felt open against his face. Just darkness then. Wherever they’d taken him, there was no light.

They. Who werethey? Shards of memories flurried in his mind. Oh, yes. The Taser. A burst of pain. Blackness.

How long ago? Minutes? Hours? His sense of time was shot.

A metallic taste coated his tongue. Blood. His own? Probably. His nose throbbed, likely bruised. Sand. He tasted sand too. Gritty between his teeth. Near the coast? An abandoned building?

He tried to lift his head. Bad idea. Nausea rolled through him, threatening to empty his stomach. They must have given him some kind of drug, then. Sedative. That would explain the heaviness in his limbs, the sluggishness of his thoughts.

Think. What’s the last thing you remember?

The SUV. Dark and nondescript. Rough hands grabbing at him. Dragging him inside. A blur of faces, all unfamiliar. The hypodermic needle. After that, nothing. Until now.

The note. Five words that had turned his world upside down.They’re watching. Don’ttrust anyone.