Page 115 of Noel Secrets

Ice shot through her veins.

She spun and bolted inside, slamming her hand on the garage button. The door groaned as it tried to descend—but the van blocked its path.

The men rushed forward. They knew she’d figured them out.

The larger man reached the back door before she could close it. He jammed his foot between the door and frame, then leaned in with his full weight.

Her chest was ice.

She couldn’t stop them.

The door flew open and threw her backward. She slammed into the wall. Pain exploded through her body.

He lunged, grabbed her, and clamped a massive hand over her mouth and nose.

She couldn’t breathe. Panic exploded inside.

She kicked and twisted, but the second man seized her hands and bound them with duct tape. He wrapped her ankles, then slapped a strip across her mouth.

“You’re coming with us.”

They lifted her—one at her shoulders, the other gripping her feet—and carried her out to the van. The dogs barked and clawed at the bars of their kennels, sensing something terrible happening.

The men hurled her into the back of the windowless van. She hit the floor hard. The impact stole her breath, but not as much as the fear when they slammed the doors and darkness swallowed her.

Seconds later, the van roared to life.

David …

Tears streamed down her face. Her muffled sobs pressed against the tape.

Her earlier problems vanished. All that mattered now was survival.

She might never see her son again.

The van’s tires squealed as it tore out of Darby Foster’s driveway. Clay slammed his truck into gear and shot after it. At first, he hadn’t thought much of the supply van—until the two men hurled Darby into the back.

He’d let his guard down.

Caught off guard … not a good start, Clay.

He clenched the wheel, the catastrophe in Denton flashing in his mind like a warning flare. He couldn’t fail again.

Clay punched the accelerator, closing the distance as the van weaved through the edge of town. Cold air seeped through thetruck’s vents—forty degrees and overcast, the sky as gray as his thoughts. The van veered onto the interstate and headed toward the Alabama line. Noon traffic thickened, but he stayed on them.

He locked onto the details—white cargo van, Georgia plates. Two white males, dark hair, mid-thirties to early forties.

He spotted both through the side mirrors. No indication of a man in the back—unless someone had been lying in wait. If they hadn’t hurt her yet, they were saving it for later.

Maybe they’d lead him to the person behind this. A roadside sign indicated they’d crossed the state line into Courtland County, Alabama.

Both men turned and looked straight at him.

Clay’s gut sank.

They’d made him.

The van surged forward, darting through lanes. Clay slammed his palm against the wheel. He jammed down the gas pedal, pushing his truck to the edge. Traffic thickened, forcing quick maneuvers to keep up.