HEATHER

T he abduction happened so fast that Heather was in the van before she fully understood what was happening to her.

Her eyes hadn’t even adjusted to the darkness of the van before she was plunged into even more darkness by a black bag being put over her head.

She heard herself ask, “What’s happening?

” several times without getting any kind of answer.

She was shoved unceremoniously into the back wall of the van by one of the men, and she could hear the others sit down around her as the engine roared.

Several thoughts popped into her head before she really worked out the danger she was in.

She was in shock, and all she could think about was what Cole would assume.

Would he think she had taken off without him, ditched their date?

Would he even realize she was gone? How long would it take before he did?

Then her kidnappers started talking amongst themselves. “That was easier than I thought,” one said.

“Don’t get comfortable,” a low voice responded. It sounded like it was coming from the driver’s seat. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

“Peeled for what?” the first man said.

A third voice chimed in. “Cops, duh.”

“Look for any suspicious vehicles,” said the voice Heather thought belonged to the driver. “Not all cops are advertising themselves.”

“They’ll advertise themselves if they want to go faster, won’t they?

” said the third voice. He sounded young and full of himself.

Heather decided to call him the hothead, just to keep them all straight.

The one who was driving sounded older, like he knew what he was doing, like he had done this sort of thing before. Heather decided to call him the leader.

“Please,” she said, trying to appeal to their humanity. “I don’t know what you want. At least tell me why you’re doing this.”

“Don’t talk to the goods,” the leader said to everyone who wasn’t Heather.

Heather wasn’t about to give up. “Can you at least tell me if you’re planning to kill me?” Her heart was beating a mile a minute, but she didn’t let it show. She needed to project a calm demeanor above all else. Somehow, she knew that was going to be the key to her survival.

Someone whose voice she hadn’t heard yet laughed at her question.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he said. And then he called her something nasty, and she glared from behind her blindfold.

This voice, more than all the others, sounded like trouble.

There was a coldness to him, an emptiness she’d only ever seen in interviews with serial killers.

He seemed to be reveling in her fear. So she decided to call him the psycho in her head.

“Can’t you just tell me where you’re taking me at least?

” she asked, not because she thought she would get an answer, but because she wanted to keep them talking to her.

The more they said, the more information she got about them.

And she intended to memorize every second of this trip just in case she got away.

Also, it kept her from thinking too hard about what her ultimate fate was going to be.

To think, just a few days ago, her biggest worry was that she might have fractured a bone in a nasty fall.

Now, she had to ask herself whether she was even going to get out of this alive, and she didn’t like the answers she came up with when she actually thought about it.

So that was that. Thinking was off the table.

Just talk and memorize , she advised herself.

“Please?” she begged the men in the van.

“I promise I can’t do anything about it. ”

Someone finally answered her question, and by his voice, she could tell it was the hothead.

“Obviously, we can’t tell you where we’re going,” he said with a scoff.

“That’s kind of the whole point of the hood.

” He laughed at her, but she still preferred him to the psycho. She decided to keep speaking to him.

“What am I going to do, call my mom and give her my new address? My hands are tied, literally.” She tried to tug her own wrists apart.

They’d been taped together shortly after the hood was put over her head.

Whoever had done it had done a thorough job of it.

She hadn’t been clearheaded enough to count at the time, but now that she thought back, she recalled that tape going around her wrists a number of times.

And they had taken her phone straight out of her hands the second she was inside the van, before the door had even closed.

Heather was certain she had counted four men when she was taken.

One was pushing her from behind, and two more pulled her into the van.

The fourth was driving. But she had only heard the voices of three so far.

One of the men was tight-lipped, apparently.

She decided to call him the muscle, since he didn’t have anything at all to say.

He just manhandled her when he was told to do so — one of those obedient goons who were reliable but not inventive.

The leader must have been somewhat dependent on this man’s loyalty.

“You know I was on a first date when you took me,” Heather said, recalling all the times she’d heard of kidnap victims surviving because they managed to humanize themselves to their kidnappers.

“My poor date probably thinks I ditched him.” She tried to laugh, but she was sure she wouldn’t have been convinced if the roles were reversed.

There was a reason she was a stunt double and not a leading lady.

After several more minutes, the van slowed and took a sharp turn.

Wherever they were going, they seemed to have arrived.

The sound around her had changed. A different pitch maybe, or a different quality.

Heather got the distinct impression they had just entered a large indoor space. “Is this a parking garage?” she asked.

“Shut it!” was all the answer the psycho would give her.

This time, she was scared enough to do as he demanded.

It was strange to judge someone based solely on the quality of their voice, but she wasn’t being given much of an alternative.

And she had to keep her mind busy to keep herself from panicking completely.

Slowly, the van came to a stop. Heather heard the side door slide open, and someone’s arms wrapped around her to shift her out of the vehicle.

When her feet touched the ground, her fear finally caught up with her.

If they were going to hurt her, this was where they would do it.

She had allowed herself to be taken to a second location, and everyone knew that was the last thing you were supposed to do.

She started to berate herself, telling herself she should have fought and screamed immediately when the first man laid his hands on her. She should have fought like her life depended on it to not get into that van, because her life probably did depend on it. And now it was too late.

“Please don’t kill me,” she murmured, but no one seemed to hear her.

They would not likely grant her request anyway, and she was delusional to think they would.

Whoever had her now moved her to where they wanted her like she was little more than a piece on a game board.

Both his hands were on her upper arms, and he was just short of lifting her off the ground.

The man maneuvered her until she was sitting in a chair, and then she felt and heard the same tape that was around her hands being placed around her ankles.

“All right,” said the voice of the leader. “We’re going to need you to call your father with our demands.”

For a moment, Heather was stunned again. What could they possibly want with her father? Her family wasn’t rich. They were barely even middle class. Not only had her father never had any kind of power that she was aware of, he wasn’t even in her life. “What do you want from my father?” she asked.

“A million apiece should just about do it,” said the man who was talking to her. “He can come up with that easily, can’t he, Jessica? It’s a drop in the bucket to him.”

“I…” Heather started to respond before she really knew what she was going to say. She was shocked. Jessica ? “I’m Heather,” she finally managed.

The hothead spoke up, “Don’t be cute with us, Jessie. We know who you are. Do you think you can hide from anyone? That’s the cost of being a star. So, just accept how lucky you are, and pay up. Or get your dad to pay up. Whatever. Consider it a celebrity tax.”

This was ridiculous, and Heather was just beginning to work out why.

“Wait. You think I’m Jessica Johnson?” She couldn’t help laughing a bit at how absurd the situation was.

“My name is Heather! I mean, it’s an understandable mistake.

I’ve been told I look a lot like her. But you’d think if you were actually going to kidnap someone, you’d double check that you had the right person. ”

“Nice try, Jessica.” The psycho’s voice was like ice in Heather’s ears.

“I’m serious,” she said. “I can call my dad if you want, but he’s going to be confused.”

“It’s her,” said the hothead. “Not exactly a common hairstyle. This is just her last-ditch effort to trick us into letting her go.”

“I’m not lying!” Heather shouted, desperate to convince them. “I have this hairstyle because I’m Jessie’s stunt double. I’m serious. Pull up a photo of her and you’ll see. It’s not me.”

“Just sit tight.” That instruction came from the leader, and then Heather heard footsteps walking away from them. She seemed to have thrown a wrench into whatever their plans were. Well, in all fairness they had thrown the wrench into their own plans by kidnapping the wrong woman.

By the sudden quiet, Heather guessed she had been left with one man to guard her. She wondered which it was and hoped it wasn’t the psycho. Finally, she heard him mutter, “Huh.” And then, to her shock, he ripped the hood off her head.