Page 233 of Things We Hide from the Light

Over the noise of the road, I could hear him talking to someone but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“Plan B,” I decided.

I could kick out a taillight and signal to other motorists that the asshole driving the vehicle had a hostage in the trunk.

The road changed. Instead of the smooth glide of asphalt, I could hear the crunch of gravel under the tires as we bumped along. This wasn’t good. Either Duncan Hugo was closer than we’d thought or Cereal Aisle Guy was taking me out into the woods to give me a tour of the inside of a freshly dug shallow grave.

I was trying to feel my way to the edge of the carpeting without pulling a neck muscle when the car came to an abrupt stop.

I flopped back onto my belly. This was definitely not good.

The trunk lid opened, and before I could roll into a striking position, I was hauled out unceremoniously.

“Jesus. Where’d you learn to drive? The bumper cars?” I complained, shrugging him off.

“Quit whining and start moving,” he said, giving me a shove forward.

We were on what had once been a gravel drive but was now overtaken by nature. In front of us was a huge barn-like building ringed with tall weeds. Beyond it, I could just make out the outline of a split rail fence.

“Are we still in Knockemout?” I asked, fighting off a shiver. No coat plus a healthy dose of fear made the night air feel even colder.

The henchman didn’t bother answering me. Instead he shoved me forward again.

“If you let me go now, you probably won’t have to do any prison time,” I said as I limped along in the shadow of the barn.

“I’m committed now, sweetheart. There were witnesses. There’s no going back for me.”

In the shadowy night, my abductor no longer looked like a handsome gym-going accountant. He looked like a man who enjoyed making babies cry.

“You sound like you blame me for this.”

He shook his head. “I warned you at the bar. I said, ‘Don’t make yourself a target.’”

“I do recall something like that,” I said as he unlocked the heavy exterior door of the barn. It was the only opening I had, so I took it.

I spun around and took off into the dark, but my broken heel and the uneven gravel made running impossible. I felt like I was in the middle of one of those nightmares where you’re trying to run but you’ve forgotten how.

A big, meaty hand closed around my shoulder and I was yanked backward.

“You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?” he told me as he threw me over his shoulder.

“I get that a lot. So you’re in real estate, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

He carried me back to the door, then dumped me on the floor inside.

It was pitch-black and I froze, trying to get my bearings. “You know real estate doesn’t land people in prison often. Not like abducting women from grocery stores,” I said as I got to my feet.

“Bigger the risk, the bigger the reward,” he said in the dark.

That was Pritzger Insurance’s unofficial motto.

I heard asnickand then an overhead light fixture illuminated the space. It was a fancy foyer for a barn. The floor was stamped concrete and the wood-clad walls were nicer than my place inAtlanta. Electricity. That was good. Maybe it meant there would also be a phone somewhere inside.

On the wall directly across from me was a large metal sign that said Red Dog Farm.

Realization dawned. This was the foreclosed property where Nash had found the runaway horse. Had Hugo been this close all that time?