Lorne is miles away on the other side of the property. No amount of gunfire would alert him. Have I been gone long enough for him to come looking for me?
Erin took her phone with her, so I can’t make an emergency call. The SUV is still running, but if I try to drive away, she’ll shoot Conor.
If I step out of this car, they’ll take me.
The thought hits me with a wave of dizziness, shooting black dots across my vision. I feel like I’m going to puke.
Without moving my upper body, I slide my hands around, searching the glove box and the spaces between the seats and console. Locked. Empty. No weapons. Nothing I can use to defend myself.
How badly is Conor injured? There’s no visible blood or injuries. Did they knock her out? What if she wakes in the middle of this?
She’s a fighter. She’ll get herself killed.
An engine sounds in the distance. Up ahead? Heart racing, I lean forward as a sedan tears around the corner in reverse, coming straight at us.
The woman doesn’t acknowledge it. Doesn’t move the gun away from Conor. Doesn’t take her finger off the trigger.
The car stops a few feet away from her. A man climbs out of the driver’s seat, and the trunk pops open. Silver hair and dusty jeans, he looks around the same age as the woman.
They don’t glance at each other as he ambles to Erin’s body, lifts her, and tosses her into the trunk.
Pain stabs through my chest and simmers bile in my throat.
John’s behind this. He sent these people for me, and if I don’t cooperate, Conor won’t live.
I would choose death over going back to him, but I would never choose Conor’s death.
He knows that.
They brought Conor here to ensure I go quietly.
“Get out of the car!” The woman bellows, shaking me into full-body tremors.
Instinct screams at me to run, to jump behind the wheel and slam the SUV in reverse.
But Conor… I can’t leave her.
The woman leans down, touches the gun to Conor’s head, and meets my eyes through the windshield.
My body refuses to move, my limbs frozen and unresponsive.
Until she applies pressure to the trigger.
I launch toward the door, smacking at the lock and handle, and tumbling out. “Don’t shoot. Please, don’t shoot.”
“Listen up, little girl.” The woman eases back on the trigger, but the gun remains against Conor’s head. “John doesn’t want the redhead to die. He said he’d hate to do that to his son. But if you don’t do as you’re told, I’m pulling this trigger.”
She already killed Erin without remorse, and she looks dead set on adding Conor to the trunk of that car.
I hold up my hands as my heart jangles in a block of ice. “Whatever he’s paying you, we’ll pay more. Name the price.”
Lorne and Jake would sell the ranch in exchange for our lives.
“Not everything has a price.” She sneers.
So John offered them something invaluable. It’s either blackmail or he’s dangling the life of a loved one over their heads.
“Is he threatening one of your children?” I glance between them. “A son? A daughter?”
The man tenses, and his eyes lose focus.
“Is this woman your wife?” I ask him.
His hand forms a fist at his side, fingers curling around a wedding band.
“John told me he’d save my baby sister.” I take a cautious step toward Conor. “Three years old. Huge brown eyes. She had this smile…” I draw in a breath, and my mouth quivers into my own smile. “You just felt it, you know? Every time she looked at me, I felt that precious smile way down deep. But I’ll never experience it again. She died eight months ago.”
The couple shares a look of pain and resolve before the woman turns back to me.
“My husband’s going to give you a shot to make you sleep. If you fight him…” She lowers to a squat, straddling Conor’s legs, and digs the gun into the tangle of red hair. “This one joins your sister.”
My entire body becomes one throbbing heartbeat, increasing my sensitivity to the rumble of the motor beside me, the crunch of gravel beneath the man’s shoes, and the sprinkle of sunlight filtering through the canopy.
The man removes a syringe from his breast pocket and advances. Is that what they used to knock out Conor?
“She’ll wake up from this?” My knees wobble. “You won’t kill her.”
“She’ll wake soon. We’ll even drag her off the road so she doesn’t get hit.”
What am I supposed to do? Self-defense training and shooting practice didn’t prepare me for this. If I attack, Conor’s dead. If I scream and run, Conor’s dead.
There’s only one way to save her.
Shaking uncontrollably, I grip the bracelet on my wrist, slide it above my elbow, and wedge it high on my arm. I don’t want to lose it. Whatever happens, I need a piece of him with me.