No wimps allowed.

She shuddered, noticing that the floor was slightly damp. A large push broom and three buckets sat by the door. Sniffing, she caught a fading scent of pine cleaner. And blood.

Wide-awake, she jerked her head, scanning the room again, looking for the source of the rusty iron odor. She struggled to focus on the floor in front of her nose, trying to see if there were bloodstains in the dark color. Someone cleaned up blood. A lot of it.

The pain from her twisted arm made her lay her head on the cold, damp floor. Think, McLane. How are you going to get out?

She fingered the bindings at her wrists. Rope. Bound very tight. But her feet weren’t tied. She rolled onto her right side and gave a gentle kick with her legs to lever herself up to a sitting position. Dizziness swamped her but slowly faded away. She crossed her legs like she was sitting in a kindergarten class and studied her surroundings again.

Why had he brought her here? Hell, why had he grabbed her in the first place? Surely the cranky clerk had called the police. Assuming he hadn’t hurt the clerk after he’d hit Ava. And Jayne and Derrick had to know something had happened to her. Unless they never stopped running. She wrote them off, preferring to rely on the clerk, who’d hopefully been left standing to sound the alarm.

Damn you, Jayne.

Obviously the tall man had been after Jayne and Derrick. Ava didn’t know what they’d done to anger him, but she assumed it had something to do with drugs or money. And she was trapped in the middle.

Just as long as he doesn’t think I’m Jayne.

Shoot. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed the resemblance between them and decided to hold her hostage to get what he wanted out of Jayne and Derrick. Ava knew Jayne would sell her twin to save her ass. Jayne had said that someone was after Derrick. No doubt the upstanding citizen her sister was living with had people angry with him all the time.

Ava closed her eyes and took deep breaths, seeking calm. A few minutes with her kidnapper and she should be able to talk her way out. She’d been trained in negotiating with kidnappers; surely she could apply some of that knowledge while sitting on the opposite side.

She recounted Jayne’s pleading call where she’d begged Ava to find her and Derrick a safe house. No doubt she’d known that this man was angry.

But Jayne said Derrick claimed the Bridge Killer was after him.

Ava opened her eyes, adrenaline pumping through her.

Why would the Bridge Killer want Derrick? Unless he was next . . .

She mentally scanned Derrick Snyder’s rap sheet, which she’d studied after his fingerprints had been matched to those found in Mason’s home. He’s a year older than me. She’d looked, comparing his age to her and Jayne’s.

His age matched that of the other victims.

Arrests in McMinnville, Tualatin, Newberg, Yamhill. He had local arrests going back over a decade.

She strained to recall the oldest arrest on his rap sheet.

Twenty years old. Wilsonville Police Department, for theft.

He’d been in the local area for a long time. Like the other victims.

Her breathing sped up. Was Derrick Snyder the next target of the Bridge Killer? But he’d taken Ava instead? Small lights began to flash in her brain. She stared down at the ugly carpet, her fear making bloodstains fade and reappear.

Was she sitting in the killer’s lair?

“I suspect the house will have a basement where he does his work, or a substantial outbuilding on the property to contain these men.”

She started to shake.

Mason stood back and listened as the uniform politely asked a business owner if he had camera surveillance set up that showed a street view. His thoughts rocketed in a dozen different directions as he tried to focus on the conversation in front of him.

Why did the Bridge Killer take Ava? Does he know she’s one of the investigators on the case? What will he do to her?

He fought to keep the image of Ava with a noose around her neck and her wrists neatly bandaged out of his brain. He was unsuccessful.

“God damn it!”

The cop and business owner turned to stare at him.

“Never mind,” he mumbled, moving away to lean against the brick wall of the business. He put his hands on his knees, bent over, and tried to slow his breathing, staring at the dirty sidewalk. Ray’s shoes moved into his line of sight. Mason didn’t look up. He bit his lip, willing the nausea in his gut to go away. The copper taste of blood and death filled his mouth. He spat.

“We’ll find her,” Ray said. “We got twenty more cops from Portland police and every available FBI agent headed this way. They’re attacking this head on.”

“As they should.” What if we’re too late?

“I don’t think he knew she was an agent,” Ray said. “Listening to what Dot said about the exchange between Ava and the perp, there was no time for her to tell him who she was.”

“But why her? Why would he suddenly grab a woman? I don’t get it. And it’s been over two hours.”

“We’ll find her,” Ray repeated.

“Fuck off,” Mason muttered. He wanted to hit someone and if Ray kept getting in his face, even though Mason knew he meant well, he was going to be the victim. Ray took half a step back.

“Sorry,” muttered Mason.

“I get it,” Ray said. “I’d want to pound on everyone in sight, not caring who it was. I’d just want someone to feel the same pain I’m in and assume it’d make me feel better.”

Mason nodded, avoiding Ray’s gaze. He straightened his back. He wasn’t doing Ava any good by having a pity party. The uniform looked over and shook his head. The business owner didn’t have a camera. Few places in the neighborhood did. It was a financial issue. They’d been lucky the convenience store had something.