“Got it. But strangulation wasn’t ruled out on the children.”

“No,” said Lacey. “We couldn’t rule it out. But my gut says that’s what was done.”

“Mine too. Chris says he didn’t hear any gunshots.”

“Chris?” Lacey said sharply. “You found him?”

“Oh God, Lace. I haven’t told you. Fuck. He found me.” Michael rattled off the events of the last thirty minutes.

“It’s Daniel? Are you sure?” Lacey said softly.

“Never been so sure of anything in my life.” Michael stared at his brother as he examined Brian’s bug. The boy was gesturing excitedly as he pointed out the finer parts of the bug to his father.

“Oh, Michael. How wonderful.”

“Wonderful doesn’t begin to describe it. Now I just need Jamie back. I don’t know where to start looking. Christ, Lace. It’s the absolute worst and happiest day of my life! I want to hit something and cheer at the same time.”

“They’ll find her. She’ll be okay.”

“Don’t simply say meaningless words. I need answers.”

Lacey was silent, and Michael felt like shit.

“I’m sorry, Lace. I’m absolutely at my wit’s end. I don’t know what to do, and I’ve never felt this way before. I always know what direction to head next.”

“She’s something special,” Lacey stated, but Michael knew it was a question.

“Yes, she is. She’s the one, Lace, I know it, and I can feel it in every cell of my bones. I can’t lose her when I’ve just found her!” Michael’s hands shook. He’d spoken the truth. He hadn’t realized it until that very second. It’d taken his entire life to find the woman who fit him perfectly.

Jamie was his woman. And she’d been snatched away by a killer.

Would he get her back? He closed his eyes. Was she still alive?

Two patrol cars stopped behind Chris’s truck. One Luna County and one OSP.

Finally.

Michael ended his conversation with Lacey. Chris stood next to Michael with Brian peeking out at the cops from behind his father.

Michael mentally shook his head.

A boy should be racing down the walkway to check out the cool police cars, not hiding.

Jamie was in a trunk. An unbearable, cooking-the-bones, hot trunk. At least it was late in the evening. Thank God she wasn’t being driven about with the sun beating directly on the metal above. This heat had to be radiating up from the hot blacktop and out of the underside of the car.

Her mouth was taped shut. Her hands were tied behind her, and her feet were bound together. She pounded on the side of the vehicle with both feet and kicked where she thought the taillight should be. The damned vehicle had a glowing handle above her head, labeled for emergency trunk openings. A safety feature for kids who locked themselves in their parents’ trunks.

It taunted her.

She continued kicking at the taillight area. A faint memory of reading a story about someone locked in a trunk, kicking the light out and signaling other drivers kept running through her brain. Fiction? Nonfiction? Didn’t matter. It was her best damned solution at the moment. The car sounded fast. There hadn’t been any turns or slowdowns since she’d come to consciousness a few minutes ago, so she suspected they were on a highway. Of course, ninety percent of Eastern Oregon’s roads were probably long stretches of empty highways.

She kept kicking. Her legs had saved her before. Kicking at the tattooed man had saved her ass, and maybe they’d save her again. Sweat ran into her eyes and stung like a bitch.

Fuck.

What was Michael thinking? Her eyes watered. When he’d returned to their hotel room, what did he do? Did he panic? Was he angry? He had to know she hadn’t left willingly.

And she wouldn’t ever willingly leave Michael Brody. He made her laugh and see the world in a different way. He’d shown her she didn’t always have to follow the rules. She’d simply done it for so long that she didn’t know how to do anything else. Michael had opened her eyes. And opened her heart. She’d seriously fallen head over heels for the man.

Was she going to get the chance to be with him?

Or was she going to be found in a dirt pit in five years?

I’m sorry I’m putting you through this, Michael.

He must be frantic. He knew exactly why she wasn’t waiting in their room. And that her odds of surviving were very slim.

Mr. Tattoo didn’t leave witnesses.

She rubbed her face into the rough carpet and spit her hair out of her mouth. Her hair was sticking to her neck and face like she’d been swimming. If only she could take a deep breath. Huffing though her nose without panicking took concentration. When she’d first woke, she’d felt like she was suffocating, unable to get the air her body needed. She’d seen stars in her vision in the dark trunk as she fought the panic and slowed her lungs. Thank God she wasn’t claustrophobic. She had enough issues at the moment.

She paused her kicking and concentrated on her breathing again. She was getting a raw spot on her hip from the leg movements and the rough carpet. Her hip hurt, her hands were numb, and she was lying in a pool of sweat. The temperature in the trunk was a hairline from unbearable. Kicking was simply making it worse.

But she was still above ground.

The tattooed man’s other victims were not. That poor old baker. And what about Chris? And Brian? Were they okay?

If he grabbed me, I suspect it’s because he can’t find Chris.