Gianna.

Chris slowly turned back to the bed as Michael kept talking in his ear. Gianna met his gaze and sat up.

“What happened?”

Chris couldn’t speak.

Gianna couldn’t focus. Her mind skittered and bounced from one terrifying image to another. Inside, her thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning, but on the outside she couldn’t move. She sat frozen, staring at a blank wall in Michael’s home.

Violet.

She found a small crack in the wall paint and focused on it, pushing all other thoughts out of her mind. It lasted for two seconds before her mind rebelled and sprinted down a terror-filled path again.

Violet.

Jamie had been carjacked three blocks from her home. She’d crawled to the nearest house and barely managed to ring the doorbell before passing out on the doorstep. She’d gained consciousness in the emergency room and told the staff her name and that her car had been stolen with Violet inside.

Michael had been waiting in an empty house, wondering why Jamie hadn’t returned his phone calls.

A fellow reporter from the Oregonian had overheard Jamie’s name at the hospital and called him with the news just as the police arrived at his home.

Two hours had passed between the abduction and Michael’s notification by the police.

Somehow Chris had helped Gianna dress and practically carried her to his car to drive her to his brother’s home. She could still see the fury in his eyes. His face had lost all color as he’d stared at her, his phone pressed to his ear. She could faintly hear Michael yelling through the phone.

She’d known instantly that it was about Violet.

And Jamie. She glanced at Chris as he paced Michael’s dining room and spoke urgently into his cell phone. He must be going crazy. The latest reports on Jamie’s condition were optimistic. She’d lost a lot of blood, but a guardian angel been watching over her. The residence where she’d rung the doorbell should have been empty, but the owner had stayed home sick from work. EMTs had responded rapidly to the scene. They got her stabilized, to the ER, and quickly into surgery to repair the artery the bullet had nicked.

Every police department in the state had been notified of the make and model of Jamie’s missing car. Jamie’s and Violet’s cell phones had been turned off. Officers were knocking on doors where the abduction had happened, searching for someone who’d seen something.

Gianna sat motionless in a chair, petrified that if she moved, she’d shatter. She’d already cracked into a million pieces, and they were barely sticking together. One wrong move or word could cause her to permanently fall apart. And then who would help Violet?

Was her daughter scared? Was she hurt?

Hurt her and I will kill you.

“We’ll get her back,” Chris said, stopping in front of Gianna’s chair. “No one knows how to find things better than Michael and me.”

“There might be nothing you can do,” Gianna said, staring over his shoulder as the hollow-sounding words floated out of her mouth. The voice didn’t belong to her. “There might be nothing anyone can do.” The sentences were worthless air. “You were missing for years. No one could do anything.”

Who was speaking?

She clasped her hands over her mouth and looked at Chris’s stricken face. If she’d taken out a knife and stabbed him, she couldn’t have hurt him worse. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Violet . . .”

“I know.” He dropped to a knee and took both her hands. The chill of his skin bled into hers. “I know what you’re feeling. She’ll be okay. We’ll find her. I know how weak that sounds right now, but we’ll look under every damn rock. We won’t give up.” He stood and looked out the window. “Hawes and Becker are here.”

“They’re good people,” she forced out.

Chris didn’t say anything but strode to the door to let the detectives in. Gianna knew they’d already talked to Michael and examined the crime scene. If you could call it a crime scene. From what she’d overheard from Michael, it was simply a trail of Jamie’s blood from a spot on the street to the front door of a home.

Is it the same person who killed my father?

What could he want with Violet?

He’d made the girl drive five blocks to where he’d parked his car. He’d left it out of sight behind a big shed that hid the dumpsters behind a strip mall. His plan had worked exactly as he’d seen it play out in his head. The woman had stopped the car at a stop sign, and he’d jerked the driver’s door open before she’d realized what had happened. He’d crammed his gun against her neck, thrown her car into park, and unbuckled the seat belt in less than two seconds. Then he’d ripped her out of the car and flung her to the pavement. Fire had flared in her eyes, and she’d scrambled to her feet to come after him.

He hadn’t wanted to shoot her.

The noise only drew attention, but he’d had no choice. In one way it’d worked in his favor. Seeing her friend shot had made the girl immediately follow his orders to move. She’d slid into the driver’s seat as he’d walked around the front of the car, his eyes and weapon on her at all times. For a brief second he’d felt vulnerable in front of the car. If the girl had had her head on straight, she could have thrown the car into drive and plowed him over. Luckily she’d been terrified. He’d gotten in the passenger seat and told her to drive. She had.

He didn’t give her enough time to get brave. If she’d driven any farther, he knew she could have driven into a wall or fence or another car to stop him. Behind the building he tied her hands and ankles and placed her in the backseat of the new vehicle. She’d kicked at the door, trying to hook her foot on the handle and open it as they drove. He’d shook his head. That might have worked in an older car.