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I was able to survive the rest of the day without breaking into tears. I even enjoyed a little friendly banter with Mr. Banks when he came in for his monthly haircut. At five-thirty, we closed down the register and locked the doors. I stayed to count the till, putting the cash in the safe in the back office. Ava swept the salon floor while Lindsey went over that day’s reports. We all finished up around six and left together, locking the door behind us.
I climbed into my car, unsure where to go. Maybe I should visit Macy—maybe Mike didn’t want me at home. But Lindsey had said I should give him some time and that he would come to terms with the bomb I had dropped. I really wanted his approval. I wanted to crawl back into his arms and know that everything was going to be okay. I wanted to tell him that there would be no more secrets, and that I would do everything I could do to make sure we had a happy life together.
Making up my mind, I turned left out of town, driving back towards my own cabin. When I was halfway there, I spotted a grey Silverado in my rearview mirror. Thinking nothing of it, I kept my eyes on the road, hands at ten and two. The truck gained speed on me. One moment, it was in the distance; the next, it was on top of me.
I swerved, thinking it wanted to pass, but it matched my movement, driving me further off the road. I let out a yelp as the steering wheel wrenched out of my hands, my little car scraping across the gravel. There was no guardrail to catch me as I slammed into a living wall of pine trees. The car came to a stop, wheels spinning, engine coughing out dust. The airbag exploded in a puff of chemicals, filling my mouth and nose with its fumes.
I felt the seat belt catch me, digging into my stomach with painful accuracy. My first thought was for the baby. Had it been injured in the crash? I needed a doctor immediately. Only after the panic had begun to set in did my mind refocus on the truck that had been chasing me. Someone had run me off the road.
I fumbled with the seat belt latch, desperate to break free before something even worse happened. At first, I couldn’t find the button, and then it resisted my attempts, stubbornly trying to save my life in the worst possible situation. I had just worked myself free when the car door opened, and a man I had never seen before reached in to grab me by my hair.
I screamed, kicking and thrashing as he pulled me out of the vehicle and back to the road. Pain shot from the follicles on my head, racing down through my neck to settle in my shoulders. I couldn’t see very well, only glimpses of my car receding into the distance, glass shattered, door still ajar. Who was this man? What was going on?
“Please help!” I cried, feeling tears bead in my eyes.
The man threw me into the passenger seat of his truck, into the arms of another man who sat there. This second man had a gun. He too took fistfuls of my hair, dragging me across his lap and onto the center seat. I kicked and punched, twisting and fighting as best I could in the confined space. He let out a yelp of frustration, yanking my hair back so hard I saw stars. Staring up at the ceiling of the truck cab, I could only feel the gun press into my ribs.
“Be quiet,” the man snarled in a thick Tennessee accent.
I sniffed, fighting to stay conscious. I was more terrified than I had ever been in my life. Where were they taking me? Why me? They must have the wrong woman; I had never done anything to deserve this. I tried saying some of that, but the man poked me hard in the ribs with his pistol. What if the baby was hurt? What if he injured or killed my unborn child with his reckless threats? I forced myself to settle down. It wouldn’t be enough to get out of the truck. I had nowhere to go. My car was ruined, and I was alone on this desolate stretch of highway with two men determined to kidnap me.
Too late, I realized that my phone was in my purse, still on the passenger-side floor of the automobile I had abandoned. I was really and truly alone. My one focus became survival, not for me, but for my baby. Whatever happened to me didn’t matter. I would see it through and walk out of this alive, no matter what horrors I had to witness. The baby came first.
I sat back and let the first kidnapper climb up beside me into the driver’s seat. I let them fasten a seat belt around my waist and pull it tight.
“I’m pregnant,” I whispered.
The man’s eyes softened incrementally, and he let go of the belt. “Just don’t move,” he said, settling back against the door.
“I won’t,” I promised. “But I think I should get to a doctor.”
The two men exchanged an emotionless glance across me, and I read it with horror. They didn’t care about me or my baby. They weren’t going to take me to a doctor, because they planned to kill me. Wherever we were going, it was a one-way ticket. I began to run scenarios through my mind as the driver shifted into gear. There was no way I was going down without a fight.
27
MIKE
Ifinished my whole sordid story and waited for Jason and Dillon to react. It was strange, having friends who would actually help me instead of bringing me down. We decided to attack the problem two ways.
“I’ll work the legitimate angle from here,” Jason said. “I’ll have some patrol guys go out looking for a crash, and I’ll call the hospitals. You and Dillon go find Porter.”
“I think he’s clean now,” I protested.
“He knows something. If the worst has happened, he may know where to find her,” Jason said.
I nodded, standing up. There was no time to waste. Dillon and I raced to the parking lot and hopped into my truck. I didn’t know where Porter was staying. I had only seen him twice since getting out of jail. I didn’t even have his cell phone number. Instead, I drove to his old home, where he had lived with his parents when we were in high school. The entire way there, I kept my fingers crossed, praying.
It was nine o’clock by the time we knocked on the door. I had some sympathy for an older couple, but I didn’t care. My pounding reflected my own desperation. After a wasted minute, an eighty-year-old man answered the door, shotgun in hand.
“What do you what?” he snarled.
“Mr. Hayes.” I held my hands up, “It’s me, Mike Newbury.”
“Mike?” The man lowered his weapon, squinting. “What the hell?”
“I need to find Porter.”
The man cursed, shaking his head and turning back into the house.
