Page 59 of The Missing Couple

Her attention darted away from the man she had thought was her friend to the one at the door.

Billie.

He was here.

Tears spilled from her eyes.

He was suddenly kneeling next to her. He removed the gag. Relief flooded her.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Martin.” She cleared her throat. “Martin is in the other room. He’s hurt.” Her gaze locked with Billie’s. “Bad, I think.”

Billie’s jaw hardened. “I need a knife.”

He got to his feet, grabbed Paul by his collar and dragged him toward the kitchen area as if he were a rag doll. Billie opened and closed drawers until he found a knife, then he dragged Paul back to where Charly was.

“Move,” he warned the man, “and you know what will happen.” Then he turned to Charly. “Hold your hands up.”

She did as he instructed. Careful not to get the sharp edge of the blade against her skin, he cut through her bindings. She rubbed her wrists. Relief rushed through her. “Thank you.”

He did the same at her ankles where the ropes were especially tight. She stretched her feet, grateful to be free. Thank God. Thank God.

Then he handed the gun to her. “I need to check on Martin. Don’t take your eyes off Grant. If he moves, shoot. Shoot until he stops.”

Charly took the gun in both hands, held it tight, the business end pointed at the man who had betrayed her…who had been ready to turn her over to human traffickers. “Gladly,” she snarled.

Paul held up a hand. “You don’t understand.”

Fury streaked through her. “Move your mouth or hand again,” she spat the words at him, “and you’ll regret it.”

Billie came back into the room, Martin leaning heavily on him. “EMS is on the way,” he told Charly. He ushered Martin into a chair.

In that single instant of stupidity that she looked away, Paul grabbed for the gun.

She pulled the trigger.

The air flew out of her lungs.

Blood bloomed on her longtime friend’s upper arm. He howled in agony.

Billie came over, pushed the gun and her hands downward since she was still holding it in a firing position. Then he knelt next to Paul and inspected the injury. “You’ll live.”

Charly managed to draw in a gasp of air. Thank God. As much as she hated the man right now for what he’d done, she didn’t want to be responsible for his death.

“Where,” Billie asked, his hand flat on the other man’s injured shoulder, slowing the flow of blood, “is my sister?”

Charly held her breath…prayed they were about to hear that she was alive and close by.

When Paul only stared at him, Billie’s fingers tightened on the man’s shoulder and the bastard cried out. “You do not want me to do what I am prepared to do to get that answer,” Billie warned.

“A shipping container.”

He rattled off the number and the address. Charly knew the place.

“If you’re lying to me,” Billie promised, “I will make you regret it.” He loosened his grip on the injured shoulder.

Paul gasped for air. “Unless they’ve taken them already,” he said haltingly, “she’s there.”