her hands on her jeans, grabbed a pair of scissors from the jar by the sink and crept toward the hall, makeshift weapon at the ready. If anyone happened to peek into the front window, they’d probably call the police...or the mental ward at the hospital.
Surely she was safe. God was watching over her. Still, His presence didn’t mean she didn’t have to take care of herself.
Inching into the hallway, she looked straight through to the rear of the building. The alley door appeared to be firmly shut. The monitor above the door, which connected to a camera outside, revealed no one on the back stairs.
Lowering the scissors to her side, Jenna chuckled, even though paranoia wasn’t exactly funny. She glanced at the bathroom door. She’d check there, but only to prove to her brain that all was well and it could stop playing tricks on her.
The door was closed.
Her brow furrowed. Funny. She didn’t remember closing it, tried to keep it open so customers would know when it was free to use. Maybe the last customer had shut it, but...
Her hand drew away from the knob.
With a crash that seemed to rock the building, the door flew open, knocking Jenna’s arm away and driving her backward against the wall. The scissors flew from her hand and clattered to the floor. Air squeezed from her chest. She staggered, the world spinning, her pulse a solid, pounding thump in her ears.
A powerful arm caught her beneath the chin and dragged her upright, pinning her against the wall, her neck bent backward, pressure against her throat gagging her. Rational thought fled in the driving need for survival. Jenna struggled, twisted and scratched, to no avail.
A body, heavy and solid, leaned against hers, pinning her arms into uselessness. A mouth pressed to her ear. “Thought you could hide forever, huh?”
Jenna whimpered, pain and fear flashing hot and melting her joints. Tears stung her eyes. This was not Logan, but he’d found her. Somehow, he’d found her.
The man jerked her chin higher with his forearm. Something solid and horrifyingly familiar gouged into her ribs.
The barrel of a pistol.
His voice hissed hot against her ear. “I know someone who’s going to be very, very happy to see you, Ms. Brady.”
Her real name. Jenna’s eyes drifted shut, and she whimpered despite the forearm crushing her throat. There was no doubt he knew who she was, and no doubt Logan had put a price on her head for leaving him.
Officer Wyatt Stephens turned onto Valley Street and cranked the heat. The air in his patrol SUV was taking forever to warm, the damp chill of a January evening proving to be one of the toughest enemies in Mountain Springs.
His gut sank. Not as tough as the real enemy seeking to encroach on the town he’d grown up in and loved. The box truck they’d located on the old Gaskins property on Overton Road a few months earlier had reeked of body odor and long-term living. It was clear several people had been forced to call the cramped space home for quite a while, but the truck had been empty by the time a couple of deer hunters had stumbled upon it.
Someone had tried to move people through town like cargo.
The FBI and the Department of Homeland Security had completed their investigation last month, concluding the traffickers had broken down while passing through, but Wyatt wasn’t so certain. Lord, please don’t let them be looking to use Mountain Springs as a depot.
It was his biggest fear. He would lie awake at night considering the horrors of someone using the tiny town as a stop on the trafficking pipeline that ran from the country’s northern border to its southern border. For months, he’d eyed every stranger in town with suspicion. He had even taken a closer look at some of the families of the old-timers who’d once run moonshine along these ridges. The very idea someone would treat a human being like a commodity made him nauseous.
The idea someone so vile and heartless might be a person he actually knew—
The ringing of his cell phone jerked him out of a dark reverie. Erin. His cousin was always good for a smile.
She’d been living at his house since she’d left her father’s house in the fall, and was preparing to marry her fiancé, who also happened to be his closest friend.
She probably had another wedding assignment for him. As the best man, his to-do list grew every day. He punched the answer button on his Bluetooth. “I’m on duty, E. I can’t be running your wedding errands right now.”
“Where are you?”
The frantic tone of her voice had his foot easing to the brake pedal, and he cast his eyes to the rearview to see how quickly he could make a U-turn and get to the house. No, to downtown. She was supposed to be at the Fine Arts Center with Jason. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“It’s Jenna.”
Wyatt’s mouth tightened into a grim line and he hung the U-turn, headed toward downtown and the strip of historic buildings along the main street. Jenna Clark wasn’t high on his list of likable personalities, but she was Erin’s best friend. “Talk to me.”
“I think someone’s broken in to the store and she’s there. She set the phone on the counter to walk to the back and check on a noise, then I heard a crash, her scream and a man’s voice. I—I can’t tell what they’re saying.”
“Stay away from the store. Tell Jason not to go in, either. I mean it. I know him. He’ll try.” Wyatt’s foot dug into the accelerator, and the engine roared as it tackled the hill toward downtown. He might not trust Jenna Clark, but if she was in danger... “Hang up the phone. Call 911 and get them rolling. I’ll radio in from my end.” He killed the call and took a right onto Barnett Street, reaching for his radio. One other officer was on duty in town for the night, but their calls would bring in the county as backup.
His headlights swept across the alley as he turned in. Jenna’s small crossover sat close to the back door, but a dark late-model sports car with Texas plates was parked slightly behind hers at an angle calculated to prevent her from backing out.
Adrenaline crashed into his system, thrumming through his veins. This was no break-in. Blocking her vehicle was targeted. And those Texas plates? The same state as the box truck on Overton Road. The odds the two were connected were slim, but if traffickers were in the area and one had stumbled upon Jenna or Liza alone at the shop in the dark of the evening...
His throat tightened and he rolled in behind the unfamiliar vehicle, cutting off its escape route. After notifying Dispatch, Wyatt eased out of his SUV, eyes on the door of the shop, hand resting on the pistol at his side. An attacker would never try to take Jenna or Liza out the front door, not with so many people flowing past on their way to tonight’s concert. They’d head straight out the back, directly toward him.
He inhaled deeply, steadying his nerves. He’d hated approaching situations with no intel ever since his very first domestic call when he was a rookie cop. There’d been five first responders in the small yard, a mix of town and county officers, pinned down by shotgun blasts. While he’d been in numerous firefights during his enlistment in the army, being an untested cop taking fire on home soil had sent him into a tailspin that still echoed in his emotions.
But they couldn’t today. Not if he was going to deal successfully with whatever was behind
