click of the call disconnecting slammed into Liz. Her mind raced. Her first instinct was to dial 911. To seek help from the authorities. Sheriff Ward had always counseled them to come to him if they were ever in trouble. This certainly counted as trouble.
No police, the man had said.
Jillian’s life was in danger. Jillian needed Liz to act on the promise Liz had made to their father on his deathbed.
Watch over your little sister, Lizzie, girl, he’d said. You’re the level-headed one. She’s going to need you.
Now more than ever Jillian needed Liz.
Liz dialed Jillian’s phone, but it went straight to voice mail. What did that mean? Fear clawed up her throat.
She called the hotel where Jillian and Travis were staying and had the desk clerk ring the honeymoon couple’s room, but there was no answer. Liz forced down her panic, knowing if ever there was a time to be calm and clearheaded, it was now.
She refused to think the worst. Not yet anyway. She had a deadline to make. Her sister’s life depended on it.
* * *
Liz flexed her fingers on the armrests of her seat as the plane dipped with turbulence as it made its approach to her destination. She didn’t like flying, in fact, didn’t enjoy leaving the island at all. She’d gone off to college at her father’s urging, only going as far as Charleston. And that had seemed miles away from the serene island home that Liz loved. She’d returned home for good two years later when Dad had had his heart attack.
But for her sister’s sake, Liz was heading north to bring the ransom to free her sister.
Last night, after convincing the sheriff she was okay, she’d spent the rest of the night locked in the downstairs office at the back of the store. She hadn’t wanted to take a chance on the intruder returning to find her even though the sheriff had promised a car would patrol the neighborhood.
She’d felt so guilty not confiding to him that Jillian had been kidnapped. But she couldn’t risk her sister’s life.
Staring out the oval plane window, she could see the white world outside as the plane descended toward the runway in Buffalo, New York. She couldn’t appreciate the snowy scenic view with her mind racing ahead with all that she needed to do.
Anxiousness made her antsy as she filed out of the plane and up the jet bridge along with everyone else. The frigid air seeping in from outside made her glad she’d worn her thick fleece-lined down jacket. Still, the chilly air finding its way through the collar of her coat sent a shudder through her. This was a different kind of cold than she was used to. It was biting, like the air had teeth and wanted to sink into her all the way to the bone.
As she exited the jet bridge into the welcome warmth of the terminal, two men stepped into her path. She barely glanced at them before sidestepping, but they followed her move and blocked her exit.
Irritated by the rude behavior, she ground out, “Excuse me.”
“Elizabeth Cantrell?”
The deep, smooth voice that hinted at an American Southern drawl stopped her in her tracks. Her attention snapped to the men. How did they know her name?
Both men were tall, broad-shouldered and handsome, yet very different. One had jet-black hair and looked to be of Native American descent. His warm brown eyes regarded her with curiosity. He was dressed in jeans, a warm winter jacket and boots still dusted with snow.
However, the other man’s obsidian gaze wasn’t warm or curious. He stared at her with such accusation that she took a step back. He wore a wool trench coat buttoned all the way up to the collar and black slacks and black shoes that didn’t look nearly warm enough for the weather. His dark brown hair was short and tousled, as if he’d run his fingers through the strands several times. If she weren’t so freaked out, she’d have found him handsome, but at the moment all she felt was annoyed and scared and intimidated. A combination that made her body tense.
“I’m Liz Cantrell. What do you want?” She hated that her voice trembled. Were these men sent from the man who had her sister? But how would the man know which plane she was on? A creeping sensation skated over her neck. She was being watched?
The man with curious eyes said softly, “Canada Border Services, ma’am.”
What? A panicked flutter started low in her tummy.
“US federal agent,” the other said in a low tone. “Come with us.”
Neither man wore any identifying logos. Caution told her not to trust them. Wariness crept into her voice. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
The federal agent pushed aside his coat just far enough to reveal his gold shield. Then he slid his coat back into place.
A fresh wave of panic washed over her. These men were law enforcement. She couldn’t go with them. To do so would jeopardize her sister’s life. The man on the phone had told her not to involve the police or he’d kill Jillian and Travis.
She searched for an exit but realized the men had boxed her in. Even if she attempted to run, she wouldn’t get very far and would only draw attention to herself. To them. What did they want with her? “Why? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
The two men shared a glance, then the federal agent stepped to her side and gripped her by the elbow. His big hand was firm but gentle. His woodsy scent surrounded her in such contrast to his cold and accusing demeanor.
“This way, Miss Cantrell,” the CBS officer said.
Despite not wanting to attract attention, every instinct in her screamed she shouldn’t acquiesce. The man on the phone had told her no police. But these men couldn’t know that. And if they knew she had been on this flight, then that meant the kidnapper could also have eyes on her.
“Please, you have to let me go.” She dug in her heels but couldn’t keep the two men from surreptitiously forcing her to move forward.
“Wait.” Her voice rose. She winced. It wouldn’t do to show her panic. She collected herself and continued in a hiss, “Where are you taking me?”
They ignored her question and led her away from curious gazes and through a door discreetly situated behind a kiosk. They went down a long hallway. Terror gripped her. Where were they taking her? What would they do with her? To her? What would happen to Jillian? She sent up a silent plea to God for help.
She struggled to free herself but her captors wouldn’t let go. The long corridor seemed endless. The tight wall too close. Another door was pushed open, and she was thrust inside a small room that held a metal table and two chairs on either side. High in the corner a red light blinked on a camera. She was in an interrogation room, one like she’d seen on countless television shows.
A ripple of anxiety coursed through her veins, making her blood turn to ice. Why were they detaining her? How long would this take? What if the man holding her sister hostage found out? What if they took the ransom?
“We’ll be right with you,” the CBS officer said before shutting the door and locking her inside.
The faint smell of antibacterial cleaner burned her nostrils. She hated to contemplate the
