“Megan Harper?”
She looked up toward the man who’d called her name. When their eyes met, it was clear he’d been waiting for her. He wasn’t asking—he already knew who she was. She quickly glanced around, trying to find a free airport employee, but no one would look her way. She changed directions to get closer to the gate, to give herself time to assess the threat. She sprang past the man, toward the security exit.
How he’d gotten to the gate was a question for later. Something about the way he walked, with one hand on his hip, sort of under his jacket, set off alarms. Once again her neck broke out with the pricklies, as her mother called them. She ignored him and had barely gotten three steps ahead when his hand grabbed her arm and swung her back to face him.
“You’re prettier than the picture. Here.”
Shoving her against the wall out of the flow of traffic turned a few heads for a few seconds. Before she could react, he had her free arm pinned and the other wrapped up in her luggage.
“Back away or you’re going to regret this.” She could still use her legs, which were strategically placed to play football with his privates.
With his free hand, he opened a note and held it for her to read: “You have to go with this man to be safe. No questions.”
She laughed. “Do you really think I’m just going to walk out of a crowded airport with you? That note is straight from a movie. And I can take care of myself.”
“You need to come with me—”
“No way in hell! Security!” She rammed her knee against his groin.
The man doubled over.
Her pricklies were gone. She was breathing calmly when she sort of trotted through the nearest revolving door to baggage claim before anyone could respond to her cry for help. On the other side she realized she’d left her rolling carry-on next to the wall. She headed directly to a counter with two employees for help.
“I wouldn’t do that.” The deep voice slowed her steps.
A couple of steps away from her, a man lifted his finger in the air. He wasn’t the same as the man who’d accosted her at the gate. His serious scrutiny caught her off guard as he guided her out of the way of the revolving door.
“Are you following me?” She looked through the glass—the man trying to accost her and the carry-on were gone.
“Nope. Someone wants to chat with you.” Serious Guy extended a phone, and she heard an unfamiliar voice of a friend she hadn’t seen in years.
“Megan. Megan, are you there?” The moment caught her off guard, and she paused. The stranger gently took her elbow, guiding her out of foot traffic, nodding as a couple of people passed and then handing her the phone.
She flipped the cell over and was on a video call. “Therese? I haven’t heard from you since I moved to Austin. What in the world is going on?”
“Thank God he found you. Listen, the man with you is Jack MacKinnon. He’s a friend and you need to leave with him. Now. I’ll explain later. Trust that your life is in danger.”
Megan looked straight into aviator shades and an expressionless pair of lips over a dimpled chin. His gesture to wrap up the call infuriated her a little bit more. But when she stumbled it was nice to have him there to steady her.
“I can explain everything in three or four days. Until then, MacKinnon can keep you safe.” Therese’s voice was shaky with fear. The man looked around without offering any explanation.
“I can take care of myself. But why do you think I need to? And why don’t I just go to the police?” She was certain she was capable.
Therese’s fear seemed to be seeping through the speaker, affecting her ability to reason. Either that or... Great—the room was spinning. “Why does it feel like I’m on that baggage carousel?”
“Wrap it up. They must have slipped you something.” The man gripped her elbow tighter and headed toward the exit.
“Someone’s trying to kill you, Megan. We don’t know who. At least not yet. And until we get a handle on this, you need to stay someplace safe. We think you’re being framed—What?” There was some noise on Therese’s end, and the screen went dark, like she’d covered the phone’s camera. Then nothing for a long couple of seconds. “I wish I had time to explain and I’m sorry I put you into this position. You can trust MacKinnon. He’s practically one of us. Maybe better since he’s a Texas—”
The phone went dark again. The connection was gone.
“Can you walk faster? I’m parked in a loading zone.” Therese’s friend wrapped his arm around her waist.
The mirrored aviator shades he wore blocked wherever he was looking, but it didn’t matter. She was quickly losing her footing and the grip on her laptop. “My bagsheze ish...”
Slurred speech and no muscle coordination. Her inability didn’t slow her escort down. He lifted her laptop bag onto one shoulder and stretched her arm around his other. She couldn’t even protest now. Her eyes were getting heavy, right along with every other part of her body.
“Stay with me, Megan,” he whispered close to her ear. “Yeah, we’re good. Pregnant. Just need to get her home.”
He’d told someone she was pregnant, and she couldn’t make her mouth object. Her brain seemed to be working, but nothing else. He lifted her onto the front seat of a giant truck and pulled the seat belt around her.
Eyes closed, her head fell to the window with a thud. They moved forward, and that was it. She’d been kidnapped, abducted. If anyone asked her to identify the man driving, she had a good image of a dimpled chin under shiny, reflective aviator shades.
* * *
THEY ARRIVED AT his destination—not hers. According to Mr. MacKinnon, he’d been assured her home was compromised. He pulled into a driveway of a house that looked as if it had been built just after World War II.
How had she gotten here?
Shoot, she didn’t really know where here was. Someplace she’d never been. Someplace that didn’t look anything like an abductor’s lair. She thought they’d pulled off the main road at the first sign of a town and then kept turning.
Main road? She’d missed which way they left Austin. She’d been in and out. While she was in, the winding roads she recognized west of Austin kicked in and made her queasy. So she just closed her eyes and concentrated on not throwing up.
Now at a stop, she tried to pull on the door handle. Nothing. Her arms were just too weak. No strength.
The porch light flickered on—one of those energy-saver bulbs that she didn’t care for but bought herself. The porch had a swing, a couple of tall-fronded plants in the corner. It looked more like where her parents used to live—more than she wanted to admit.
If she admitted it, she’d feel safe. She’d let her guard down, and she couldn’t. She had to escape. Had to somehow get to the police.
“Megan?”
