Chapter 25
Nash held tight to the wheel with both hands as the truck screeched to a halt.
The passenger side rocked off the ground, shifting gravity before slamming back down with a nauseating thud.
Go! It was the only word Nash could hear or think. He had to get them out of there.
Barely glancing about to gain his bearings, Nash lifted his foot off the brake and moved it to the gas pedal once more.
Yet just before he floored it, a pair of bright, oncoming headlights illuminated the cab.
His first instinct was to hit the gas anyway, maneuver around the vehicle as needed, and get out of there.
"That’s not the officers, is it?” Ellie asked frantically.
The vehicle screeched to a stop before them, slanting sideways to block the truck’s path.“That’s definitely not a cop,” Nash said, his own headlights illuminating the sight. It was one of those big moving trucks with a separate cab up front.
"Not unless it’s undercover,” Wade said. “Maybe it is, and they just sent out their closest guys.”
Nash began lifting his foot off the brake. “Wyatt?” he prompted.
"I lost my phone,” came Wyatt from the backseat, his voice muffled. “Just keep going."
Nash slammed on the gas once more, desperate to get around the stopped vehicle and away from the crazy patrol car.
A patrol car he’d almost forgotten about. Nash barely glanced at the side view mirror in time to see the thing headed for their truck at full force.
Lights frantically flashing, siren hauntingly crying, the patrol car rammed the side of the truck so hard the engine died and the airbags deployed, hitting Nash in the face like a knockout punch.
Within seconds, glass shattered on Ellie's side of the car.
"Ellie!” he screamed, unable to see amidst the yards of inflated fabric. More glass shattered, this time the driver’s side window.
Nash reached for his lap to unfasten the buckle when his door flung open. Something heavy, sharp, and seemingly invisible jammed against the top of his head, and everything went black.
Nash woke up to pounding in his head and sheer panic in his heart.
"Ellie," he blurted, opening his eyes and glancing about to orient himself. He was lying face down on a hard, cold floor in a dark room. A room that was moving.
The moving truck. They’d put him in the trailer.
He frantically patted the space around him as he sat up. "Ellie, are you in here?" His palm met with the rounded slope of one shoulder. A shoulder too small and delicate to be Wyatt’s or Wade's.
He couldn't even think about where his brothers were yet; he was far too focused on Ellie's motionless state as he moved his hand further down her arm. He jostled her to get a response, whispering her name once more.
Nothing.
His heart plummeted.
Desperately, he trailed his fingers down to her wrist, feeling his way more than seeing as low as the light was. Please, God, let there be a pulse. He moved his other hand to her face, searching for breath, warmth, any signs of life.
At last, they came—the blessed exhale of her breath and the warm, pulsing thud in her wrist. Thank heavens she was okay.
But what about his brothers? What had gone down between Wyatt and Wade and these captors after Nash and Ellie had been knocked out cold and dragged off?
He patted his pockets for his phone and came up short.
Next, he patted Ellie's pockets, realizing her phone wouldn’t be there either; it'd been charging up front along with his.
They had no way to contact anyone. No way to know if his brothers were dead or alive.
No way to get themselves out of this vehicle heading heaven-only-knew-where.
Nash’s hazy head spun as rounds of pain walloped against his skull. Panic flared hot through his chest and limbs. But then a thought occurred to him—maybe Wyatt and Wade were in there too, passed out cold in the dark recesses.
With that in mind, Nash ventured cautiously away from Ellie and began patting the unseen spaces. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness enough to barely catch hints of his own movement.
When he came up empty in one corner, meeting nothing but the cool metal floor, Nash made his way to the other rear corner of the truck, checking the edge along the way to ensure he wasn’t missing anything.
Inch after inch of cold, metal flooring met his palms as he ventured on his hands and knees, half-hoping that Wyatt and Wade were in there; if they were, it meant they were probably alive, just unconscious like Ellie, who he guessed had been drugged.
It was possible Nash had been, too, judging by his own groggy state. Maybe his dose just wore off sooner.
Of course, he realized, as he came up empty in the first corner and started making his way across the back of the truck, it was possible they were in there and…and not breathing.
He pictured a horrific shootout; his brothers each had guns, after all. He couldn’t imagine coming across Wyatt and Wade’s cold, lifeless forms in a pool of blood.
That thought made Nash appreciate the bare floor. It was better that they were on the other side of this thing. Hopefully, telling police officers about what took place.
Two empty corners. One empty side.
Three more sides and two more corners to go.
Nash moved carefully from the right rear corner toward the front—searching one of the longer sides of the rectangular-shaped trailer, the rumbling hum of the wheels vibrating the bed of the truck.
He was approaching the third corner when he sensed something was in that space.
More than sensed, he could see a much darker shade of a rather large object, tall enough to be a man hunched in the shadows.
His pulse spiked as he considered the possibilities. Had one of their captors gotten into the cab with them to keep them in line? Was he simply waiting for Nash to get close so he could knock him out with another blow to his head or needle in his arm?
He held still, eyes set on the unmoving object. Surely unbreathing, too, he decided. Wouldn’t he hear it otherwise? He could hear Ellie’s breath now from the center of the trailer.
His mind summoned a different scenario—their abductors dragging two dead men to the far corner of the truck, propping their backs against the wall to keep them in place. Next, they’d drop them into some undisclosed body of water.
Stop, Nash, he chided, wishing he could shut off his anxious mind. But was the idea so impossible? A terrifying ache tremored through him at the answer. No, it wasn’t impossible at all. Either way, it was time to see what awaited him.
With that, he moved faster and with more confidence, hurrying toward the ominous mass in the corner. Three feet away, no legs or shoes on the floor. Two feet, the floor still bare. One foot—that’s when the side of Nash’s finger grazed the object. Rounded and slightly scratchy—a small wheel.
He patted his way up to the container attached to it, recognizing the familiar shape of a round, plastic garbage bin, the kind janitors dragged through the halls while emptying trash.
But it wasn’t holding trash, he realized upon further inspection.
Instead, the bin held an array of cleaning supplies.
A full-sized vacuum, a broom and dustpan, and a bottle that had him picturing the container of bleach he used when washing his whites.
Perhaps they’d stolen this vehicle, too.
Or maybe the items were more like props to explain why the crooks were out and about all hours of the night.
Nash made his way to the remaining corner and along the final edge, easily determining that no one else was in the trailer with them. And while that still left a looming question about his brothers’ whereabouts, he could at least hope they’d made it out of the takedown alive.
He made his way back to Ellie, wondering how long he’d been out and how far they’d traveled from the spot of the takedown.
He mulled over those final events, frustrated that his memories were so sparse.
One moment, his airbags were deploying, and the windows were shattering; the next, his door was flung open, and he was wincing from a blow to the head.
It was obvious now that someone had come up alongside them, broken their windows to unlock and open the doors and removed them from the truck.
But what about Wyatt and Wade? Neither of them would have relinquished Ellie and Nash without a fight. Possibly a deadly fight.
Nash groaned as he imagined the possibilities.
Had there been a shootout with casualties on both sides?
The 9-1-1 dispatcher told Wyatt they were sending an officer their way.
Had they shown up to a scene of bloodied bodies, a wrecked patrol car, and a damaged truck?
Would they even know to keep on searching, or would the investigation start and end with whoever they’d found at the scene?
And why not just take Ellie? Why bring her protective boyfriend who’d die before he let someone hurt her?
A possible explanation came as he recalled their conversation at the tower.
With a never-ending view of Dallas City at his back, Wolf laid out his best guess.
He suspected that these men—whoever they were—planned to frame Nash as the culprit when Ellie went missing.
Perhaps that’d be easier to do if they went missing at the same time.
Nausea rumbled through him, but defiance did, too. Whoever these guys were, whatever they had in mind, Nash wouldn’t let them get away with it.
And until he learned otherwise, Nash had to believe that Wyatt and Wade were alive.
Had to believe it because he couldn't fathom being the only one left. Sure, he had an entire bonus family to surround him, but Wyatt was the one who'd been with Nash since the start. Wyatt was the protective older brother who’d taught him not to be afraid of the dark. Who’d taught him how to whittle his first camp stick and dared him to kiss his first girl.