Chapter 2
GRANT
My blood turns to ice. My existence becomes a series of micro-sensations: the gooseflesh rippling over my arms, every hair rising. The acrid smell of exhaust invading my nostrils and pooling at the root of my tongue. Avery’s hand squeezing mine, my palm going slick with sweat.
The rattle and cough of the engine.
The waves of dread stitching up my spine.
Time as it slows and turns to syrup.
Questions rip through my head like bullets: What the fuck is happening? Who is this guy? And what does he want from us? Why is he standing here of all places, in the middle of this gorgeous natural oasis, holding a gun?
I don’t have time to consider the answers before he says, “Get in the van.”
“What?” I reply, stunned.
Through the mask, the man’s eyes turn to slits. Blue eyes. Eyes that feel like icepicks as they narrow on me. “Are you deaf?” he asks. “I said, get in the van.”
I glance at Avery in disbelief. Her eyes are blinking open and shut like she’s taking little pictures, trying to work out what’s happening one image at a time, her face pale.
“Why?” I ask, turning my attention back to the man.
He laughs but there’s no humor in the sound, only menace. “How about we all sit down and I’ll fill you in over a cup of coffee. Are you kidding me? Get in the fucking van or I’ll shoot you both!”
A voice like speaker static hisses from the back of my mind: Don’t do it, Grant. Do it, and you’re both dead. Not that we have a choice. If we don’t do what he says, he’ll kill us. I’m positive he isn’t bluffing. There’s no good outcome here.
“Okay,” I say, guiding Avery closer to me. “Just take it easy. We’ll do what you say.”
“Not you,” he says, his gaze shifting from me to Avery. “Her.”
Her. The word smashes through my skull like a cannonball. He means Avery. This man intends to take my wife.
I step in front of Avery and slowly raise my hands. “That’s not happening.”
“It’s not up to you.”
“She’s not going anywhere without me.”
“Grant …” Avery whispers behind me, but I don’t turn around. I keep my focus centered on the man.
“You’re not taking her,” I say.
He tilts his head and regards me, his eyes narrowing to two blue flames. His grip on the gun firms, and he steps forward and levels it at my head.
My eyes screw shut a second before he fires.
My ears explode. The sound that follows is like a power drill burning through my skull. A high, piercing shriek. One I shouldn’t be able to hear because I should be dead. But I’m not.
I’m alive.
How am I still alive?
Because it was a warning shot. He must have moved the gun before he pulled the trigger.
My eyelids click open, and I try to make sense of what’s happening. The man is standing right in front of me now, barking words I can’t hear through the ringing in my ears. His voice is a muffled throb. It’s like he’s standing above me, yelling down through ten feet of water.
I shake my head and try to clear the cobwebs. Pop my jaw. “I can’t hear you,” I say.
It does nothing. His eyes are two electric pools of anger. His entire body is a snarl. I vaguely register Avery’s fingertips brushing my arm from behind. I can’t let this man take her.
“Don’t do this,” I plead. “You can have our car. My wallet. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”
He shakes his head, his gaze coming to rest on Avery.
“No,” I say. “No. Please listen to me. I can get you money if that’s what you want. I just need—”
Before I know what’s happening, he slams the butt of the revolver straight into my temple.
My head snaps toward my shoulder.
White lights wheel through my vision.
Sparks firework and hiss in my brain.
My knees buckle, and I crash down. My teeth clack together when I hit the ground, the taste of warm metal flooding my mouth. The tang of iron and copper. Flecks whirl through my vision, and I know I’m seconds away from passing out. But then I hear the scream and the world comes rushing back.
“Grant!”
Avery’s scream.
I wince and roll over, see the man dragging her toward the van.
No, no, no, no …
I plant one hand on the ground and force myself to my knees.
Reality flickers in and out in waves. A sticky warmth covers my cheek.
Blood. It doesn’t matter. Not the fire raging in my temple or the nausea greasing my gut.
Not the way I sway like a tree when I take to my feet and nearly topple over.
The only thing that matters is saving Avery.
I lurch forward. I will kill this man. I will turn whatever face lies beneath his mask to pulp. I don’t care if he shoots me. He’s not taking my wife.
But then my vision clears, and I stop. He’s no longer pointing the gun at me. He’s pointing it at Avery, the barrel planted squarely against the side of her head.
My rage snuffs out in an instant. I raise my palms in a silent plea. Because I know that this man, whoever he is, is capable of violence. He’s already proven it. I have no doubt he’ll pull the trigger if I take another step.
“Take me,” I beg.
The man doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me with two ice-colored eyes that look like shards of glass ready to cut.
And then he speaks: “Don’t follow us. Don’t contact the police.
Go back to your Airbnb and you’ll receive further instructions.
If you go anywhere else, or you tell anyone about what happened here”—his eyes tick toward Avery—“we’ll kill her. You have one hour. Don’t make us wait.”
We. Us. Because someone else is driving. I didn’t even register that fact until now. All of my logic washed away the second this man stepped out of the van holding death in his hand. I peer past him and try to see who’s behind the wheel but all I can make out is the vague outline of someone else.
“Toss your phone into the van,” the man orders.
With shaking fingers, I pull it from my pocket and lob it through the open door. The gun swings from Avery’s temple and comes to rest on me before arcing right. He fires twice: Crack! Crack! One of the tires on the Jeep explodes.
When I look back to Avery, she’s pressing a hand to her belly.
Oh god, the baby.
The thought is like a switchblade planted between my eyes—a bright splinter of pure panic. Because whoever these people are, they aren’t just taking my wife.
They’re also taking my child.
My eyes lock with Avery’s. Tears stream down her cheeks.
Her face is bone white. She says something I can’t hear over the roar of the engine as the man pulls her inside.
But I recognize the words. I see them in the way her mouth widens and the tip of her tongue lightly taps her upper row of her teeth.
I feel them in the shape of her lips when they round into a soft O a second before the door slams shut.
I love you.
And then she’s gone.