“No, really—I don’t. Are you talking about the jump drive that I turned in to the FBI?”
Did they suspect she’d kept part of it? Was that what this was about?
“We know you have a copy of it,” Greg said. “And we want it.”
She needed to buy time. “Why would I save a copy of it?”
“Stop playing stupid.” He slapped his hand across her cheek.
The breath left Cassidy’s lungs as the stinging on her face jarred her thoughts. One hit like that wasn’t going to stop her. Not yet.
“You searched my cottage earlier, didn’t you?” She hadn’t been going crazy when she’d thought her magazines and various papers had been straightened.
“Yes, I did.” A smug grin tugged at his lips.
“But you didn’t find anything. Because there isn’t anything. I turned it all over to Samuel.”
His grin disappeared. “You’re clever. You’re too smart to leave anything out in the open, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing there.”
Cassidy watched the man as he paced. She’d guess he was contemplating his options, trying to figure out what to do with Cassidy next.
“What are you going to do to me?” she finally asked.
“Make sure you’re not alive to testify at the trial, of course.”
She’d known that was the end game, hadn’t she? If she shared what she knew, she died. If she didn’t share, she died. So why give them what they wanted anyway? “Then just get it over with. Kill me now.”
“Not until I have what I want.”
“Why’s it so important to you anyway?” She stared at him. He seemed tightly wound, like a toy soldier thoughtlessly doing his job—a toy that might malfunction at any minute. When that happened, the outcome could be in Cassidy’s favor or his.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
Greg leaned closer. “If you hid those documents, they could change the face of the trial. We can’t have that happening.”
Cassidy studied him. That was the second time he’d used “we.” Of course he was working with someone. How many people were in on this? “You and Samuel are in this together?”
He scowled. “That’s none of your business.”
“You must be really loyal to come all the way out here and do his dirty work.”
He turned away from her and picked up something from the tray. A scalpel. He began examining the sharp tip. “You’re not helping yourself right now.”
“I’m just trying to figure out what makes you tick. What would motivate a man to give up everything to come out here and demand information that probably won’t affect him either way. It’s either loyalty—misplaced at best—or money.” Cassidy stared at him, stared at the instrument in his hand. She tried to ignore it, to stay focused. But she was having a hard time. “I’m guessing money right now.”
“Shut up!” He turned toward her, his eyes blazing.
Cassidy pulled back, afraid he might slap her again.
But he only stared, venom oozing from every part of him.
The next instant, he thrust the scalpel to her throat. “Where is it?”
She dared not breathe for fear of being pricked. “I honestly . . . don’t know . . . what you’re . . . talking about.”
One wrong move and the sharp blade would cut her. She could slowly bleed out.
Wait . . . what if it was the information that Samuel had sent her? Was that what Greg wanted? But . . . if he worked for Samuel, what sense did that make?
It didn’t make any sense.
Samuel would have that information.
So would Ryan.
So who else was behind this?
Or was the information Greg sought something totally different?
Ty paced across the floor of Mac’s office at the police station. They’d met back here to discuss things and to set up a base of operations. Ty’s inner circle—Austin, Wes, Skye, and Lisa—had been called in to help and were now searching the streets.
Meanwhile, Mac had talked to officials, persuading them to check the vehicles leaving the ferry in Hatteras. If Cassidy was on that boat, hopefully someone would find her.
Quinton had gone to the marina to see if anyone there had seen someone matching Cassidy’s description.
They were trying to cover all their bases. But, for a small island, the town was feeling really big right now.
Mac strode back into the room. He’d been questioning the woman who came in, who claimed her daughter had been manipulated to lure Cassidy out of the house.
Ty stopped pacing, anxious to hear his update.
“The man who bribed that girl fits the description of the person who came into the police station and asked about Cassidy,” Mac said.
“So it’s Greg, Samuel’s right-hand man.”
“That’s our best guess at this point. This man—Greg—drew Cassidy out, knowing she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from helping a frantic little girl whose mother was in trouble. He must have grabbed Cassidy when she was trying to help and taken her somewhere.”
What had Cassidy gone through? What was she going through now? Ty could hardly handle the thoughts.
“Greg most likely had enough time to get to the ferry.” Ty didn’t want the words to leave his lips, but they did. Because they were true. And if Greg was on the ferry, then, at this point, he and Cassidy could be anywhere.
“We’re trying to confirm that.”
“I suppose it’s a possibility also that there was a boat waiting somewhere. We should probably check at the docks.”
“Of course.” Mac paused. “And I know you don’t want to hear this, but I also called in the Coast Guard. They’re searching the waters . . . just in case.”
Ty sucked in a breath. He knew just what Mac was saying. Just in case Cassidy had drowned out there while trying to rescue someone who wasn’t drowning.
An ache formed in his chest.
Mac’s radio crackled.
“Chief, we’ve got a car here at the General Store.” Quinton’s voice came on over the speaker, static breaking in. “You’re going to want to see it.”
“I’m on my way.” Mac put his radio back on his belt and motioned to Ty. “Come on. You’re going with me.”
They hopped in his police cruiser and headed down the island’s main road. As the minutes seemed to crawl past, Ty braced himself for whatever they might find.
They stopped a few minutes later in the parking lot of the local convenience store.
Normally at this time of night—two a.m.—the streets were quiet. It wasn’t a nightlife kind of community. But right now the store was a hotbed of activity.
Quinton’s police car was in the lot, lights blazing. One other vehicle was near the front of the store. An employee, if Ty had to guess.
The building was nothing to write home about, so to speak. It was a simple one-story structure with a white brick veneer. The sign at the top read Swanner’s Market in patriotic red, white, and blue letters. It was a great location to grab overpriced supplies or to get gas when in a pinch.
He followed Mac toward the back of the building, stopping in an overflow parking area near the dumpster. Quinton waited there beside a car.
The officer looked a little paler than usual—actually, he looked like he could throw up.
“There’s blood inside,” Quinton started. “The door was open. That’s why someone called it in. They came out to make sure everything was okay. That’s when they saw the . . . red stuff. It’s on the front seat, and there’s a lot of it.”
Ty stared at the car—a sedan.
Rental company information was on the back windshield.
He sucked in a breath.
It was Ryan’s.
Chapter Fifteen
“I need you to come with me for a minute.” Greg used the scalpel to cut through a section of rope behind Cassidy. Her binds fell to the floor.
Greg put down the scalpel, grabbed Cassidy’s arm, and pulled her fr
om the chair.
Her temporary relief was quickly replaced with a new round of anxiety. “Where are you taking me?”
“None of your business.”
Worst-case scenarios rushed through her mind. She wanted to argue. To try and stop him. But she had no time.
He opened a door across the room and shoved her inside. She tumbled into a sea of old dusty coats before landing against a canister vacuum cleaner. An old closet, she realized.
The door slammed, and Cassidy heard something sliding across the floor.
Greg was making sure she didn’t get out. If she had to guess, he’d shoved some furniture in front of it. Why in the world would he stop to put her in here?
Cassidy listened carefully. Heard his footsteps fading. Heard a door open. Then shut.
Then silence.
He’d left, hadn’t he? Why?
Cassidy mulled over what she’d learned—or what she hadn’t learned. She really knew nothing more. She only had more questions. What exactly was this information he’d mentioned? What Samuel had sent, or something else? What was Samuel’s role in this? Ryan’s?
The questions overwhelmed her.
But this was no time to sit on her hands. There had to be something in here to help her get out.
Leveraging herself against the wall, Cassidy managed to stand. Metal coat hangers clanged together above her.
Perfect.
Using her chin, she knocked one to the floor. Then Cassidy lowered herself again and carefully found the hanger with her bound hands. She began working the edge against the duct tape around her wrists.
Come on. Work. Please work!
She methodically moved the metal point against the tape. Again and again. Over and over.
Finally, she heard a rip.
It was working!
A few more scrapes later, and the binds broke.
Her heart sputtered with relief.
Wasting no time, she scratched the binds at her ankles until the tape there split also.
She stood—the best she could in the cramped closet. Then she pushed on the door.
It didn’t budge.
Whatever Greg had shoved in front of it was heavy enough that Cassidy couldn’t move it out of the way.
She leaned her forehead against the smooth wood of the door and let her thoughts run wild. Her heart drummed in her ears like a battle cry, each thrum increasing her anxiety and solidifying her realizations.
Cassidy had only one choice. She had to defend herself when Greg returned.
She felt her way around the closet. Felt the vacuum. Felt coats—with nothing in their pockets. Felt some movies on the top shelf.
She found the only thing that might possibly work as a weapon.
A DVD.
She cracked it in half, revealing a sharp, jagged edge. Then she gripped the broken disc in her hands, ready to use it like a knife.
And it was just in time.
She heard a door open.
Footsteps sounded.
Furniture moved.
Cassidy stood on guard, ready to pounce.
But when the door opened, Greg stood there with a gun to Ryan’s head.
“One wrong move, and he dies,” Greg said.
Ty squatted beside the seat and touched the liquid on the car seat—the seat where Ryan had most likely been sitting only moments ago.
“The blood is still warm,” Ty said. “That means that whatever happened, it was recent.”
Mac nodded, grim lines across his face. “You’re right. And if it happened recently, that might mean that Cassidy is still on the island.”
“That’s the one bit of good news, I suppose. We’ve got to figure out how to find her.” Ty took a napkin Mac offered him and wiped his fingers.
“I’ll see if I can find some security camera footage from here at the store and talk to the owner. I’ll get Quinton to check other businesses in the area.”
“I’ll look through the car,” Ty said. “If you don’t mind me interfering with your investigation.”
He said it to be polite. They both knew Ty was going to investigate with permission or without.
“Please do. Consider yourself deputized, just for today. I need all the help I can get.”
Ty wasted no time. He climbed into the other side of the car and opened the glove box. It only had the normal items—the car’s owner manual, a tire pressure gage, a small first aid kit.
Turning on the light on his phone, he swept the rest of the vehicle, looking for any kind of clue.
Something glimmered between the front seats. Ty reached between into the space and pulled out a cell phone.
Ryan’s cell phone, most likely. He must have dropped it when he was injured or abducted.
He clicked on the screen. It was passcode protected.
Of course.
Ty slapped a mosquito on his neck as he thought about what to do.
What would Ryan’s code be? Ty didn’t know him well enough to take many guesses. On impulse, he typed in Cassidy’s birthday. The phone vibrated, telling him he was wrong.
Two more chances.
He had no idea what else Ryan might use for his code.
Ty paused, thinking his through.
He heard once on how to hack someone’s phone. Strangely enough, his cousin Ralph had told him about the idea. It seemed worth giving a try since Ty didn’t have any other options.
He clicked on the phone’s virtual assistant and asked for the time. When the numbers came on the screen, Ty clicked on them, which brought him to the Clock app on the phone.
Ty’s pulse pounded harder. Would this actually work?
It seemed like a possibility.
What had Ralph told him to do next? He closed his eyes, trying to remember that conversation—one that had seemed so inconsequential at the time.
Once on the Clock app, Ty found a button to buy more ringtones. That took him to the app store.
And that allowed him to get inside Ryan’s phone.
It worked. He couldn’t believe it, but he wasn’t complaining right now.
Wasting no more time, he scrolled through Ryan’s phone log. There were several calls made today to the same number. It had a Seattle area code.
Interesting.
Ty did a reverse number lookup, but the number was unlisted. Not surprising.
He moved on to Ryan’s text messages. A lot were from his work. One was from a woman.
His assistant? The one he’d started seeing, maybe?
None of the messages particularly caught his eye.
Until he hit the fifth one down, and he read it more carefully.
Trying to seal the deal.
Was “the deal” Cassidy?
Whomever he’d texted—the name only said Fall Guy—responded:
May have to take matters into my own hands.
Ryan responded with:
No, let’s stick to the plan.
What was that about? Could Ryan simply have been talking to a coworker? To the task force leader who’d replaced Samuel? Or was there more to these messages?
He had to see if Mac could trace the number.
And he had to do it now.
Chapter Sixteen
Greg had tied up Ryan, and Cassidy’s ex-fiancé was now in a matching wooden chair beside her in the living room. Both of them faced Greg like bottles on a makeshift firing range.
The two of them had no time to talk or debrief, not with Greg staring at them. Not with his gun in his hand. Not with the instruments of torture only an arm’s reach away.
But Cassidy was keenly aware that Ryan had a blood stain across the front of his shirt, a cut across his eye, and a swollen cheek.
She could only imagine what Greg had done to him.
Cassidy waited, expecting Greg to begin his torture. His interrogation. His process.
Instead, he walked to the door, like he was on a mission.
“I’ve got one more thing to do before the fun gets started,” he a
nnounced.
Another shot of fear rushed through Cassidy. What else could Greg possibly have to do? He had the two people he wanted right in front of him. There was no one else who had any value to him.
Except . . . maybe . . . Ty.
She sucked in a quick breath at the thought.
Ty wasn’t a part of this, yet Cassidy had made him a part of it. He knew information. He could be seen as a threat. Would Greg really pull him into this nightmare?
Cassidy could hardly stomach the thought, but it was the only possibility she could fathom—and it was a horrible possibility.
She jerked against the ropes around her, knowing it was no use but trying anyway. Greg only smiled and stepped toward the door.
“Have fun,” he muttered. “But don’t wear yourself out. You’ll need that energy later.”
With one last glance at them, Greg stepped outside and shut the door.
As soon as he was gone, Cassidy turned to Ryan. “Are you okay?”
He nodded, but his expression looked haggard. “I was out looking for you. I pulled into the convenience store—I was going to ask the employees if they’d seen you. Before I could, someone jumped me, and everything went black.”
“I’m glad you’re okay.” The rest of what Ryan had said settled on her. “People are out looking for me?”
“They are. I guess someone sent Ty a text, claiming it was from you and that you’d left town. He didn’t buy it.”
A burst of relief filled Cassidy. That was Ty. Thank goodness, he didn’t take things at face value.
But now Greg might be out there looking for him.
Cassidy jerked against the ropes again, even though she knew it was futile. If she could just reach one of those scalpels . . . maybe she could undo her ropes. Maybe they could get out of here before Greg returned again.
Cassidy leaned forward, trying to inch out of the coils of rope around her. It did no good.
She tried to rise to her feet, to move forward with the chair attached. But the piece of furniture was too heavy.
She tried walking it back and forth. But the wood was just too thick and awkward.
She needed to do something to gain the upper hand, though.
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