face. His mind went hazy, his body numb. He’d known the bastard was hinky, but this? This surpassed every ugly suspicion he’d had about the guy. He looked at Tram, saw the sick look on his face. No, he wasn’t caught in a nightmare. The bastard on the phone had just admitted to torturing Sarah for two years.
“What the fuck, man?” Tag’s question was breathless. Disbelieving.
“You didn’t really think this was about Sarah? Did you?” The sneer burst hot and fetid through the phone. “This was payback. Maybe next time you’ll mind your own fucking business instead of nosing into things that don’t concern you.”
The line went dead.
Tag replayed Mitch’s words in his mind. Forcing himself to assess the exchange past the internal flinching. What he was looking for finally clicked into place.
Mitch had said apparently…apparently his business acquaintance had taken Sarah to force payment.
Did he know for sure? Had he seen whoever had taken Sarah and Langley? Or had he assumed it was this business acquaintance when the women went missing?
Who had abducted Sarah?
Had she even been abducted at all?
Chapter Four
The Renegade kicked up a cloud of dust and gravel as it bumped across the Wedding Knot’s pothole-studded parking lot. Tag looked over his shoulder. The Explorer had vanished—swallowed by the dust. Served the bastards right. No doubt they’d been riding the Jeep’s ass so closely in case Tram launched into evasive maneuvers, but fuck—they could have left some space between the vehicles.
Turning to the front, he scanned the assorted cars in the parking lot and found Sarah’s Nissan immediately. It shimmered like a brilliant red beacon beneath the noon sun.
Sarah hadn’t returned for her car.
His chest tightened. Damn it. He’d hoped she’d returned, collected her car, explained the situation—whatever the fuck it was—to her anxious guests. He’d hoped to find her here, safe and sound.
“That’s Sarah’s car. The red sedan,” he said, hearing the gritty edge to his voice.
Tram glanced at him and turned back to the windshield. “She could be inside.”
The lack of confidence in Tram’s voice told Tag his buddy didn’t buy the platitude any more than he did. If she’d returned to the Wedding Knot, Tram’s phone would have rung.
They parked beside Sarah’s sedan and piled out of the Jeep, all but choking on the cloud of dust that still churned in the air. Accompanied by its own trail of dust, the Explorer rocked to a stop on the other side of the Renegade.
Tag circled the Nissan, scanning for anything that looked out of place. The car was still locked. The seats empty. He cupped his palms and leaned against the window for a better look. Shouldn’t there be a suitcase? A change of clothing for the honeymoon? He ignored the bile that rushed his throat and focused on the interior of the car. Maybe she’d stowed the suitcase in the trunk.
Fuck… his breathing stuttered…even stopped for a moment.
Maybe she was in the trunk. It was only around noon, and barely nudging the mid-seventies, but heat built faster in enclosed spaces. If she’d been locked in the trunk….
He jerked up, turning to Tram, who was peering into the windows on the other side of the car. “You got a crowbar in your rig?”
Tram twitched at the question, glanced toward the trunk and muttered a tight “ah hell” before hot footing it back to his Jeep. When he returned with the crowbar he headed straight for the back of the Nissan and popped the trunk himself—which proved to be empty.
Thank you, Christ.
On silent feet—which was fucking difficult to achieve when walking on gravel—the dark-haired man from Sarah’s porch stepped up to Tag’s side. He scanned the Nissan, his gaze lingering on the open trunk.
“Your fiancée’s car?” He looked over at the two-story weathered building across from them and grimness shadowed his face. “They disappeared in there?”
“Apparently.” Tag frowned as he studied the building himself.
What the fuck?
Sarah had booked this scruffy place for her wedding? He shook his head, trying to reconcile this venue with the woman he’d known. It had none of the flourishes the Sarah he remembered would have appreciated. Like vibrant landscaping, or hell—he grimaced, staring at the dull, beige establishment—a quirky, colorful atmosphere.
The exterior of the building needed a good sandblasting, followed by a couple coats of fresh paint. He turned, scanning the parking lot, which needed a good paving. Even the landscaping was in desperate need of a human touch.
Nothing about this place would have appealed to the woman he’d known two