and then slammed the door. The truck rumbled to life.
The engine revved. Emilia was thrown against the seat as the sound of crunching metal assaulted her ears. What was he doing?
Their vehicle slammed into reverse and then again raced forward. More metal crunched and then the sound of wood snapping. A terrifying realization cut through Emilia’s pain. The killer was ramming his truck into Bennett’s, pushing him off the bridge and into the river.
Emilia’s mouth moved, but nothing came out. Tears coursed down her cheeks. Her mind could hardly function, but her heart whispered prayers.
A tremendous crash reached her ears, the splash of water.
Then the sound of manic laughter.
“Who's going to save you now? No one, my pet. No one.”
Fourteen
Emilia drifted in and out of consciousness as the truck rumbled to its destination. She tried to pay attention to the route, but it was impossible, given her condition. The car accident and stun gun had exacerbated her concussion. Nausea threatened and her head felt like it was about to explode. Every muscle in her body ached. But none of her physical ailments compared to the agony in her heart when she thought of Bennett.
His leg had been trapped in the truck. Even if he survived the tumble into the creek—a miracle, for sure—Bennett wouldn’t be able to get out of the vehicle. He’d drown. The thoughts and images in Emilia’s mind were crippling. Tears dripped off her cheeks onto the carpet.
Emilia fingered the bracelet on her wrist, her thumb running over the cross charm. Please Lord, I need your strength now more than ever.
She couldn’t think about Bennett. The grief would overwhelm her, and things were bad enough already. Emilia had to keep it together long enough to rescue Gretchen. It was her sole purpose now.
The truck stopped. Metal rumbled as a garage door opened. The sound of the rain faded when the vehicle rolled inside the garage and the door closed behind them.
Trapped. Emilia was about to come face-to-face with the man from her nightmares. A cold-blooded killer. Panic threatened to well up, but she battled it back.
The rear door on the extended cab opened. Emilia winced at the bright light shining in her face. Rough hands grabbed her, and she tumbled to the concrete floor with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs. Before she had a chance to recover, the killer hauled her up by the hair, twisting her neck so fiercely Emilia feared it would break.
“Walk, my pet.”
His voice sent chills down her spine, but she complied. Her knees wobbled and her skull felt like it was on fire. The zip ties binding her hands in front of her cut into the skin at her wrists. She couldn’t see the killer’s face from this angle.
He forced her through an open doorway into another space. A kitchen? But unfinished. Pipes for the sink and appliances spanned the wall.
He shoved her. Emilia stumbled and fell, sliding across the dirty tile floor. She struggled to get up, but her body—damaged by the trauma over the last day—was slow to comply. The killer chuckled. He grabbed her bound hands and quickly attached her to a thick pipe with more zip ties.
Emilia glanced up. Her breath stalled in her lungs.
John McInnis.
Her muscles trembled as the killer hovered over her. Buried memories flicked through her mind like a horror film, but indistinct and hazy. They’d left her alone, bleeding and tied up, in the cabin. A piece of broken glass had been lodged in between the wooden slates of the floor. She’d used it to cut the ropes binding her. As she’d escaped, John had returned. He’d chased her through the woods.
The trembling in her body increased. “I didn’t remember it was you.”
He chuckled. “A side effect of the drug Derrick injected you with.” John’s gaze met hers and he ran a finger over her cheek. “But now we can be face-to-face, my pet, and you’ll remember everything. It’s better this way. I have some business to attend to and then we can play.”
Bile rose in her throat, as the meaning of his words sank terror into her. She swallowed. “Where’s Gretchen?”
“I’m so glad you asked. She’s here.”
Emilia followed the line of his finger. Across the room, attached to another pipe, was Gretchen. The young woman was bleeding from her calf and a cut on her left arm. Light sparkled off the cross hanging from her necklace. Mascara coated the skin under vacant eyes. Gretchen appeared to be in shock.
But