twenty feet away from the entrance to her building. A red, not silver, car idled by the curb at the bus stop.
She walked right up to it, opened the door, stared inside, shocked to see the person behind the wheel.
“You? Why would you help him?”
“Toss your phone.”
Liz pulled it out of her purse, held it up, and threw it back onto the grass in front of the wall surrounding her complex.
“If you want to get that Trinity lady back before Clint hurts one more woman, get in.”
She hesitated for a second, the need to go back to Tate so strong she could barely make herself leave him, but in the end, for Trinity, she slipped into the front seat and gave herself over to the inevitable. But not without thinking through her options and the impending possibilities.
Clint thought she’d come, complacent and ready to surrender to her fate.
Never.
Chapter Thirty-One
Tate curbed the urge to punch the guy who kept squeezing and prodding his throbbing leg. The world kept spinning, lights flashing in his eyes in time to the thumping of his heart echoing in his skull, along with the throbbing pain at the back of his head. Squinting set off another round, so he closed his eyes and hoped they’d pump him full of drugs soon because the intense pain in his ribs throbbed with every excruciating breath.
“What the hell happened?” Drake’s voice shocked him into opening his eyes.
“Hit and run,” the paramedic announced. “We’ll transport him to the hospital shortly.”
“Is he going to be okay?” Deep concern filled Drake’s voice.
“The head injury is a concern, but he’s alert and talking, so . . .” The paramedic left that hanging.
The longer Tate lay there, the worse he felt as the adrenaline rush wore off and the pain and reality set in.
Tate stared up at his shocked brother. “What are you doing here?”
“Liz texted me ‘911 come to my place.’”
Tate glanced around, surprised she wasn’t by his side. “Where is she?”
Drake scanned the area, having a better view standing than Tate did lying in the road with firefighters all around him. “I don’t see her.”
Tate tried to sit up, but the paramedic held him down, and the pain nearly had him puking up his guts. “Man, you’ve got a major head injury. Stay down.”
Tate waved him off, but the bile rising in his throat made him lie back. “Did she text anything else?”
“It didn’t make sense, but she wrote ‘Trinity storm.’”
Tate rolled to his side, clamped his jaw as a shock of pain raced through him, dug his phone out of his back pocket, and read a copy of the text on his cracked screen. He swore, tried to breathe through the wave of fear, and hit the app that tracked her phones. “One of her phones is close by.” He pointed toward the wall and the main street. “The other is moving toward the lake. He’s got her.”
Drake’s face paled. “Give me your phone. I’ll go get her.”
Tate shook his head, rolled up, stood, and rocked side to side, completely out of it for a second. He thanked God for the adrenaline rush that shot through him, sweeping away the pain that came with every little movement. Determination didn’t stop the wave of dizziness or him wobbling on his feet, but Drake steadied him with both hands on Tate’s shoulders.
“Go to the hospital. I’ll take care of her,” Drake promised.
Tate shook off Drake’s hold and stumbled toward his truck. “No. I’m going.”
“Sir,” the paramedic called. “You need a doctor and your head examined.”
Tate wondered if he meant not only for the injury but also for leaving in his condition. It was crazy. He felt like shit, but if Liz needed him, he was going after her.
And God help Clint when Tate got his hands on him.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Liz couldn’t believe this was how Clint planned his showdown. But she shouldn’t have been surprised. She’d actually predicted he’d repeat the same behavior, just like he’d done with all the other women. Especially Aubrey.
Clint did what worked for him, but she wasn’t going to be his next victim.
“Where is Trinity? Is she hurt? Is he holding her somewhere?” Liz couldn’t bring herself to ask if Clint had already killed her. Just the thought broke her heart.
“We’ll find out when we get there.” Clint’s pawn slammed her hand on the steering wheel. “You know, I’m a victim here, too.” Her eyes narrowed with fury. “He gets away with everything. He thinks I’ll do anything for