Everyone had swarmed to the scene as Sean’s panic and anger raged. He should have known . . . fuck! He should have fucking known the bastard would come after him again, and what better way than to take the woman he loved? But how the fuck had the killer known about Grace? Sean had been careful about being followed. He’d had one of the deputies check under his car a few minutes ago for a tracking device—nothing.

“Fuck!”

Brian startled next to him. “What?”

“This morning was a setup. It was more than him telling me he knew where I lived. My mind was all over the place as I drove over here this morning trying to think of how to tell Dan the house was a crime scene.” He ran a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to punch the brick wall of the building behind him. “Honestly, I don’t even remember the drive—the bastard could have been right on my ass, and I was so distracted I wouldn’t have even known it. This is my fucking fault! All of it!”

“Hey!” Brian grabbed him by the shoulders and got in his face. “This is not your fault, brother. It’s that fucking, psychotic asshole’s fault. Now fucking settle down and let’s think this through. Pull it the fuck together.”

As much as he didn’t believe Brian, Sean knew his last statement was what was needed. He could deal with the guilt of Grace’s kidnapping, later, after they found her—alive and unharmed. “All right. All right.” He glanced around. The deputies were questioning everyone they could find at the business and homes within a three block radius. The BCI techs were taking pictures and checking the dumpster and Grace’s car for any possible evidence. There were no fucking cameras in the alley, and none of the small businesses on either side of the street had security cameras outside, so they couldn’t even look for pictures of a car driving past or out of the alley. That was one of the drawbacks of small towns with very little crime.

“Got something!”

The two brothers turned and Griffin and Lynch joined them as Rafe came jogging down the alley, from the opposite direction of the dumpster, with a TV camera crew running behind him. An older gentlemen was shuffling along, trying to keep up with everyone. What the fuck?

Sean was just about to yell at the media sharks, but Rafe held up a hand to stop him. “We think we might have him on camera. Mr. Tomkins, here, lives down the side street. He was walking his dog and says he saw a man sitting in a white sedan at the end of the parking lot, but he didn’t think anything of it. Figured the guy was picking up a wife or girlfriend getting off of work.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t question him,” Mr. Tomkins said.

“It’s all right, sir,” Rafe assured the man before turning back to the others. “The camera crew was filming some footage at the firehouse, two blocks down, for the fundraiser they’re having next week. They were facing down the street toward Grace’s place, getting the firehouse, park, and businesses in the shot.”

Sean finally got it. “So we may have the guy driving past.”

“Yup.”

One of the two men from the news team held up a laptop so everyone could see and hit a button that started the video on the screen. “We get an exclusive out of this right?” His face fell when all five lawmen glared at him with the threat of impending death. “Can’t blame me for trying.” The video began inside the firehouse garage, and the guy hit a button, fast forwarding the video, then stopped. “This is the start of where the camera is pointing down the street.”

Rafe stepped to the side so Mr. Tomkins could get a better view. One minute passed. Two minutes. Several cars appeared on the screen and then disappeared again. The sound was muted so all they had was the video. Beside Sean, Brian tensed, and he knew his brother had seen what he’d also spotted. In the distance, a white car pulled out onto the street heading toward the camera. From that far away, it could have come from the driveway leading toward the rear parking lot they were now standing in, but they needed the witness to ID it without any coaching.

“That’s it!” Tomkins exclaimed. “That sure as hell looks like it.”

That was good enough for them to get an APB out on the car, but they couldn’t make out the driver or the license plate on the small screen. Sean held out his hand to the guy holding the laptop. “Let me have the disk. We need to get it to the lab for cleaning up the driver to see if we can ID him.”

The cameraman shook his head. “No need. I’ve got a setup in the van that’s pretty advanced. I can probably have it for you in about ten minutes.”

Everyone looked at Sean. Not only was he the lead federal agent on scene, it was his woman in peril. He nodded his head once. “Do it.”

After the cameraman ran back to the firehouse and drove the news van closer to the scene, Sean climbed into the back with the man while everyone else waited outside the sliding side door. There was scarcely enough room for Sean to be in there, and twice he’d banged his still tender shoulder on a low cabinet that hung behind the passenger seat. He was barely holding it together and fought the urge to yell at the guy to hurry up.

Working as fast as he could, the cameraman was typing on the keyboard, moving the mouse, turning dials, and flipping switches on a control board. Soon he had the image contained on the screen and began adjusting the pixels. An attempt to clear up the license plate so they could read it was a fail as it had been smeared with mud or something similar.

“Shit. Try the driver,” Sean instructed.

As the picture zoomed in on the driver and slowly became clearer, something niggled in Sean’s brain. Despite still being a little blurry, the driver looked familiar, but where the hell had he seen him before?

Turning to ask Brian a question, Sean smacked his shoulder again and grunted in pain. Fuck! He could use a fucking painkiller after that impact. A lightbulb went off in his brain. “Holy shit!” His head whipped back to the screen, and he willed it to become clearer as the cameraman continued to fiddle with it. He knew he’d seen the guy before. Just one more adjustment and he’d be certain.

“What?” Brian asked, sticking his head in the van.

“Hang on.” Sean stared as the pixels danced once more and the picture of the driver came into focus. “Son of a fucking bitch! Can you print that?”

The cameraman nodded as his fingers flew over the keyboard. “Yeah, sure thing.”

The fifteen second wait for the photo to print was excruciating, and Sean ripped it from the console’s printer before the last few lines of pixels were added. Ignoring his throbbing shoulder, he jumped out of the van while everyone stared at him expectantly. He looked at the sheriff. “Have a deputy get names and a phone number for these guys. They’ll get their exclusive, but not before we get Grace back and nail this fucking bastard.” He glared at the other newsman. “Follow us, and you get nothing, understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

Pivoting, he pulled open the back door to Grace’s business. It was fastest way to get to his car out front, and Tim was still there to lock up. Brian was on Sean’s heels as Rafe and Lynch ran toward the latter’s department vehicle to meet them around front, clueless as to where they were going at the moment. Brian followed his brother out the front door. “You going to tell me who the hell that is and where we’re going?”

Sean yanked on his driver’s door. “We’re going to see a psycho pharmacist.”

* * *

Grace woke up in a fog to sheer silence. Her mouth felt like she’d swallowed a pound of cotton, and her head throbbed. What the hell did I drink last night to get a hangover like this? Heck, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been hungover.

She tried to roll over and find her pillow at the same time, but something was wrong. Not only could she not find her pillow, she wasn’t even in her bed. Oh, shit! I’m not in a bed at all and can’t move my arms or legs!

It took her a moment to realize her immobility came from her limbs being restrained, although that didn’t make her feel any better. In fact, it was really, really bad. Blinking several times, she tried to bring the surrounding area into focus. She was in a room with no windows. A bare bulb hung above her, and around her, against the walls were cabinets and shelves. It was a storage room of sorts, and she was laying on a table. Grace yanked on her arms and legs, but she was securely fastened with leather straps attached to chains. The rattling sent chills down her spine.

Panicking, she opened her mouth. “Help! Somebody, help! Please! Help!”

Tears overflowed onto her cheeks and she screamed her throat raw, but no one answered. The dryness in her mouth caused her to start coughing and she tried to clear her throat. How did I get here? Who brought me here and where are they now? And where the fuck is “here”?

Wherever “here” was, she hoped Sean or the police would find her—and soon. But how? Do they even know I’m missing?

Grace resumed her screaming and pulled at her restraints until her arms ached and her voice was hoarse. Her heaving chest hurt and her face was now wet from a combination of tears and sweat. Her body sagged against the hard table.

“Please, Sean,” she whispered into the ensuing silence. “Please be my hero and find me.”

* * *

Barreling into the pharmacy, Sean ignored the startled look on the faces of the employees and customers. Brian, Lynch, and Rafe, followed him. On the way there, after Brian had called the car behind them with their destination, the sheriff’s detective had thrown on his lights and sirens, then pulled in front of Sean’s Mustang to lead the way. Either way, the federal agent would have broken every traffic law to get to the pharmacy. They ended up making the ten minute ride from Whisper to Nags Head, near the hospital, in five minutes flat.

Gripping the photo printout a little too tightly, Sean vaulted over the counter to the pharmacist’s work area. The female pharmacist gasped in alarm and another woman who was probably a pharmacy tech let out a scream, but it was cut short when Sean shoved the picture in her face. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Sean,” Brian warned from the other side of the counter. “Easy.” He smiled at the tech who appeared to be in shock. “Ma’am, I’m State Investigator Brian Malone. Can you tell us who the man in the photo is?”

The calm voice did nothing to stop the woman from shaking from fear. Her eyes slowly went to Brian, Rafe, and Lynch, before returning to the scary man in front of her. Sean waved the picture in her face again, but bit back the words on the tip of his tongue. The pharmacist, who was less rattled at the sudden intrusion, stepped forward, put her hand on her coworker’s arm, and gently moved her out of the way so she could look at the photo. “That’s George.”

“George who?” Sean practically growled.

“Wallace. George Wallace. He’s a pharmacist here.” Her eyes went wide as she concluded whatever the reason they were looking for her coworker, it couldn’t be good. “Why are you asking?”

“Where does he live, ma’am?” Brian asked.

“I-I don’t know.” She turned to the other woman. “Sherry, do you know?”

A very pale Sherry just squeaked and shook her head violently.

The pharmacist turned back to Sean. “His address is on file in the office.” She pointed to the door behind him. “If you let me pass, I’ll get it for you.”

He gave her a curt nod and stepped aside, a little too close for comfort for Sherry, who flinched. Finally realizing he’d been scaring the shit out of her, he gave her a tense smile. “I’m sorry, but it’s a matter of life and death.”

An uncontrolled bobbing of her head was her only answer. Turning, he followed the pharmacist into a small office where she pulled open the top drawer of a filing cabinet and selected a folder toward the back. Pulling out the top page, she held it at an angle so she and Sean could both see the information. The others stood in a small hallway outside the open door because there was not enough room for them all.

The woman pointed to an address located in Nags Head. “610 Park Terrace, in the Forest Glen condominiums.”

Sean was about to thank her when something caught his eye. Another address was above that one and had been crossed out. “Did he move recently?”

“Yes. Well, a few months ago. He moved here from Pennsylvania when his aunt passed away about six months ago. From what I understand, her house needs a lot of renovations before it’s habitable, so he’s living in the condo until it’s done. He said he was doing it himself. That’s the address for the house, I believe.”

Pushing past the others, Sean said, “38 Pelican Lane, Manns Harbor. Brad, send units to the Forest Glen condos just in case, but my bet is on Manns Harbor.”

He prayed he was right. Grace’s life depended on it.