Lauren came to slowly. First, all she could hear was the lapping of the waves. Then the distant calling of gulls. She frowned, the whole idea making little sense even as the sounds reached her ears. The air was tinged with the taste of salt and cool enough to leave goose bumps on her skin and send small shivers racing down her spine. The weather wasn’t cold enough to elicit tremors, but her entire body was racked with them. A soft slapping sound met her ears, and the smell of gasoline and grease filled her nose and overwhelmed her senses. The smell was so pungent she retched, moaning as her shoulders scraped along the rough surface beneath her. She was lying on something cold and solid, but she couldn’t quite figure out what. It was as if her mind and body were separated, the world only starting to filter back in. A spot of skin on her upper arm burned, and her stomach cramped as a metallic clang sounded in the distance.

What the hell had happened? Her memory stuttered. She remembered being in the supermarket, then a man, and then . . . nothing. Her eyes drifted closed again as her mind tried to make sense of it, looking for anything, but all she saw were flashes. Colors, sounds, even tastes, all flew through her mind, disconnected and out of context as her mind blanked out.

* * *

She opened her eyes again. Had she been out for a minute or hours? She had no way to tell. Things were different that time, the damp floor beneath her body feeling more real. The room seemed darker than it had before. Maybe hours had passed.

Where was she? Maybe if she could just sit up, she could find her cell. Then she’d have light and also know what the fuck time . . . no, what day it was. She attempted to move to sit up, but all that happened was she jerked forward, grazing her cheek along the floor. She tugged again, her hands refusing to move from behind her back.

Fuck. That wasn’t good.

Lauren sucked in a mouthful of air, desperately pushing down her panic. Every moment she managed to stay awake, everything became more solid, more real. Oh, God. She was lying on the floor in a small room, one window up high, and her hands were zip-tied behind her back, the plastic biting into her skin.

She had no memory of traveling, but if the smells and sounds that permeated the room were anything to go by, she was no longer in Monroe. Hell, Lauren was pretty sure she wasn’t even in Georgia anymore. She could smell salt water, mixed with a weird chemical tang, fried food, and old wood. Even inside the room, everything seemed to creak and groan around her. A dirty old barrel stood in the corner of the room, and she edged her way over to it. Like everything else in the room, it held a dampness that she couldn’t explain. Even her skin was coated with a fine sheen of sweat; from dragging her way across the room or from whatever had happened while she was still unconscious, she didn’t know.

She braced her hands against the side of the barrel, molding her hands against the slight curve of the surface when there was nothing else to grip onto. She pulled her legs up to her chest, taking several deep breaths, immediately regretting it when her lungs filled with the damp, humid air, then brought her elbow up underneath her. Every muscle in her body protested as she lurched upward, grunting at the effort. The world tilted and swum again, and for a moment Lauren regretted the decision to move. Too far gone to stop or risk falling again, she forced her body the final inches upward and then swung her legs out in front to keep her there, finally noticing that her legs weren’t tied. Thank God for small mercies. Now she just had to figure out where the hell she was and how she was getting out of there.

Her eyes had started to adjust to the gloominess of the room and she allowed her gaze to sweep around, taking in a full survey from her new position in the corner. The room was almost empty. In fact, except for her barrel, a pile of what looked like broken wooden pallets, and a lone chair, she was the only other thing in the room. Her breath left her in a gasp. Brayden wasn’t there. She didn’t know whether to be thankful or scared out of her mind at that. She shuffled, moving herself half a foot to the left, her fingers moving from the barrel and brushing against the wall. It would take a while, but maybe if she could get around the whole room that way, she could find a way out, even locate the door in the gloom, something.

She flinched at the contact of her fingers against the wall. The surface had a roughness she wasn’t expecting. Her heart raced as she kneeled and leaned back to brush them against the floor. Same result. That wasn’t drywall and wooden flooring beneath her. The floor and walls were made of a hard, rough metal. All at once, the answer slammed into her muddled brain as the room pitched. It was subtle, but it was there, and was probably at least some of the reason she felt like she was going to lose whatever was left in her stomach every time she moved. She was on a damn boat!

The room around Lauren dimmed, and she fought her escalating breathing, forcing herself to calm down even as her mind screamed at her to move, to do anything other than just sit there on the Goddamned floor. If she was right, if she was locked up in a room on a boat big enough to have a rusty steel hull, then she definitely wasn’t in Monroe anymore. From the smells, and now the sounds, that drifted to her from the outside world, she was becoming more and more convinced she wasn’t in Georgia. Just how long had she been out? It had still been daylight when she’d first opened her eyes, but even as she had the thought, another—more terrifying—one swiftly followed. She had no idea which day. Was it possible? Could she have missed multiple days? Traveled halfway around the world in some kind of drugged-out stupor?

Her heart sank as any burgeoning hope was swept away. The boat was in the harbor. That much she could guess. The movement beneath her was too subtle to be anything else, especially if she was right about the size of the vessel. She had a little experience with similar crafts, thanks to James’ business.

Lauren closed her eyes, her breath rushing out of her, her body nearly sinking to the floor with unrealized grief. Victor. He had the means and opportunity to grab her and stash her in a boat headed to God knows where, and unlike anyone else she could think of, he definitely had the motive. No wonder Brayden wasn’t there with her. She probably really was halfway across the world, or soon would be, while Victor took Brayden quietly back under his wing. He’d be told that his mother had been in a horrible accident, but it wouldn’t matter because his Grandpa Victor was there to take care of him.

Lauren stomped her feet, her head flying backward into the wall as she screamed her frustration. She hadn’t changed her will, or any other legal documents. God, she was so stupid! She should have changed them the minute she’d run out the door. At the time, she’d been scared that doing anything official would give Victor an easy trail to follow. She almost snorted at the irony. He hadn’t needed any help to find her. He never did, and there she was, in the exact position she’d always feared, except there was nothing to help Brayden. It was her worst nightmare come true. He was back in the clutches of a murderer. Sure, she’d told Brayden they wouldn’t be going back home and to tell her if he ever saw someone he recognized from Philly, but he had no idea of the full extent. How could she have possibly told that to a ten-year-old? She wouldn’t be responsible for burdening him with her mistakes. She refused.

She ground her teeth in frustration as her head thumped against the wall again. The pain didn’t register. It didn’t matter. Nothing did, anymore. Eventually, Brayden might realize something wasn’t right, just as she had, but that would be many years off. Even if he was smarter than she and figured it out, what on earth could he do? He was a child, and without a legal guardian to stand up for him.

Matt!

Something fluttered in Lauren’s chest. She couldn’t call it hope. She wasn’t sure she would ever feel that again, but it was something. Why couldn’t they have had just a little more time? Enough time for her and Matt to tell Brayden the truth. She’d been holding back, wanting more than anything in the world to keep from hurting the ones she loved, and in doing so, she might have fucked it all up.

Brayden had no idea about the truth, but Matt did. Would he figure it out? When she didn’t come back from the store, would he seek them out? He knew their whole story now, and it wouldn’t take him long to guess where Brayden was. There was nothing more he could do for Lauren, but Matt could rescue Brayden. The only question was, would he walk back into the den of his father’s killer to rescue his son?

Lauren took in a deep breath as the sensation settled in her chest. Of that, at least, she had no doubt. Matt would do it in a heartbeat. He would save Brayden. It was up to her to save herself.

Before she could exhale, the only door was wrenched open with a hideous squeal and her small prison was flooded with light as the dank yellow of old fluorescent lights filled the space. Lauren squinted, unwilling to shut her eyes but half-blinded from the sudden light. A dark figure stood back from the doorway, shadows still obscuring his identity. He looked almost like Matt had when she had been trapped in the hotel fire, a dark figure surrounded by brightness. Unlike then, this figure sent chills to her bones.

Her gaze darted back and forth as her hands tensed into fists behind her. Could she do it? Could she make a run for it, pushing herself hard enough to unbalance the figure and get out the door? She braced her knees on the hard floor, but before she could make her move, the figure stepped forward.

Any remaining hope Lauren had of any of them making it out alive dropped away with the sight of Detective Bellamy standing in the door.