Page 31 of Forgiveness River

The second man smiled, a cold gesture that never reached his eyes, and pulled back his jacket to reveal a holstered gun. “Like I said. The hard way is also an option.”

In that moment, Raven knew these weren’t ordinary criminals. The practiced way they moved, the clinical efficiency of their threats—these were professionals. And they were here because of whatever secret Wyatt had been keeping. The mystery that had driven a wedge between them was now threatening her life.

The first man pulled zip ties from his pocket, the plastic gleaming dully in the boutique’s soft lighting. “Hands in front, please.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Raven said, stalling for time, inching backward toward the counter where the panic button was hidden beneath the edge. “My sister-in-law is meeting me here any minute. If I’m not here?—”

“We know you close alone on Wednesdays,” the second man interrupted, his eyes flicking to the movement of her hand. “We’ve been watching you for weeks.”

The realization that they’d been monitoring her routine, learning her patterns, sent a fresh wave of fear through her. These men were prepared. They’d planned this. Nothing about this encounter was random.

As the first man approached with the zip ties, Raven knew she had seconds to decide. Comply and hope for rescue, or fight and risk immediate harm.

She chose to fight.

Grabbing the heavy crystal vase from the counter behind her, she hurled it at the first man’s head. He ducked, but the momentary distraction was enough. She bolted for the back door, knocking over a display rack of silk scarves to slow her pursuers. Fabric billowed like colorful ghosts in her wake, tangling around the men’s feet.

A crash of glass, the thud of boots on hardwood—they were right behind her. She fumbled with the lock on the back door, panic making her fingers clumsy. The familiar mechanism suddenly felt foreign, refusing to yield to her trembling hands.

“Don’t make this worse,” one of the men called, his voice eerily calm. “We just need to have a conversation with your husband.”

The lock finally gave. Raven yanked the door open—only to freeze as the barrel of a gun pressed against her temple.

“Going somewhere?” A third man stood in the doorway, his expression dispassionate. “Let’s not make this difficult.”

Her escape route blocked, her options exhausted, Raven felt a cold resignation settle over her. Whatever Wyatt had gotten himself into was now ensnaring her as well. The irony wasn’t lost on her—after a week of avoiding him, she was now desperate for him to appear.

“Fine,” she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible. “I’ll go with you. But you should know that if anything happens to me, you’ll have the entire O’Hara family hunting you down. And they don’t give up easily.”

The men exchanged glances, a flicker of something—uncertainty?—passing between them. Her captors clearly knew the O’Hara reputation in Laurel Valley. The name carried weight, power. A history of people who protected their own with fierce determination.

“Nobody needs to get hurt,” the first man said, his tone almost reasonable. “Your husband has something our boss wants. Once he gives it up, you go free.”

“And you believe that?” Raven asked, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.

The second man shrugged. “Not our concern what happens after. Now, hands.”

Reluctantly, Raven extended her wrists, wincing as the plastic zip tie bit into her skin. The third man, still holding the gun, reached for a dark cloth in his pocket.

“No blindfold,” Raven said quickly, the first real panicked note entering her voice. “Please. I get claustrophobic.”

It was a lie, but her panic at the thought of being blindfolded was real enough. If she could see where they were taking her, she might have a chance to escape—or at least to leave a trail someone could follow.

The men seemed to consider this. “Fine,” the leader decided. “But one word, one attempt to signal anyone, and the blindfold goes on. Understood?”

Raven nodded, her mouth too dry to speak.

“Let’s go. Out the back, nice and casual.”

They led her through the service alley behind the boutique, one man on each side, their grips firm on her upper arms. A dark SUV with tinted windows waited at the end where the alley connected to the side street, engine running. Despite her determination to stay aware of her surroundings, fear threatened to overwhelm her as they approached the vehicle.

This was really happening. She was being kidnapped because of whatever Wyatt had been involved in.

“Wait,” she said suddenly, an idea forming. “I need my medication. It’s in my purse, behind the counter.”

“What medication?” the leader asked suspiciously.

“For my heart,” she improvised. “Congenital condition. Skip a dose, and I could have problems. You want me alive to talk to my husband, right?”

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