Page 65 of Owen

“I shot at him, not you,” Quinn corrected. “I like to eliminate threats. He’s a threat.”

“You missed.” Sophie goaded Quinn, which might not have been smart but was still awfully satisfying.

Quinn sneered at her. “I did, but I won’t miss at this range.” She brandished the weapon. “Get out of the van.”

Sophie wiggled to the door and got her feet under her. As soon as she was standing, Quinn grabbed the briefcase from the van and shoved Sophie along toward a side entrance to the abandoned-looking building. Inside, the floor was covered with years’ worth of dirt and the air smelled of oil and decay. The windows were grimed over, letting in little light. Sophie could just make out a few tables and chairs set up, giving her the impression that the space was sometimes used.

Drug packaging? Drug drop-off points? If she could get a closer look, she might be able to figure it out. She craned her neck and squinted.

“Aren’t you the curious one?” Quinn said and Sophie felt the shove of the gun barrel between her shoulders. “Down the stairs.”

Sophie hadn’t even noticed the set of steps going down in the corner of the large space. She walked across to it, dragging her feet. Nothing good happened in basements of buildings like this. But her slow pace didn’t save her for long. Soon, she was going down the concrete steps to a room with one bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.

In the dim light, she saw a figure on the floor, leaning against the wall. It stirred, struggling to sit up straighter.

“Micky,” she said, recognizing the shape as him. He was a prisoner, too, but it still made her feel better to see him and know that he was alive. She scanned him quickly. He had a bruise on his temple that may have come from the butt of a gun. Other than that, he seemed uninjured.

He gave her a half-smile. “Hey, Soph,” he said, his voice gravelly.

“Are you okay?” The question felt silly and important at the same time.

“Just great,” he said, and his gaze went behind her to Quinn. “I don’t much like our jailer.”

Quinn wrinkled her nose at him. “Join your friend, princess.”

Before Sophie could react, Quinn put a hand on her shoulder and shoved her down, looping a rope through the zip ties already on Sophie’s wrists to secure her against the wall.

Quinn backed away then, smiling and clearly pleased with her handy work. Sophie hoped she’d go away and give her a chance to talk to Micky. Together, they might be able to come up with a plan to escape, or at least call for help.

Her hopes were dashed when Quinn placed the briefcase on an old table and flicked the catches to open it. She took the knife, the weapon that had killed Razor, from it. The long blade caught the dim light showing both the gleam of the steel and the dried blood.

THIRTY-ONE

Owen tapped his finger against the steering wheel of Sophie’s car. They had to be at the meeting place in just over ten minutes, and there was no sign of her yet. He wanted to think that she was just held up in traffic getting across town, but he felt more than a frisson of worry that something could have gone wrong.

He’d resisted calling her, knowing that she had a job to do and not wanting to distract her, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He dialed and waited through five rings until voicemail picked up. Not bothering to leave a message, he tapped his OnStar app to locate his truck. It was sitting in the parking lot of the newspaper office still. Okay, so maybe it was taking her longer to locate the briefcase and knife than she’d expected.

He waited another thirty seconds and then couldn’t stand to be inactive any longer. They were going to be late to the rendezvous, but that was something he couldn’t fix. What hecoulddo was find out what was going on with Sophie. He peeled out of the lot and got lucky when he hit all the traffic lights on green. Pulling in behind the newspaper building, he spotted his truck and parked next to it.

Was she still inside the building? He got out and checked inside the truck’s cab. No one. He tried the door. Unlocked. That stopped him. She wouldn’t have left it that way. Something had happened. Did she get interrupted when she returned to the truck? The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Forcing himself to take a breath, he called her phone again, thinking there was a slim chance she was inside the building. This time he heard it ring from nearby. He tracked the sound to a dumpster and looked in. Sophie’s purse sat amongst bags of garbage. He reached in and grabbed it. His mind was racing through the possible scenarios—none of them good.

He returned to his truck, looking more carefully. No sign of a struggle. He couldn’t imagine Sophie going willingly unless she was unconscious or bleeding. No blood. That was good. But where was she? And who had her?

Then, it all became obvious. Quinn. She’d known that they had to get the briefcase from the newspaper and had decided to target Sophie there instead of waiting for their rendezvous. Had Quinn banked on Sophie coming alone to the newspaper office?Of course she did,he realized with a flash of insight. That was why she’d asked for two things in such a short amount of time—so they’d have to split up. And Sophie, as the one familiar with the newspaper office, was the obvious choice to come here. Quinn might be even more clever than he’d thought.

And he had to assume she had Sophie.

Something like panic threatened to paralyze him. It shouldn’t. He was trained to deal with situations just like this, but he’d never been in love with the victim of the kidnapping before. That was entirely new. And terrifying. He loved Sophie, probably had for a while, but it was only now that he finally let himself admit it. He regretted so much of what had happened between him and Sophie over the past few days, regretted that he’d blocked her out. He had to find her and make this right if she’d let him.

All of those thoughts rushed through his mind in a nanosecond before he pushed them aside to focus on what he needed to do to rescue her. First, he needed her location. He’d been banking on tracking her through his truck, but she’d mentioned the GPS in her watch. He had to get access to that. He kicked himself for not setting that up on his phone before they left the retreat.

The retreat, though. Her laptop was probably linked to the same account as her watch. He sure as hell didn’t have time to drive back there, so he called Luna.

“I need a favor,” he said as soon as she answered.

“Of course. Something wrong?” she asked.

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