Gone. Shirlee McCoy

she absolutely could not believe, was that Ruby had administered the drugs to herself.

      So, while she’d worked on cleaning out Ruby’s apartment, she’d talked to people who’d known her cousin. A social worker, hired by the county to work with recovering addicts, Ruby had met a lot of people. Ella had wanted to speak with all of them. In the few days she’d been in town, she’d done everything she could do achieve that goal. She’d talked to coworkers, to neighbors, to members of Ruby’s church.

      One of those people must not have liked the questions she was asking. Or, maybe, word had gotten out that she was making visits to the police, insisting that her cousin’s death wasn’t an accident. Newcastle was a small town. People knew each other. They talked.

      Whatever the case, Ella had been at the medical clinic, waiting for a key to Ruby’s office. She’d needed to remove her cousin’s personal belongings, and she’d wanted to look for anything that might help her make sense of the tragedy. She’d heard footsteps behind her, turned and...

      That was it. All she remembered. Her mind was blank. Just a black void that she was frantic to fill with knowledge, because she had no idea what had happened, how she had gotten here or who had brought her.

      She only knew that she had to escape.

      Something scuffled in the darkness. Fabric against metal or feet shuffling against the floor. She tensed, terror finally slipping through the numbness. Someone was there, she could feel the presence like an icy finger running up her spine. Whoever it was moved almost silently. Just those soft scuffling sounds mixing with the frantic pounding of her heart.

      She managed to get to her feet, her ankles so tightly bound she could barely shuffle backward. Even if she could have run, there was nowhere to go. Just the dark alcove and the deeper, darker shadow moving through it. Her heart thumped painfully, her attention riveted to the person walking toward her. Tall. Broad. A man, she thought. But it was too dark to make out details of his face or features.

      She yanked at her bonds, trying to shuffle farther away as if, somehow, she could disappear into the darkness.

      “I’m not going to hurt you,” the man said so suddenly, so unexpectedly, she jumped.

      “Said every serial killer who ever tried to convince a victim she was going to be okay,” she responded, her mouth cottony with fear.

      “If I were a serial killer, I don’t think I’d be worried about comforting you. Not when you’re already bound and helpless.”

      “I’m not helpless.” She glanced around, looking for a weapon, because she was helpless. Tied up. Alone. Probably far away from civilization.

      “You are, but you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to hurt you.”

      He was close now.

      So close she could see his chiseled features—hard jaw, prominent cheekbones, light hair. Eyes that were looking straight into hers.

      “What do you want?” she asked, still twisting her wrists, trying to loosen what felt like duct tape. If she could free her hands, she could fight. If she could fight, she had a chance of escaping.

      “To get you out of here,” he said.

      “And take me where?” she asked. Not because she believed him. Because she needed to buy time. The tape was loosening, the edges cutting into her skin but slowly giving.

      “Somewhere safe,” he responded, grabbing her shoulder so quickly she didn’t realize he was moving until he had her.

      She yanked away, tumbling back and crashing into a wall.

      “Calm down,” he said, his voice low and soothing. As if that would make her more likely to cooperate. “I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”

      “And I’m supposed to believe that because...?”

      “Lady, if I wanted to harm you, it would already be done.” He grabbed her shoulder again, and this time he held tight when she tried to pull away. “Turn around. I’ll cut you free.”

      She didn’t plan to cooperate, but he pulled something from his pocket. She heard a quiet click, saw a blade jump out and tensed.

      “I’d rather not be stabbed in the back,” she managed to say.

      He sighed, swinging her around so effortlessly she barely had time to realize what he was doing before she was free. Her hands hung limp at her sides, pieces of tape still dangling from the skin, blood flowing back into her fingers.

      He crouched, cut the tape at her ankles.

      She tried to dart away, but her feet were numb, her movements clumsy. He snagged her hand and tugged her back. Not hard. Not with enough force to make her stumble. Just enough to pull her to a stop.

      “Do you know where you are?” he asked.

      “In a room with a guy I don’t know who happens to have a knife. Let me go,” she responded.

      “You’re twenty miles from town. In an old shipping container that someone converted to a building. It’s sitting in a graveyard of other containers in the middle of a forest that would be very easy to get lost in.”

      “I’ll take my chances. Let me go,” she repeated.

      “I have a vehicle. It’s parked a couple of miles from here. We’ll walk there, drive back to town and contact the authorities,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken.

      “You either didn’t hear me, or you misunderstood what I said. I’m willing to take my chances on going it alone.” She tried to pull away, but he didn’t release her.

      “I think you’re the one who misunderstood. We’re going together, because the men who brought you here aren’t playing around. I’m not sure if they plan to kill you or sell you to the highest bidder, but I don’t think either sounds like how you want to spend the rest of the night.”

      “Who are you?” she asked, running his words through her mind, trying to make sense of them. Kill or sell her? He was right. Neither of those things would be a good ending to her night.

      “Special Agent Sam Sheridan,” he replied. “I’m with the FBI.”

      “And you just happened to be hanging out in the middle of the woods right at the time when I needed help?”

      “Not quite.” He started walking, dragging her along beside him. She went mostly because she couldn’t free herself from his grip. She still wasn’t convinced his motives were altruistic, and she certainly didn’t believe he was with the FBI.

      “Then how about you explain how you got here at just the right time to help me? Because I’d really like to know.”

      “I’ll explain. After we get out of here.” He stepped into the alcove, pulling her with him.

      It was darker there, but she could see a door on the far wall. Closed. He pulled it open. Cold air wafted in, and she could see moonlit trees and blue-black sky. Freedom. Just a few steps away.

      She didn’t give herself time to think. She shoved into him, using her weight to try to throw him off balance. He was a head taller and probably a hundred pounds heavier, and he barely moved. His grip on her hand loosened, though. Just enough for her to yank free. She bolted, rushing out the door, ignoring his shouted command to stop. One step into the cold evening, and then she was falling. Off a raised platform, tumbling toward the ground.

      * * *

      Sam snagged the back of the woman’s flannel shirt, dragging her back onto the platform before she hit the ground. He didn’t have time to be annoyed with himself for giving her an opportunity to escape. He certainly couldn’t fault her for trying. In her shoes, he’d have done the same.

      Only, he’d have probably succeeded.

      She hadn’t stood a chance.

      Maybe five foot two if