Taken. Lori L. Harris

confirmed reservations at one of Charleston’s better hotels, the hotel staff wasn’t likely to call the authorities when Jillian and Megan failed to check in. They’d run the cost for one night’s stay through on Jillian’s credit card and then cancel the other two nights. And when Jillian didn’t show up for her job interview tomorrow, her résumé would hit the circular file. End of story.

      Eventually someone might find Jillian’s abandoned car. But by the time the police were brought in, the trail would be cold. The story of two missing sisters might make America’s Most Wanted, but after a few months another kidnapping, another unfortunate incident would push their plight into the background. And with no family to stoke anyone’s memory, she and Megan would be forgotten.

      She couldn’t let that happen. It couldn’t end like this. She wouldn’t allow it. Somehow. Some way. They were going to survive this.

      In sudden frustration, Jillian tore at the manacle and in the process peeled open the heel of her hand. Cursing, fighting tears, she bent over her wrist. She’d heard of animals chewing off a paw to escape a trap and of people cutting off a limb just to survive, but she didn’t have any type of instrument to accomplish an amputation. And even if she did, she doubted that she could actually go through with the self-mutilation. At least not yet.

      But would it come to that? Would there come a time when she’d be willing to do just about anything? She decided it might be best not to think about the future. Swallowing her tears, Jillian ran her hands upward over the wire-mesh wall to the overhead mesh. For now she needed a skinny piece of metal.

      She’d only picked one lock in her life and there’d been someone standing over her shoulder the whole time, explaining the process, but at least it would keep her from going crazy while she came up with something better.

      With a quick indrawn breath, she jerked her fingers back, having encountered something sharp. After several seconds, going back to the same spot, she explored more cautiously but just as desperately.

      A sharp scraping sound, like nails across a chalkboard, shrieked from overhead. Even though she was encased in suffocating blackness, Jillian stopped moving and stared upward for several seconds. When another screech followed the first, she realized it was just a low tree limb dragging across the outside of the truck, and went back to what she was doing.

      It seemed as if she’d exhausted every inch of available surface before she finally located a piece of metal that wasn’t firmly attached on one end. With her second attempt to break it off, she managed to rip off the meaty end of her finger instead. With the sixth attempt, she jammed it beneath her fingernail. With no other choice, and blood now interfering with her ability to grasp, she continued as best she could, stopping only when she could no longer hold her arm above her head.

      Finally the two-inch length of metal broke free and immediately fell into the straw.

      Desperately, Jillian foraged. This was literally a needle in a haystack. She’d never find it. Panic tightened her chest, as dread deepened inside her. As long as she had a course of action, she’d been okay, but suddenly the ability to cope evaporated.

      After several difficult seconds, she managed to partially rein in the panic. She needed to keep it together. The piece of metal would be heavier than the straw. Maybe it had dropped through the bedding, was resting against the floor. Finding the piece of metal where the back wall met the floor, Jillian picked it up and settled back, her manacled hand resting in her lap.

      Holding the crude pick between the thumb and first two fingers of her free hand, she used the remaining two fingers to locate the lock, then in an awkward movement attempted to shift the pick forward and into the opening. She kept at it even after her fingers had gone numb from the pain and the cold.

      The truck slowed to make a sweeping right turn. Everything seeming to creak and shift at once—the metal overhead, the wood wall next to Megan, the floorboards under Jillian. Holding her breath, Jillian waited for the truck to accelerate. When it finally did, it wasn’t nearly as fast. Were they stopping?

      Frantic, she shifted into a different position and jammed the metal pick down. The lock suddenly clicked, and the manacle slid off with a soft clang.

      Jillian immediately rolled onto her knees. As she reached for Megan’s handcuff, her sister stirred.

      “Megan, wake up!”

      “Jilly?”

      “I’m free,” Jillian said. “We just need to get you loose, too.”

      Megan tried to sit up, but quickly lost her balance and flopped into the straw again. When she tried to sit up the next time, Jillian stopped her. “It might be better if you don’t try to help me.”

      “Hurry.”

      Jillian had expected it to be easier the second time, but quickly realized that her first success had been nothing more than sheer luck. She jabbed the piece of metal into the opening.

      Suddenly braking again, the truck made a hard left and immediately adopted a waddling motion as if it rode the ruts of a washed-out road.

      Losing her balance, Jillian wobbled forward, then was thrown backward, her right shoulder and the side of her head bouncing off the mesh. Brake pads squealed as the truck slowed; its tires churned through soft sand or mud for a minute or more before giving up.

      As soon as the truck came to a halt, Jillian reached for Megan’s wrist again.

      “Why did they stop?” Megan mumbled.

      Jillian listened as she worked at the lock, asking herself the same question. Was the stop only temporary? Had they stopped to relieve themselves? To check their route?

      Two seconds later the engine was shut down. In the ensuing silence, the sound of the radio in the cab drifted through, the station a country-western one.

      A door opened, the hinges screeching for oil. Jillian briefly heard the rumble of male conversation. She went still, waiting to find out if a second door would be opened.

      Her brain leapfrogged. What was she going to do? And how? And when? She’d been so focused on getting free of the manacle, seeing that as the first obstacle, that she hadn’t given any thought to the next step.

      Jillian searched for the handcuff that she’d removed only minutes earlier. Finding it, she pulled it next to her. Did she have the courage to place it around her wrist again?

      When the cab door suddenly slammed, Megan and Jillian both jerked. Jillian immediately rotated Megan’s cuff until she found the lock, but neither woman spoke.

      Nearly a minute later, there came a rhythmic sound that Jillian couldn’t identify. What did it matter, anyway, what they were doing? What was important was getting Megan free.

      What about the woman from the road, though? What if she was still alive? If she was chained up, too, which Jillian assumed she would be, there wasn’t time to free her.

      But how could they leave her behind?

      Having ceased for nearly a minute, the sound started up again, outside. Megan shifted. “Oh God…they’re digging. Why?”

      Jillian tried to ignore the question. The answer was too obvious.

      “Jilly?”

      “Don’t think about it.” But now that Jillian knew the origin of the sound, she could no longer block it out. Was that the reason they’d stopped? Was the woman dead and they intended to bury her?

      Or were they digging three graves?

      The sound stopped. The silence that followed was even more frightening.

      When the latch on the truck’s rear door rattled, Megan pushed Jillian away. “No more time.”

      “I’m not going without you.”

      “One of us gets away, the other…better chance.” Megan’s fingers, suddenly strong, grabbed Jillian’s arm. “Go! Get help.”

      The sound