Mia weighed the odds. It was unlikely her kidnapper was hiding down here. She’d been dumped and left bound and woozy. The door was probably locked so there was little chance Mia would be able to escape.

So who did that leave?

A second victim.

As quietly as she could, Mia shifted to her knees, her palms flat on the floor to give her balance. She shifted away from whatever she’d been propped on and scooted toward the shadows on the far side of the room. There was an old dresser blocking her view of the whole wall, and she moved slowly, so slowly, to the left so she could see around it.

A crumpled figure was curled up against the wall. Mia bit her lip until she saw the rise and fall of his chest beneath his thin wifebeater.

“Shit,” she whispered, her voice rough from disuse. The man flinched but didn’t even look her way.

Broken. He was broken.

She edged closer, her movements disjointed because of her bindings. A distant part of her realized that he had no such ties, but he looked so weak he could barely lift an arm, let alone fight off their kidnapper.

“Hello,” she said quietly. “I’m Detective Mia Hart. I’m going to get us out of here.”

There was a pause, and then that hitch of breathing again. Just when she was about to reach out, the man rolled over.

She covered her quick intake of air with a cough, but her gaze darted from the blood that glued his shirt to the side of his body to his damp, pleading eyes and then back again.

He licked dry, cracked lips. “I can help.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

IZZY

“Charles Bell,” Izzy repeated, still standing in the doorway, unable to move any farther into the room. Charles Bell’s room, apparently.

Teresa glanced up from where she’d been fixing the quilt that draped over Charles’s legs, possibly sensing the shift in tone. “Yes,” she answered, though it hadn’t really been a question. Izzy had heard her the first time. Loud and clear.

This shouldn’t have been as unexpected as it was, maybe, but Izzy had convinced herself Charles Bell would have moved on. But beyond that, to think Bell in his current physical state could overpower anyone would be laughable.

Sammy’s phone call, though. It could have been to Bell. Maybe Bell was just pulling the puppet strings and leaving the dirty work to the doc.

“Can I . . . Can I try to wake him?” Izzy asked, unsure of the proper protocol.

“Won’t work, but . . .” Teresa jerked her chin toward his prone body.

Izzy stepped closer and called his name a few times. No response. She didn’t want to touch him, which left her few other options.