Had she dreamed that?

It was possible, but since she was no longer inside the cooler, she didn’t think so. She remembered desperately wanting to get up, to shove him out of the way—fight him, if necessary—so she could get past him. The door had stood open; she’d finally had her chance to escape. But she hadn’t been able to take advantage of the opportunity, hadn’t been able to so much as lift her head. Then, like now, her body had been far too heavy.

He’d crouched beside her, lifted her eyelids and checked her pupils with a penlight, as a doctor would do, while she ordered herself to react, to strike him, to kick him, to do whatever she could to incapacitate him. Now! This is your chance! her brain had screamed. But it was all for nothing. She’d offered no more resistance than a sack of potatoes when he rolled her to one side so he could tie her hands.

Her hands were still tied, or so she believed. She couldn’t tell, couldn’t feel them at all.

Light from an approaching car or truck filled the space around her like the tide rolling in, only to roll right back out as the sound of the other engine receded.

Then she knew—and the realization hit hard.

She was back in the van Emmett had used to kidnap her. She recognized the name etched into the paint on the wall: Billy, 2012. She had no idea who Billy was or why that date had been significant to him, but focusing on him, wondering about him, helped her keep from screaming once her mind began to produce other, more disturbing images.

Edna. Bishop had been so angry when he’d brought their dinner he’d told her he was going to kill her bitch of a daughter, which had upset her so badly she’d refused to eat more than a few bites.

She’d finally fallen asleep just before Bishop came in—at least Evelyn assumed that was what’d happened. She had no recollection of anything after finishing her meal, not until she’d heard the door open and roused enough to see him moving toward her.

Whether Edna had been asleep or not, Bishop hadn’t seemed concerned about her until the older woman rushed him, screaming like a banshee. Edna might’ve been able to get around him while he’d been preoccupied tying Evelyn’s hands. That thought had struck Evelyn then as it did now and made her feel even worse. Edna had tried to fight him off for Evelyn’s sake—and for the sake of Evelyn’s unborn child. She hadn’t only been thinking of herself and her daughter, or she would simply have run.

Tears welled up as Evelyn remembered seeing the older woman hit the wall. The way she’d fallen …

Swallowing hard, Evelyn struggled to banish the memory. She’d prayed that Edna would rally or show some sign of life, but she’d given up hope when Bishop had gone over and started choking her. He’d been livid, sputtering and cursing and using his weight so that Edna had no chance of getting up or getting away.