She couldn’t hear anything distinctive enough to tell her where she was—no car doors slamming or people talking. That made her believe she was out in the middle of nowhere, parked on the side of the road. Was he taking her to Fairbanks? If so, it was a six-and-a-half-hour drive from Anchorage. How far into it were they?

They couldn’t be too far. It was still dark, and it didn’t remain dark in Alaska for long, not this time of year.

“Bishop?” His name came out like “Be-op,” but that was the best she could do with a gag in her mouth.

He didn’t answer. Was he asleep in the driver’s seat or out going to the bathroom, getting a room at a motel or something else?

She couldn’t even begin to guess, but being outside the cooler, being somewhere that seemed so close to the rest of the world, made her feel as though she just might escape, if only she tried hard enough.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on freeing her hands. She was relieved he hadn’t used zip ties. He’d used old-fashioned rope instead, probably because he’d found it lying around the ranch.

“Come on, come on,” she whispered to herself, pulling and straining against her bonds because she couldn’t reach the knot, let alone untie it—not with numb fingers.

She had no idea of the injury she was causing to her wrists, but she didn’t care. She didn’t feel any pain; she was too filled with adrenaline, too driven by the thought that if she could only get free and figure out where Bishop was, she could hit him with something so she could take the van and get away.

Her heart was thumping so hard she could feel it banging against her chest.

Boom, boom, boom.

She tried to ignore it even though it seemed to reverberate around her, so loud anyone in the immediate vicinity could hear.

You can do it. Keep fighting. Pull. Twist. She felt like a rabbit caught in a snare, chewing off its own paw in order to escape, but she was willing to make that sacrifice. At this point, she was willing to make almost any sacrifice if it meant freedom.

To her surprise, her feet came loose but not her hands. Bishop must not have tied them as securely. She guessed he hadn’t been as worried about her feet, but she prayed that one small mistake—his first, as far as she was concerned—would be his undoing.

Although it was plenty cool in the van, she was sweating by the time she kicked off the rope around her ankles. Were the restraints on her wrists loosening?

Or was that just wishful thinking?

She was still struggling when the driver’s side door opened with a loud, rusty creak and the cabin light snapped on.

Clamping her ankles together as though they were still tied and rolling onto her hands to hide any bleeding, she held her breath.

The van swayed as Bishop climbed in. She had her eyes shut, so she couldn’t see if he looked back at her, but she prayed he’d believe she was still unconscious if he did.