She moved closer to the sound and started to pick up the murmur of voices. The light was brighter, and she moved cautiously, not wanting to make any noise. Picking up her foot, she carefully stepped forward. The slight pressure on her shin made her go completely still as she looked down. A trip wire, pulled taut by her lower leg, caught the faint light. She bit the inside of her cheek to hold back a distressed sound as the grenade at Mother Tick’s house flashed through her mind.

Unbearably slowly, she moved her leg back, returning the wire to its original position. As she stepped over it, pulling her knees up higher than she needed to clear the wire, her heart beat loudly in her ears, even as anger made her hands tighten into fists. Of course Sonny set booby traps. She wondered if that was how he’d caught John and gotten hold of his phone, and then she forced herself to quit dwelling on her worst fears. She couldn’t wait until Sonny Zarver was back behind bars again.

Placing each foot carefully, she moved to the end of a row of shelving. Peeking around a partition, she saw a small huddle of people looming threateningly over a man sitting in an office chair. Shifting so she was slightly more exposed, she got a better view of the bloodied man.

John!

Chapter 22

Although it was nearly impossible to drag her horrified gaze off John’s swollen and bloody face, Molly forced herself to look at the others. There were four of them: Sonny; a big, bouncer-shaped guy she didn’t recognize; a tall man with his back to her; and a shorter, wiry man.

Biting her lip to keep the mental shout from slipping out of her mouth, she watched in horror as the burly guy hovering over John cocked back his fist and then let it fly. The clenched paw swung around, seeming to slow as it headed for John’s already battered face. The man’s knuckles caught John on the side of his jaw, snapping his head to the side as the punch connected with a meaty thump.

Molly flinched as if she’d been the one hit, and she barely kept herself from running toward John’s assailant and tackling him to the ground. She’d see how he liked having a flurry of punches raining down at his face. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms, and the tiny pain steadied her thoughts.

Looking closer at the group, she saw that John had been tied to the chair, his legs, arms, and chest gleaming silver with strips of duct tape that circled his limbs and torso. Although his head was bobbing slightly, he looked conscious, and she sent a mental prayer that he stay that way for a while longer. If he couldn’t run or walk or even crawl to the car, she had no idea how she’d manage to get him out.

She hadn’t called the cops, since she didn’t know the situation that John was in. Now, she was still torn. As much as she would’ve loved some armed backup, it would be too easy for one of these guys to put a bullet in John’s beautiful head before anyone could even breach the building.