I felt kind of sorry for him. He was trying to help Madison. I loved that little girl like my own, there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for her either. But Trevor was going to find out. It was inevitable now.

“We have to get out of here.” Once more, I tucked my legs through my arms. I stood up, raised my hands above my head, then quickly brought them down, breaking the zip ties. I’d seen this on the Internet, and it worked. I plucked another bobby pin from my hair, removed the plastic part, then went over to— “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Jeff,” he answered dejectedly.

“Well, turn around, Jeff. I’ll get the cuffs off you, and we are getting out of here.” He looked at me doubtfully and stayed where he was.

“I’ll leave you here if I have to. But I was hoping to use you as a human shield. It’s the least you could do,” I grumbled.

He finally turned around. He looked surprised when I freed him from the handcuffs. Jerk. I didn’t have time for naysayers or sexists. I could pick a lock, I could throw a punch, and I was getting the hell out of here and back to my family, damn it.

I made myself keep feeling the rage. It made me focus instead of panic.

“Thanks,” he mumbled and jiggled the door handle. It was locked, of course.

I pulled another pin from my hair—I needed two pins for the door—and set about picking the lock. Luckily, it was just a regular inside knob lock, not a deadbolt or something that required a pick set, or a hammer, or a battering ram, or a motherfreaking, cannon.

I turned to Jeff with a smug smile after opening the door. “Lead the way,” I offered.

We crept out into the narrow hallway. It was quiet and getting darker by the minute. I hoped that Jeff could find his way out of here without light because we were losing it fast.

“I want to find my dad,” Jeff whispered.

“How about we get out of here and get help?” I countered. What if his dad was hurt, or dead? I needed to get out of here. Dylan was probably beside himself. The look on his face before he ran for help broke my heart. I cut that line of thought off, then decided to give it another direction instead—back to rage. They’d tried to take my son.

Focus. Anger gave me focus. I took a deep breath. Jeff took my hand and guided me forward.

“You’re probably right,” he whispered. “I need to get you out of here. I have no idea why they brought you here.”

We crept down the dusty makeshift hallway. “Where are we?” I whispered.