“I hardly think you’re in a position to make that sort of suggestion, Mick.” Hannah took his knife from her pocket and waved it in front of his nose. “Here’s how it works. The person who isn’t hanging upside down from a tree gets to ask the questions. You need to start talking.”

“I’m not telling you anything. You’re going to let me down, and you’re going to do what I say.” Spite, gleeful and malicious, pinched his face. “If you want to see your friend alive again.”

That must mean . . . She was alive! Hannah didn’t let her relief show on her face. She channeled her contract-negotiating expression—similar to emotional Botox. “Just tell me where she is.”

Mick’s body went still. “She?”

“The girl.”

“What girl?” His face reddened as the blood flowed into his head.

“Jewel.”

He laughed. “You’re hung up on that little whore? She’s long gone. I have no idea where she is.”

“What did you do with her?” Hannah asked. Then discomfort rode up her spine as she realized the full impact of his statement. “Who were you talking about?”

“Check your e-mail.” Glee lit his eyes.

What had he done?

Hannah took her phone from her pocket and opened her e-mail. She had fifty-seven new e-mails. She scanned the list, stopping on a message from [email protected]. Clicking on the attachment, she gasped. Staring back at her was a picture of Chet, bound, gagged with duct tape, and apparently unconscious. She studied the photo. The picture was zoomed in close. Where was he? She couldn’t see much of the background. Just grass and weeds under his head. A dark red wall of some sort behind him. He could be anywhere.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Like I’m going to tell you.” He sneered. “My brother is watching him. If I don’t call by eight o’clock, he’ll kill the old man. He’ll enjoy doing it.”

An icy ball formed behind Hannah’s ribs. She took his phone out of her pocket.

A lock screen appeared. “Pass code?”

“Like I’d give you that.” The arrogant bastard actually smirked. “Let me down and untie me. Then I’ll tell you.”

Right. Not. Hannah debated for a minute. She could call Brody. He’d bring the police. They’d start a formal search for Chet. But would Mick talk to the police? She doubted it. She had a feeling he knew the Miranda warnings by heart.