They climbed the bank to the road. Without her hands to stabilize her climb, Hannah tripped twice on rubbery legs. A moving van was parked on the road next to the demolished bridge. Mick rolled the back door up. The interior was a black void.

Sam heaved Brody into the back. He hoisted himself into the truck, rolled Brody onto his face, and zip-tied his hands behind his back. Another plastic tie went around Brody’s ankles.

“Your turn.” Mick gestured toward the van.

Hannah climbed up the metal steps into the back.

“Stop,” Mick commanded, his gun pointed at Brody’s temple. “Get her ankles. Bitch can be tricky.”

Sam bound her feet together.

The door slammed down. The van went dark. A metallic click signaled the slide lock closing. A few seconds later, an engine started, and the truck moved. Hannah nearly fell over.

She dropped on her knees beside Brody. A little moonlight came through vents near the roof of the van, just enough for her to see Brody’s outline. How badly was he hurt?

“Brody!”

Hannah’s voice stirred Brody. What happened? His body felt like someone had beaten every inch of it with a stick. He tried to open his eyes, but they were crusty.

Blinking hard, he forced his eyelids open. Was he blind or was it dark? “Hannah?” His voice sounded hoarse, even to his own ears.

“I’m here.” Her lips found his face, and she kissed him on the mouth.

“Is it dark?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God.” His head pounded. He remembered the bridge blowing, the car rolling . . . His hands were tied behind his back. He tried to move his arms. Pain blasted through his shoulder. “I can’t move. Where are we?”

“Back of a moving truck. Mick and Sam Arnette are in the front.”

If Brody got his hands on them . . . He stopped himself. That didn’t look likely. “Are you injured?”

“No,” she said, and a small amount of relief coursed through Brody. Moonlight filtered through small vents in the top of the van. He squeezed his eyelids shut and opened them.

“How badly are you hurt?” she asked.

Brody took stock of his body. “My vision is blurry, my head feels like it’s stuffed with C-4, and I’m pretty sure I have a couple of broken ribs. Are you tied up, too?” Brody blinked hard again. Still blurry, but better.

“Yes, but I’m working on that.” Hannah was on her butt, her legs stretched out in front of her. Her face was tight with concentration.

“What is that?”

“A piece of rearview mirror.”

“Nice.” He rolled. Pain slammed through his head and chest. His hands and feet were numb.

“How do you feel?” she asked.