He tested his limbs. Despite the pain and limited movement, everything also seemed to work. “I don’t think anything is broken except some ribs. I can move.” And if his injuries were more serious, he’d deal with it later.

“Good.” She leaned forward, kissed his temple, and pressed her forehead to his for a few seconds. Emotion flooded his throat. He could not deal with these men hurting her. They could kill him, but he couldn’t bear the thought of them raping or killing her. His mind went to Joleen Walken’s pummeled corpse.

With a shaky breath, she lifted her head. A tear rolled down her face.

“How are you doing with that shard?” he asked.

“It isn’t my father’s KA-BAR.” Her shoulders moved as she worked her hands behind her back. “We should have a plan,” she said with conviction.

The corner of Brody’s mouth pulled. Hannah would be proactive to the end. She was a fighter. She would never give in, and no matter what happened to their relationship, he could count on her. She would have his back until the bitter end.

She was one of a kind.

“Have I ever told you how much I love and appreciate your stubborn streak?”

Her head tilted. “What?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “You’re right. We need a plan. Tell me everything you saw.”

“They’re both armed. They had their own guns. Plus, they took ours.”

“If that was Sam who ran from the back of Joleen’s house, he also has a rifle,” Brody remembered.

“Mick has a knife . . .” As Hannah continued to describe their abduction, Brody’s hope sank. He and Hannah were still bound. They had one semi-sharp piece of glass. Their kidnappers were skilled and well armed with at least four semiautomatic pistols. How could he and Hannah possibly survive?

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

Mac stopped at the traffic light in town and speed-dialed Hannah’s number. Again. No answer. Again. Where was she? Hannah practically kept her cell phone superglued to her hand, but he’d been calling her for an hour, and she hadn’t picked up.

He looked at the photo she’d messaged him. CR 268. What the hell was that? But damn it! There was something familiar about the image. Something from his life a long time ago. The Dark Days, as he called that period of his youth.

He pulled over, a memory nagging at him. Picking up his phone, he opened his messages and stared at the picture.

It popped into his head. He knew where this was taken. He shifted into drive and gunned the gas, trying Hannah’s phone again with his thumb. The call went to voice mail. Something had happened to Hannah. He knew it in his soul.

Shit. Shit. Shit.