“What do you mean by disappeared?”

“Someone blew up a bridge, and we found the vehicle rolled down the embankment. Neither Detective McNamara nor Ms. Barrett were inside.” The chief buttoned up. There was more he didn’t want to say.

“What else? There’s more, isn’t there?”

“There was blood in the front seat of the vehicle.”

“Shit.” Mac jumped to his feet. “Earlier today, my sister sent me a picture and asked me if I knew where it was taken. I think I do.”

The chief stood. “Where?”

Mac took out his phone and opened the message. “CR 268. I think CR stands for Conrail. This looks like part of the markings on the side of a freight car.”

The chief rushed to the door. “The rail yard.”

The truck came to a stop. Brody lay still on his side, his ankles pressed tightly together, his hands behind his back. Hannah sat next to him. Their eyes met.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded.

The door rolled open. Brody’s heart slammed against ribs he suspected were broken. Every deep breath he drew felt like a knife slicing him from the inside out. He closed his eyes almost all the way.

“Hello, sweetheart.” Mick climbed into the truck. Gun at his thigh, he prodded Brody with the toe of a boot. Brody let his body roll limply.

“Is he dead?” Mick asked.

Hannah sniffed. “I don’t think so, but I think he might have some internal injuries. He needs to get to a hospital. Please.”

“In a short while, it isn’t going to matter much.” Mick laughed. He leaned over to grab her arm. “Get up.”

Watching through his lashes, Brody wanted to kill him right there and then, but he waited. They had a plan. Hannah wasn’t injured. Brody needed to trust her.

Mick bent over. The knife in his hand moved toward Hannah’s ankles.

She wobbled, making a show of awkwardly folding her feet under her body. When her boots were planted flat, she launched her body forward, head first. Her forehead struck Mick in the nose. Blood spurted.

“Fucking bitch.” He punched her and brought the knife up.

Brody rolled, taking Mick’s feet out from under him. Mick went over backward, his knife clattering to the metal floor. He flipped onto his belly and reached in his pocket. His hand came out with a gun. Brody crawled onto his back. Mick leveled the pistol and turned the barrel to aim at Hannah. Brody couldn’t move fast enough to disarm him. Instead, he snapped Mick’s neck. The body under him went limp.

The sudden movement sent agony rolling through Brody. He panted, unable to take a deep breath.

Hannah rubbed her jaw. With a head-clearing shake, she scooped the gun from the floor and pulled the clip out to check the load. Satisfied, she snapped it back in place.