Instinctively she reached forward. Her fingers collided with a narrow end of the log and she grabbed on, wildly clutching a fork in the limb. This could be her raft, her lifesaver. She hung on, letting it pull her downstream. She blinked and coughed, aware of her vulnerability in the black river. She knew it would be easier to just let go, to let the river and the night swallow her.

Don’t!

Surrender was seductive, but she couldn’t allow herself to let go now. So she hung on, clinging to the log and the hope of life, battling to keep unconsciousness at bay, all the time praying that Chloe had gotten away.

A gate? There was a gate blocking her escape? Chloe couldn’t believe it, but the beams of the headlights washed upon the obstacle.

After she’d slipped her hands from his loosely tied bonds and while he was desperate to track down Zoe, Chloe had managed to yank off her gag and take advantage of the keys he’d moronically left in the ignition.

Now there was a gate blocking her escape?

Damn! Chloe couldn’t believe her bad luck. She stood on the brakes of the van and climbed out. She had to get away. Had to! It was her only chance. And Zoe, oh, Jesus, what about Zoe? She’d had to fight the urge to stay at the river and find her twin, but Zoe, always the bolder of the two, the planner, the leader, had ordered her to escape. And Chloe was not going to let her sister down. She’d get help, of course she would, and she’d return to the river to rescue her sister, and Zoe would be okay. She was cagey and smart and athletic and . . . Holy shit, why did there have to be a damned gate?

She scrambled out of the van, leaving the driver’s door open, the interior light glowing, the damned seat belt alarm dinging. Her headlights were trained on the aluminum slats of the gate, where she fumbled with the padlocked latch. A damned padlock.

Really? He’d locked them in? Now what? Think, Chloe, think!

With all her strength she yanked on the lock.

Nothing.

Again, she threw her weight against it and again she failed. Well, of course. What lock would give way to a girl?

But maybe he had a tool in the van, a hacksaw or . . . or a key! Maybe there was a key on the ring that held the van’s ignition. She ran back to the van and thought she heard something in the trees. Twigs breaking. An animal on the prowl? Or could it be him?

No!

Leaping onto the driver’s seat, she fumbled for the keys, found that only a single key was attached to the ring. “Shit!” Quickly she searched around the front seat, the glove box, and the console, looking for another set of keys or a saw or—