The lock clicked and the car door opened, then the front seat moved forward and the pressure in her shoulder eased. The hooded figure appeared above her.

Two hands reached down and grabbed her under the armpits. Her shoulder screamed in agony and she grunted, the ball gag muffling the sound.

‘Sorry you’re hurt.’ The voice was gruff and forced, like someone trying to disguise how they sounded. There was something in it she recognized, but it eluded her.

The kidnapper dragged her out of the car. They were in a car park, outdoors and next to a white van. The side panel was open; she was shoved inside.

She lay on the metal floor as the door slammed shut. The floor was cold; she curled into a ball to keep herself as warm as she could.

The door slammed shut.

Her right shoulder throbbed, but at least in this position there was nothing pressing against it. The pain began to subside to a bearable level.

After about a minute, the door opened. The kidnapper was silhouetted in the frame.

For a moment, she thought she recognized the silhouette. Again she had the feeling that there was something familiar about it; again she couldn’t quite grasp the knowledge. It slithered just under the surface, elusive.

The kidnapper stepped inside and clicked on a torch. Three dirty yellow straps were hanging from a hook on the wall.

The kidnapper sniffed, then gestured for her to get into a sitting position, before dragging her alongside the strap and pulling it across her arms and chest. Once the strap was cinched tight, it was secured with a buckle.

She breathed out, the air forced from her lungs; when she tried to inhale she could only take a shallow breath.

The next strap also went into a hook, then over her thighs, securing them flat to the floor. The third strap went around her ankles.

The kidnapper opened the side panel, stepped out into the car park, and was gone.

Matt

They sped along the motorway, well above the speed limit, flashing past car after car.

None of them was Annabelle’s blue Golf.

Up ahead was the blue motorway sign for junction nine. Matt shook his head.

‘Shit,’ he said. ‘They could have gone off there.’

Rob nodded. ‘It’s possible. They’re moving too fast, so without the visuals from the drone we’ve got no way of knowing where they are. But my bet is they’ll have stayed on.’

‘In about ten miles this motorway runs out and we’ll be in Manchester,’ Brenda said. ‘And then they could be anywhere. I think we should pull off and wait. Let the police do the searching. Plus I need to land my drone. You need to stop soon, or you’ll be buying my boss some new kit.’

‘I don’t give a fuck about the drone!’ Matt said. ‘I want to find my wife!’