He leaned her up against the side of her car and pressed himself against her, his breath coming more quickly.

“You're hot, you know that? For an older woman, that is. Not quite what I'm used to, but beggers can't be choosers and all that.”

His teeth toyed with the tape at the side of her mouth, not enough to rip it off, but just enough to excite him.

Dear God, she thought, what will happen to Chloe if I don't make it home tonight? This cannot be the end of me.

She let him tease himself while she assessed the situation. What were the odds she could get him to remove the tape from her mouth? And once unfettered, where might her teeth do the most damage?

She felt herself being lifted, then hoisted over his shoulder. He began to walk without effort, as if her hundred and twenty pounds were of no consequence.

She tried to push her feet apart to test the strength of the tape that bound her ankles, but there was no give. She forced herself to take a few deep breaths. She'd have to keep her wits about her, and pray that she could keep herself alive long enough to figure out how to get out of this mess, or until Nick came looking for her. And he would look for her, of that she was certain. He knew where she was going, and he'd expected her to call once she got there. When he didn't hear from her, he'd know where to go. She could only pray he'd get there in time.

“We're taking a little boat ride, Miss Emme,” he told her, as they rounded the side of the house and headed toward the water. “I do hope you aren't one to get seasick.”

So much for the posse riding into town in time, she thought as he lifted her over the side of the boat and placed her on a seat near the motor.

“Now, in case you're thinking of escaping by throwing yourself over the side, I'd like to remind you that you'd find it real tough to swim with your hands and feet tied. But if you want to give it a go, hey, it's your life.” He laughed as if he'd made a great joke.

Swell, she thought. He thinks he's a comedian.

She watched him closely, hoping to find some sign of weakness, searching for some way to gain an advantage. She felt certain that his intention was to rape her before he killed her, which meant that at some point, he'd take the tape off her ankles and free her legs. Between now and then, she'd have to figure out the best way to use them.

He tried to start the motor, but it failed to turn over the first time. He cursed under his breath and tried again.

She searched the seating area for something she might be able to use to cut the tape binding her wrists, but there didn't seem to be anything useful. There was a metal strip along the line where the top of the hull met the inner liner of the boat. She studied it, inch by inch, hoping to find a spot where the strip might be raised up and the metal accessible, but the boat was well maintained and there was nothing loose nearby.

The motor coughed.

“Well, we know we have fuel,” he told her.

A few short bursts followed, then he pulled back on the throttle and the motor idled for a minute or so. He walked back to where she sat, his feet just far enough apart to give him balance, and for a split second, she thought about jamming her feet up between his legs, but she hadn't reacted quickly enough. He stepped to the side of the boat to untie the line, and pushed off from the dock.

He leaned over so that they were face-to-face. “Usually I just tell my passengers to hold on while we pull away and accelerate, but I guess we'll just have to depend on your sense of balance to keep you on that seat. I'll go nice and slow until you get the hang of it.”

She muttered behind the tape and he laughed. “I'll take that as a thank you.”

“Mmmmmmmmmm.”

“No need to be so effusive in your thanks, Miss Emme.” He started back to the wheel, then stopped and turned back to her.

“Once we get to where we're going, I'll take the tape off your mouth. As long as you promise not to scream.” He studied her face, and for a moment, his eyes bored into hers. She did not like what she saw.

He eased out of the lane and seemed to almost drift toward the center of the river before he pushed the throttle forward and sped up.

“Hold on,” he called back to her, laughing at her struggles to remain upright.

She scanned both sides of the river for signs of life, but there were none: no other boats, no houses on either side, just woods, for the most part. She sat upright, the roar of the motor in her ears, and silently pleaded for just one chance to take him down.

The black Mercedes shot out of the end of Gardner's drive like a ball from the mouth of a cannon. Nick slowed the Firebird to get a look at the driver, then craned his neck to try to catch the number on the plate, but the car was moving too fast. He made a left onto that same lane and drove through the pine-lined drive until the house came into view. Emme's car was parked to the right, and he pulled up behind it and came to a stop.

When he got out of the car, the first thing he noticed was the quiet. The only sound was that of the stones and crushed shells crunching beneath his feet. He opened Emme's driver's-side door and leaned into the Honda. Her bag was on the front seat, her phone next to it, as if she'd taken it out to make a call. Hopefully to me, he thought.

Where was she?

There were no other cars in sight, but he walked up to the front door, which stood ajar by only an inch or so.

“Hello?” he called, as he stepped inside. “Anyone here?”

He made his way through the entire first floor, but there was no sign of life. He ran up the steps and quickly went from room to room, calling out, but the only sound was his own echoing footsteps.

Something was really wrong here.

Suddenly he heard what sounded like the sputtering motor of a boat that didn't really want to start. He went to the landing on the stairwell and looked out through an arched window that faced the back of the house. A stone patio surrounded a pool, and beyond that stretched a river that flowed into the bay several miles to the west. A dock ran along the edge of the property, and several boats were tied up. One was bobbing farther from the dock, and Nick shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted to take a good look. A man stood at the wheel, and a figure sat stiffly upright at the back of the boat. When the late day sun came through the clouds and the light danced off the back of the passenger's head, her identity was plain.

Who was driving, and where was he headed?

Nick ran down the steps and out through the front door, his phone in his hand, dialing 911. He reported his location and his suspicions as ran back to Emme's car. On the console was a release for the trunk, and his fingers found it quickly. Hadn't she once said something about carrying a handgun, not on her person, but in the trunk of her car?

Throwing the lid up, he searched quickly, and found what he was looking for wrapped in a blanket at the very back of the trunk. He pulled the blanket all the way out of the car and shook it, hoping to find some ammunition. A clip fell to the ground, and he picked it up and shoved it into the base of the gun. Cuffs that had been hidden in the blanket's folds fell out with a clunk and he stuffed them in his back pocket. He grabbed the tire iron for good measure, and took off for the water.

He was almost to the dock when the motor caught. The boat began to take off slowly before picking up speed. He jumped into the first boat he came to, praying he'd be able to start it without a key. He could hotwire a car with his eyes closed, but he'd never tried it with an outboard motor.

He fumbled at the wheel. There was no key. Was it even possible to start a boat's motor without one? He didn't have time to figure it out. He jumped to the next boat, and smiled when he saw the name on its motor. “Yamaha” said speed to him, and when he found the key in the ignition, he knew he'd made the right choice. Whoever was driving the other boat had a head start on him, and with Emme at risk, he needed as much horsepower behind him as he could get.