Free Grab by Anne Conley

shrugged, obviously not caring what they thought, but his eyes were hard, as if affronted.
    “Misty was two weeks ago. That means he got another one before her,” Ryan mused.
    “And she knew his name,” Jordan agreed, not liking the direction this was going, but unable to do anything but watch, hang on for the ride, and hope they found Mia in time. It was a helpless situation he wasn’t enjoying much.
    “You think they were friends?”
    “Maybe she thought so and he wanted more?” Jordan was really afraid of what that implied for Mia, but refused to dwell on it. He would find her. He turned and stalked back to the truck, Ryan jogging to keep up.
    Back in Ryan’s truck, Jordan blew out a frustrated huff of air. “Okay, so what do we know?”
    “His name’s Mikey, last seen driving a red Ford F150, and he knew a possible vic before Misty, a month ago.” Ryan ticked the facts on his fingers.
    “And he’s got Mia now. We don’t have any bodies, so what’s he doing with them?” Nausea unfurled in Jordan’s belly, deep and primal.
    “That’s the magic question, ain’t it?” Ryan started the truck and drove back to the office to regroup. Maybe Evan had gotten something new off the city cameras.

Mia was in a house. They’d driven for over an hour. The guy had blindfolded her when they’d gotten into the truck, so she had no idea where they were. Based on the distance between turns, she didn’t feel like they were out of the city limits. There was still a lot of noise, but since he’d done a much better job of binding her after she got out of the first round of duct tape in the van, Mia was helpless.
    The helplessness didn’t allay her fear.
    Her stomach was a pit of knots she had no hope of untangling. Not knowing what this guy wanted, and assuming the worst, her mind was in overdrive. The words he’d spoken during the drive had been weird, to say the least, like he was trying to be accommodating.
    “We’re almost there, Sweetie. Almost home…”
    Almost where? The truck smelled like stale fast food and tobacco smoke. In fact, he was smoking now; she could feel it coating her skin as she turned her face toward where he had a window cracked, desperate for the cool wind to cleanse her. The wind was a symbol of outside. Freedom. If she could connect with the wind, she could get free. Maybe a second wind would help her get out of this mess.
    Her mind was playing tricks on her, telling her wind would help.
    She’d given up fighting, her muscles exhausted from the strain of trying to get out of this latest round of duct tape, her shoulders in pain from her arms being pinned behind her back. When the truck stopped, he came around to her side and lifted her easily out of the backseat and carried her inside.
    Dropping her on a bed, he muttered, “Sorry, Mia,” before working on her bindings. She heard the snick of a knife and then her arms were free but numb. Gently, he brought one hand up above her head and tied it with coarse rope to the bedpost, then the other. At this point, while Mia wanted to fight, she couldn’t. Jordan hadn’t come, and now she didn’t see how he could. They’d switched cars, and the man wouldn’t have done that if Jordan had been on his tail. She was lost to him and stuck with the insanity of her situation.
    When the guy removed her blindfold, Mia blinked against the light in the room. It was dingy but clean. Tar-yellowed walls from years of cigarettes, a pock-marked wood floor that had at one point been painted white, garage sale furniture—it was clean, but not comfortable to Mia. She laid on a full-size bed with a brass headboard, one of those cheap, discount store jobbies. Her hopes soared. Once she’d rested a bit and her shoulders had recovered, she might be able to break it. But he had to be gone while she tried because it would make a ruckus.
    He eased himself down into a platform rocker with green plaid covering. The chair squelched in protest. Rocking back and forth