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MARISA IGNORED THE gravel digging into her feet, ignored the cold wind blowing through her thin pajamas, ignored the image she'd seen of Nate on his bed, blood trickling from his head. She couldn't think of those things.
Ana.
She was going to see Ana.
One way or another, Marisa was going to see that her daughter made it to safety. Nate would take care of her if Marisa couldn't.
And there was that bloody image of Nate again. Was he still alive, or had he given his life for her, for Ana? She couldn't bear to lose another person she loved.
Loved. The realization made long forgotten pieces of her heart fall into place. She loved Nate. For so many reasons.
She couldn't think about that now, not until this was all over. But if Nate survived, and if Marisa survived, and if they got Ana back safely, she'd think about it. She'd do more than think about it. She'd act on it. Tell him how she felt, and maybe, just maybe...
She thought of the kiss they'd shared.
She thought of the blood trickling from his head.
She had to focus.
And maybe she wasn't going to survive the night. If that's what it took to keep Ana safe, so be it. Nate and Brady and Rae and Sam—they'd take care of Ana, if Marisa couldn't.
But she would do whatever she had to do to save Ana. Her sweet daughter would live.
Marisa stepped onto the first of three rickety steps of a cabin just around the edge of the lake from the one where she and Nate had been staying. The creak of worn wood echoed against the silent night.
The kidnapper reached beyond her and yanked open the screen. The front door was already open. He shoved her, and she stumbled through.
Even with just a dim light coming from over the stove in the kitchen, she could tell it was nothing like their cabin. Dingy walls. Dingy floors. Dingy everything. But it was warm, and Ana was here.
The kidnapper pushed her down on the plaid sofa and locked the door behind them.
He stood in front of her. "You're going to tell me where the money is, right now. Or I'm going to kill your daughter. And you're going to watch me do it."
The threat dripped down her spine like sludge. She had to get her daughter out of there. "I want to see Ana."
He pointed to a hallway on her right. "She's back there. She's asleep." He stalked across the room, and for a moment, Marisa thought he might be going to get Ana. He snatched something off the kitchen table, swiveled, and returned. He set it on the coffee table in front of her and opened it. A laptop. The screen burned her eyes in the dark room. "You can transfer it into my account right now. Then I'll leave, and you'll never see me again. You and your daughter will be safe. You have one minute."
Marisa stared at the screen, at the cursor counting down the seconds. Each lifeless flash was an accusation. Ana would have been better off if Marisa had never laid eyes on the sweet girl.
Rick had called her bluff.
The kidnapper grabbed her chin and yanked her face to his. He bent down until they were nose-to-nose. His breath filled her nostrils, a scent like bad cheese and beer nearly choked her.
"The money." He stood to his full height. Maybe six feet. All muscle. "Transfer it. Now."
She swallowed. Recalled the story. "It's in a mutual fund. It's..."
The blow came too fast for her to react. Her head snapped to the left. The pain was sharp in her face, down her neck.
He grabbed the hair on the top of her head and turned her to face him. "Don't lie to me. I know you weren't at the bank today. I was watching. All day. Where's the money?"
"I don't..." What should she say? What could she say? No stories came. Nothing but the truth.
"I don't have the money. I never had it. I don't know who does."
He gripped her hair tighter, and she lifted, tried to ease the tension. With his other hand, he squeezed her chin. "You're lying. Tell me the truth."
"I never—"
"Don't lie to me!"
She cringed, knew he was about to strike her again, but instead, he pushed her back on the sofa, swiveled, and paced. He walked to the back of the house, looked out the window, and walked to the front door. He looked out the window there. He started to drop the curtain, then pulled it back again.
Swore. Twice.
"Your boyfriend... I should have killed him when I had the chance."
Nate. He was alive. And he knew... Which meant, he'd have called Brady. The police would be on their way.
Hope surged like an electrical current, tingling through her fingers.
The kidnapper returned to the couch and gripped her arm. "Get up."
She stood, and he propelled her toward the back door. She glanced at the opening to the hallway.
"Now that I have you, I don't need the brat. She'd just slow us down."
Thank God, her daughter would be safe. Someone would find her there. "Is she—?"
"Shut up."
He pushed open the back door and shoved Marisa outside. He stood beside her, peered in both directions.
He propelled her off the deck and back toward their cabin and the main road.