Page 81 of Tormented Hearts

No weapon. No phone. Hands zip-tied in front of her in the back of a moving vehicle, options narrowing with every mile that sped by.

But she had one thing keeping the panic from dragging her under.

If this man was taking her to that mine, Hawk would be able to find her.

Hawk knew where it was.

So did Crew and Gray, who got him out of there after he was shot.

She held on to that thought like a lifeline.

They drove for what felt like hours. The man wore a face covering that concealed his neck and the lower half of his face. She didn’t get a good look at his eyes as he threw her in the vehicle, and he never glanced her way or spoke while driving.

But she knew he smelled like sweat and his hands were brutal when they clamped around her. She could feel bruises darkening on her skin.

In a rush, she realized she’d been lured into this man’s trap. He probably sent that email about the plot survey. Any licensing would be public record, and if he was looking for the Winthrop name, she’d led him straight to her.

She forced her breathing to slow and pushed her panic to the pit of her stomach. She would deal with fear and emotions later—right now, she had to figure a way out of this.

He whipped the vehicle onto a back road. They’d made so many turns by now that she’d lost track of where she was in relation to Willowbrook or the ranch…or Hawk.

Her heart squeezed hard at the thought of him returning to the ranch, only to find her gone.

And Shiloh. Oh, Shiloh. Her new friend hurt, possibly worse. The woman only wanted to start a family with the man she loved, and Sinead had dragged her into her mess.

When her kidnapper braked, she peered through the window. As soon as a small helicopter came into view, already idling in the field, blades turning, there was no shoving that panic down.

He hauled her out of the vehicle, hands biting into her arm, and she got her first real look at him.

Mid-forties, sharp eyes burning with hate.

“Who are you?” she spat. “Let me go!”

“You’re going to show me where that mine is. It’s time your family gave back what’s owed to mine.” He spoke in slow bursts, as if he struggled for air behind the mask.

Good. She hoped he suffocated.

“You don’t even know who I am, do you?” He shoved her toward the helicopter.

“Should I?” She could guess he was a descendent of one of the other prospectors—Callahan or McCrae.

“Evan McCrae. My great-great-grandfather worked that mine beside yours. Found it together. Mapped it together. And your ancestor cheated him out of every ounce of gold and buried the map somewhere only a Winthrop could find. Then left my family with nothing but stories.”

Heart hammering, she said nothing. When he shoved her into the helicopter, she held her head high—like the Winthrop she was—and didn’t fight.

They lifted off into the evening sky. Before long, the sun would set and she wouldn’t be able to find that mine in the dark.

If she failed to, she didn’t know what he’d do to her.

He leaned close, voice hard over the noise. “You’re going to tell me the coordinates.”

“I don’t know them.” It was almost true—she’d never actually memorized the numbers. They could be pulled up in a file if she had access to her phone, but he’d taken that and stomped on it right before shoving her into the vehicle.

“Lying bitch! You’re going to guide me there.”

“I can’t tell from the treetops which ridge is which. Everything looks the same up here!”

She pulled in a deep breath through her nose, nostrils flaring with the remembered smell of Hawk’s blood, cold rock at her back and her own fear.