Chapter 52

52

Powell was going to do exactly what Heather told her to do. Heather had practically drilled her plan into Powell's head.

Now…it was time to do it.

She just ran. Powell just kept going until she made it out of the first level to the bay of doors on the first level. She could hear the two men shouting. Tears stung her eyes, but Powell forced herself to keep going. She was going to get out. Get to Gunnar. So he could help Heather. He would. He would help Heather, no matter what.

Or maybe Heather would get out too. Heather had told her she had a plan to get herself out too. But it would only work if Powell did her part. Got away first.

Powell found her way to the door. It was the rolling kind. It slid up. She pushed until there was an eighteen-inch gap at the bottom. She would fit. She would fit.

She slid underneath and pulled it closed. Just like Heather had told her to. To make them think she'd headed for one of the entrances, not the bay doors. Heather had seen—the bay door number three hadn't had a lock. It hadn't.

And it had just been waiting for Powell to open it. It had slid right open.

She was in the alley now. Powell tripped over trash and almost went sprawling. She caught herself on the wall, between one warehouse and the next.

There was a faded logo on the side of the building. She almost laughed—Lucas Tech. Luc. The warehouse they were keeping them in was one of Heather's nephew's.

Her hand covered her baby. Her little Viking baby that she hoped had their daddy's wickedest smile. Her baby was counting on her to do this. And so was Heather.

Powell had to get to help for Heather. So Heather could go back to her babies, her family too. Powell wanted her family so much. She would give anything for her baboons to show up and make the world better right now. Like they always had when she'd been a little kid just trying to keep up with them so long ago.

Powell neared the end of the alley. Just as the sound of a large engine revved. Her throat tightened. Her stomach clenched. She fought the tears.

Powell cautiously looked around the corner at the end of the alley. They were there.

The men.

And they had Heather with them.

Powell watched in horror as they yanked Heather around and shoved her into that van again. The one from before. The man from Wyoming.

Then, the truck was speeding away. And Powell was powerless to stop it. But she got the first four numbers and letters. She had the first four numbers of the plate. Gunnar could use that. He could.

She just had to get to help for Heather.

Powell started toward the road. There was a fence there. Blocking her in. Chain link. But there was a hole there. Right there.

Powell was small. She had never been so grateful to be small in her life.

She just pushed herself through, ignoring the way it scratched and tore at her arms, it until she was on the other side.

She almost ran. Until the highway. She was at the highway. She recognized it.

It led to Garrity. They were south of Finley Creek. They were south. And the box truck with Heather in it had headed east.

Powell just kept walking. Someone…someone would come down this road at any minute. They just would. And then she would get to Gunnar.

Then she would get to Gunnar, and he would get to Heather. Gunnar, and Daniel, and Jake, and Murdoch, and all the rest. They would get Heather back.

If Powell did her part.

Minutes stretched on, each one colder and more desperate than the last until, finally, a small, old pickup truck slowed and pulled over. The driver, a middle-aged woman with a kind face, rolled down her window.

"Need a ride?" she asked, eyeing Powell's disheveled appearance with concern. "You are a bit beat up, honey. What's happened? Were you in a wreck?"

"I was abducted. Please…I need help," Powell managed to say. "Do you have a cell phone?"

"Signal's real spotty through here, though." The woman nodded, unlocking the doors. "Hop in. You look like you've been through hell. You that realtor they been talking about on the news? That Barratt girl? The one on all the billboards?"

"Yes. That's me. And they still have my friend. They took her. And I need help to get her back. She's a single mother. She has a little baby girl who is only six months old and a little girl who is only three. We have to get her back for her daughters. We just have to."

The woman pressed on the gas. "I'll get you there. I promise. I have three girls of my own just your age. Let's get you to help, okay? We'll go up the road a bit to where there is a better signal. We'll get help there. I promise."

She'd done it. Powell had gotten away.

Now, she had to find a way to get help to Heather.