Defending Zara (Mountain Mercenaries #6)(88)

Once more, she was greeted with nothing but an eerie silence.

Zara quickly searched the downstairs. No Meat. She jogged up the stairs and went straight to the master bedroom. It was dark, and Meat wasn’t there either. She took a few seconds to check the rest of the rooms upstairs, with no luck.

Pulling her phone out of her back pocket, Zara clicked on Meat’s name and brought it up to her ear. It rang four times before Meat’s voice mail started. She left him a message.

“Meat? It’s Zara. Where are you? It’s about nine o’clock, and I’m home from dinner with the girls, but you aren’t here. Call me when you get this.”

Worried now because it wasn’t like Meat not to pick up his phone, especially after all the lectures he’d given her about always carrying her own cell, she shot him a quick text, asking him once again to get in touch with her.

She wandered back downstairs and tried to think. She checked the garage, noting that his car was indeed gone. The alarm had been set when she’d arrived, so he’d obviously left to go somewhere. But why hadn’t he left her a note? Or answered her call or text? They hadn’t been a couple for very long, but everything she knew about Meat made her think he’d never just leave like this and not let her know where he was going.

Just when she was debating calling Gray or one of the other guys, her phone pinged with a text. Sighing in relief that Meat had finally gotten back to her, Zara pulled her phone out of her pocket and unlocked it to read the text.

But it wasn’t from Meat.

It was from an unknown number.

We have Meat. If you want to see him alive again, you need to bring one million dollars to the rest stop south of the Pikes Peak International Raceway on I-25. At the far end there’s a trash can. Park in front of it, put the cash in the can, and leave. You have twenty-four hours starting now. If you don’t show, we’ll kill him. If you call the cops, we’ll kill him. If you call his friends, we’ll kill him. Text this number when you leave for the rest stop.

A picture popped up seconds after she finished reading the text.

It was Meat. He was lying on his side on a car seat—and there was blood all over his shirt.

Zara’s entire being froze. For a moment, she had absolutely no idea what to do.

Yes, she had a bank account, and had more than enough money to get the million dollars for the kidnappers. She’d retroactively received all the stipends she would have gotten since the age of eighteen, and it was just sitting in the bank until she could figure out how to invest it properly.

But she wasn’t sure how to go about getting it out. She’d spent her entire life living off whatever money she could beg for on the streets. She was still figuring out checks—tonight was only the second time she’d used her credit card. She did know that the banks were closed at the moment . . .

And she only had twenty-four hours.

Zara had no idea if that was enough time to get the money from the bank. Maybe there would be holds on the money due to such a large withdrawal, or the bank wouldn’t be able to give it all to her at one time. She simply had no clue—and not knowing scared her to death.

She looked back down at Meat’s pale face in the image . . . and a sound somewhere between a moan and a scream escaped her lips.

She didn’t give a shit about the cash. As far as she was concerned, whoever had Meat could have every penny. She’d proven without a doubt that she could get along just fine without money, but she couldn’t get by without Meat. Not now. Not after falling in love with him.

She’d get the money, drop it off, and get Meat back. Every other option faded to the back of her mind.

She typed back a text as fast as she could. She wasn’t that skilled at typing on the small buttons yet, but she did her best.

Don’t hurt him. I’ll get the money and I’ll be there.

There was no response, but Zara wasn’t going to sit around and wait for morning to arrive.

Feeling like a lost ten-year-old all over again, she tried not to panic. She still had no idea what to do, only knew that she had to do something now.

Trying desperately to think, she paced back and forth. Her palms were sweaty, and she was breathing way too fast. She needed to somehow start getting the money together.

She ran over to her purse, opened it, and grabbed her wallet. Looking inside, she saw she had a measly thirty-five dollars.

Shaking her head, she sighed at herself in disgust. As if she’d magically expected to find a million bucks in her wallet. Get it together, Zara!

Then she pulled out the brand-new automatic teller machine card she’d received upon opening her account. Zara had never used it before, but she knew it was connected to her account.

How much money could she get out that way instead of waiting almost twelve excruciating hours for the bank to open?

Feeling relieved that maybe she could do something, anything—because she sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to sleep anytime soon—Zara grabbed the set of keys to Meat’s old Honda Accord that he’d had forever but couldn’t bear to get rid of, especially when it drove just fine, and headed for the garage. She didn’t have her license yet, but she’d risk it. Luckily, Meat had given her a few driving lessons around his property. She’d figure out what she didn’t know about driving as she went.

Perhaps if she’d been thinking straight, she would’ve called one of Meat’s friends, no matter what the text said. They would know what to do.