Tears ran from her eyes. Her nose clogged. She couldn’t draw in enough air through only her nose. She grew light-headed. Could she suffocate with her mouth covered? Her vision dimmed. Spots appeared in front of her eyes.

She needed to control her breathing. Lincoln’s voice echoed in her mind. Inhale, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Exhale, two, three, four. After three breath cycles, her vision cleared.

The intruder climbed off the bed and yanked the blankets off her body. Under her flannel pajama bottoms and sweatshirt, Olivia shivered, fighting the panic that threatened to debilitate her. Whatever he was going to do, she needed to be ready to react. If he was going to rape her, he’d need to take his hands off her to unfasten his pants. But he made no movement in that direction. Instead, he bound her ankles with duct tape.

Olivia’s muscles went rigid. If he was going to kill her, he would have done it already, right?

While she was battling panic, he appeared calm. His movements were efficient and smooth, calculated, as if he was simply performing a chore. He didn’t hurry, and he didn’t appear to be excited.

Maybe he just wanted to rob the house. He acted almost professional. Hope blossomed inside her. She didn’t care what he took as long as he left.

Please.

He showed her the knife again and whispered, “Don’t move.”

She froze. Standing next to the bed, he picked up her cell phone and the fob to the security system that she had set on her nightstand. He slid both items into his pockets, then zipped his backpack and put it on.

Take what you want and go.

Olivia held completely still and tried not to make any noise—an effort to make him forget she was even there. She would give him no reason to harm her.

But he turned to face her again. His eyes were hidden behind the dark holes in the mask. She felt rather than saw his scrutiny. A whimper sounded deep in her throat.

No.

Please.

He leaned over, grabbed her by the arms, and hauled her to a sitting position on the side of the bed. The truth rushed over Olivia like ice water. He wasn’t there for her things.

He was there for her.

Suddenly, his calm was terrifying rather than reassuring. He was going to take her somewhere else.

She’d recently finished writing a book about killers and kidnapping. One thought dominated her brain: she could not let herself be taken to a place where he had the time and privacy to do anything he wanted to her.

Most victims taken to a secondary location didn’t survive.

She had nothing to lose at this point. She had to fight.

Olivia shoved both hands at his face, but the mask protected his skin. He grabbed for her wrists. She jerked them out of his grasp and went for his eyes. He swatted, an automatic response. Olivia kicked out with both legs, but she was wearing only socks. When her toes slammed into his heavier shinbone, pain shot through her feet. With barely a grunt, he stepped sideways, trapping her feet between his legs.

She attacked his face again, this time tearing at the edge of the mask, trying to rip it from his face. Her nail caught in the mask. A piece of rubber broke free, and she went after the soft skin of his neck. Her nails raked his skin, and he flinched. His body tensed, anger radiating in his posture for the first time.

He drew his arm back and hit her with a jab. His fist connected with her face. Even as pain bloomed through her cheek and her vision darkened, she realized he’d held back. He could have hit her much harder.

He ducked and hauled her over his shoulder. Her hands and upper body dangled down his back. His small nylon backpack rubbed against her face. Olivia flailed, but he held her in place with a firm hand on her back. His shoulder dug into her belly, further inhibiting her breathing.

Hopelessness swamped her. There was nothing she could do.

She was helpless.

She bobbed against his back as he walked down the hall. He knew her house. Too well. How long had he been inside with her?

Frantic thoughts sped through her mind. They were going toward the garage. He was going to kidnap her with her own vehicle.

When she didn’t show up at her mother’s house and Sharp Investigations tomorrow—no, today—Lincoln would call. If she didn’t respond, eventually he’d come looking for her. Her purse and car would be gone. Other than the bedclothes being mussed, there would be no indication she’d been kidnapped. She needed to leave a sign that she’d been taken.

She sawed her hands back and forth, trying to free herself. It didn’t work. The tape dug deeper into the thin skin of her wrists. Frustration and desperation bubbled up in her throat and nearly choked her.

Lincoln had told her she needed to upgrade her security system. He’d even offered to do it for her. She hadn’t thought it was a priority and had blown him off. She hadn’t wanted to be inconvenienced, even just for a day or two.

Now she was going to die.

Maybe she’d be lucky and he’d kill her quickly.

In the kitchen, he grabbed her purse and keys from the island. Using the fob, he turned off her alarm. Then he walked into the laundry room and paused to open the door that led to the garage. Olivia reached toward the wall and grabbed the molding around the door with both hands. She held on as tightly as she could. With an angry jerk, he yanked her fingers off the wood trim. Pain shot from Olivia’s fingertip as her nail tore. Was she bleeding? Just in case, she thrust her hands forward once more and wiped her fingers across the bright-white trim paint. In the dark, she couldn’t see if she’d left a mark.

He carried her into the garage, then closed and locked the interior door.

In one last desperate move, she pulled out her right earring and dropped it on the floor. Then she did the same with the left one.

But that was the best she could do. He put her in the cargo area of her car. The Prius didn’t have a trunk, just a hatch. She’d be able to sit up, possibly draw attention to herself as he drove. Before her hopes rose, he pulled a rope from his backpack and tied it around her neck. He drew it tightly enough to dig into her throat. Then he forced her body into a tight curl and snugged the rope around both her ankles and wrists.

She flinched as the sharp prick of a needle pinched her thigh. Fear burst fresh in her mind. He’d injected her with a drug. Soon, she would be truly vulnerable.

Something soft fell over her body and head. She touched it with her fingers. The lightweight throw she kept over the back of the sofa?

The vehicle shifted as he closed the cargo hatch.

Olivia wiggled, testing the restraints. The slightest movement of her body tightened the noose around her neck. If she tried to escape, she’d strangle herself. She would have to lie still and wait to see where he took her. Maybe she’d be able to escape later. But considering how easily he’d nabbed her, the odds didn’t feel good. He’d planned tonight down to the smallest detail. He’d been prepared.

She clung to the thought that he hadn’t killed her yet. He’d gone to great trouble to take her alive. But why?

Fear cramped her stomach as drowsiness overtook her.

Maybe she didn’t want to know what else he had planned. Not that she would have a choice. Whatever was going to happen to her, she was helpless to prevent it.

But no plan was perfect. She couldn’t give up.

For now, all she could do was hope Lincoln came looking for her.

And that until he found her, she could survive.