"To escape fear, you must go through it, not around it."
Richie Norton

Cindy

I feel the hard steel pressed firmly against my ribcage.

"Drive."

To say that I was beyond pissed would be a complete understatement. Who the hell does this guy think he is jumping into my vehicle like he owned the damn thing and holding me at gunpoint.

I immediately recognized the man; Robert Anderson is head of security for Big Dog Contracting. What the hell is he doing in my car with a fucking gun? Is this a case of mistaken identity?

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Robert Anderson is our unsub. He's the one who murdered the mystery man left at the Big Dog's construction site, the asshole who sent me threatening letters, fired a rifle at the men I love, and the idiot who decided to jump into my car with a weapon pointed at my side.

I sit there staring at him dumbfounded. I vetted this guy, and he was squeaky clean. What the hell did I miss?

"Are you deaf, Cindy? I said drive." Robert's face is red with anger.

I almost chuckle; only I would review notes regarding an investigation while my life is in peril.

I cock my eyebrow, refusing to show fear. "I would drive if I knew where I was going."

Robert lets out a frustrating huff. "Pull out of the damn parking lot and turn right."

I follow his instructions, knowing that when Sam realizes I'm missing, he'll track my movement through the GPS on my phone and vehicle.

"Drive to the warehouse district," Robert commands.

As I direct my vehicle towards the warehouse district, I decide to get him talking. "What the hell is this about, Robert?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Cindy. You're a smart woman. I'm sure you have it all figured out by now."

I do, but I don't want him to know that. I want him distracted, so I continue to talk.

"I know you're the head of Big Dog's security and have been close friends with Frank Reed since high school. You started at Big Dog Contracting when Frank started it up. What I don't know is why you're in my car pointing a gun at me. Care to share?" I ask calmly.

Robert presses his weapon deep into my soft flesh. "Shut up and drive," he says through gritted teeth.

I keep my mouth shut because I don't want to push Robert too far. Keeping myself alive should be my priority, so I continue driving silently.

I have to believe that somehow Sam figured out that I'm missing. I'm relieved when I feel my phone vibrate against my hip. I glance over at Robert, hoping that he doesn't notice. I can't risk looking at the screen. I hope to hell that Sam is the one calling me. If I don't answer, he'll know something is up. He'll not stop till he finds me, hopefully in one piece.

I saw the photos of the dismembered body of the man I believe that Robert killed. I figure that he did it to keep the police from finding out the man's identity. I don't doubt that the dead man would be tied somehow to Robert Anderson if the police knew who the man was.

Robert interrupts my thoughts by directing me to a row of rundown, abandoned warehouses. The one he has me pull my car up to looks like it has not been in operation since the Nixon administration.

The weathered peeling paint on the cement blocks supporting the dilapidated construction is scarce, exposing most blocks to the elements.

The once-strength steel walls crumble in several areas as burnt orange rust slowly eats it away. The amount of decay and the no-trespassing signs scattered across the building tell me it is unsafe to enter, but apparently, Robert doesn't care about our safety.

"Pull in there." He points to an opening at the far left of the building.

I maneuver my vehicle into the opening; it's barely big enough for my car to enter and park.

Much to my relief, Robert had eased up with his weapon. It's no longer digging into my ribcage.

"Get out," he instructed.

I opened my door and got out while looking around at my surroundings. As expected, the warehouse is dingy, dirty, and empty. The only light illuminating the area is from the holes where the rust had devoured the weakened metal.

With his gun trained on me, Robert also got out of the vehicle and directed me to an area in the dark right corner of the expansive room.

As we approach the corner, I see a shiny new chain-linked cell. It looks like Robert has been planning something for me all along.

He opens the makeshift door. "Get in,"  Robert demands as he forces me inside. "I know you have a cell phone; hand it over."

Busted, I pull my phone out of my pocket and give it to him. He quickly removes my SIM card, snaps it in half, and turns off the phone. He tosses it away from the cage. I cringe, hoping that it's not broken. He then places a padlock on the door's latch.

I'm surprised the idiot head of security doesn't know that my service provider can track the phone's last location at the tower it pinged at without the SIM card. The NSA (National Security Agency) can locate a turned-off phone. Sam ensured that no matter what, he could trace my location or at least get close.

It also helps that my car is parked 50 yards away with its GPS tracker still in place.

My heart drops as I watch Robert go to my car to inspect it for a tracking device. He has no clue that Sam and Pete placed a top-of-the-line GPS device in an enclosed part near my engine, and I pray that he doesn't find it.

Several minutes later, I sigh when Robert walks away from my car, satisfied because he did not find a GPS tracker.

Robert began pacing back and forth, and I noticed his nervousness.

I decided to speak up for the first time since he shut me up in the car.

"What's the plan, Robert?"

He stops dead in his tracks and glares at me. "Why didn't you stop the fucking investigation? If you would have just let it go when I asked you to, this," he waves the gun around the room, "would not be happening."

Noticing his sunken demeanor, I soften my voice. "You killed a man, Robert. I couldn't let it go. That man deserves justice."

His anger reappears as quickly as it leaves him. "You have no clue who you're talking about, Cindy."

"Then, please, enlighten me," I respond quietly, not wanting to agitate him further.

I see him contemplating my request as his brows furl. I wait patiently for his response.

"I'm not a killer," he whispers so low that I'm unsure I heard him correctly.

He slumps as if the world's weight is upon his shoulders, and I wait for him to continue.

"I didn't mean to kill him. I wanted to teach him a lesson for fucking up Reed's life. He was going to drag Reed's name through the mud. I couldn't let that happen," he sighs. "He's my best friend."

That's when I realized who the unknown victim was: Brad Stevens. The man unfairly fired Frank Reed and took him to court when Frank started his company. Stevens lost the case, and it sounds like he had plans to destroy Frank's reputation.

I shake my head in disbelief. "If it was an accident, why not call the police? The worst that they could have charged you with was manslaughter. Sure, you would have served ten to sixteen months, but now, with mutilating his body to cover your crime, you're talking an additional twelve years. Not to mention the additional charges for destroying evidence, obstructing justice, and now kidnapping."

He scowls. "Don't you think I know that? I panicked; my wife had just had our daughter. I couldn't go to prison and leave her." he pauses.

I can see the tormented look on his face when he turns towards me.

"I'm willing to do whatever it takes to keep myself from going to prison. I refuse to let this ruin my life and my family's life."

This guy is delusional if he thinks he'll get away with this. He must not realize the proof we have against him from his failed scare tactics at my dad's. Once those results are in, the evidence will lead them to Robert Anderson's front door.

Sam and my father will stop at nothing to destroy this lunatic if he lays a hand on me or harms me in any way.

"Are you going to kill me too?" I ask matter-of-factly.

He looks at me; all expression is gone from his face. "Honestly, I seriously want to."