THREE

      The wind whipped Rachel’s hair forward as she walked to the fridge. She lifted the ponytail holder she often wore as a bracelet and pulled her hair back. Now that she’d changed out of work clothes into her sweatpants, a T-shirt and zippered hoodie, she could attempt to unwind.

      She loved this time of year. The gentle winds carried the smell of blooming fruit trees. It soothed her frayed nerves.

      She had almost broken her own rule and let her guard down with James. The events of the day had brought back memories and emotions from her childhood she didn’t want to face. The entire reason she’d escaped that life and succeeded was that she depended on no one but herself...and God.

      The pitiful contents in the fridge caused her stomach to gurgle. Eggs, a soggy bag of salad mix and a half-full container of smoked turkey all served as reminders she needed to run to the grocery store. If only she’d remembered her dinner before the tow truck had left with her car. In the unlikely event insurance didn’t declare the car totaled, she’d find herself driving a car that smelled like moldy burrito for weeks.

      Inside the freezer, though, she found a treat. An unopened package of cream-cheese-filled jalapeño poppers prompted a grin. She wouldn’t have to make eggs, after all. She carried the box to the oven and leaned over to enter the temperature.

      Two steel arms pinned her against the stove and took her breath away. She opened her mouth in a silent scream. Her veins pumped hot lava as she struggled to push back.

      “If I can’t take the kids, it seems you’ll do.” A scratchy voice filled her right ear. “I’m not leaving empty-handed.” The hot breath sent a chill down her spine and overwhelmed her with nausea. Her lungs burned from the lack of oxygen as the man leaned his whole body weight against her. She couldn’t turn her head. Her arms were bolted to her sides.

      The only thing in her line of vision was the French rolling pin resting on the top of the stove. Her biceps burned, straining to get free.

      The man squeezed her tighter around her torso, sending lightning bolts of pain down her spine and legs. She struggled as he growled, “Now who’s sorry she tried to play the hero? Huh?” He shook her body, and her head lashed forward, almost hitting the range hood.

      “Guess we’ll find out how much your boyfriend loves you, won’t we?”

      Boyfriend? Was he out of his mind? If it was a drug-induced rage, he would be beyond reasoning. No matter how she strained, she proved no match for the man’s strength. Tears blurred her vision and ran down her cheeks. She’d left a life of violence behind, but it’d found her. This was how it would all end?

      He lifted, and her feet no longer touched the ground. His tight grip wouldn’t allow her lungs to expand. She couldn’t scream. Her temples pulsed with a stinging sensation. Please make it stop! She didn’t have much oxygen left. The hold jogged her memory. Had she gone through a similar exercise in self-defense class?

      Rachel clenched her jaw as he stepped back, carrying her away. She swung her feet backward, between his legs, and looped her toes behind his calves. She closed her eyes and locked her knees. She pressed her feet forward. Her muscles burned with the effort.

      He growled as he struggled against her legs to take another step. He still maintained his hold, but his arms loosened slightly.

      Her toes touched the ground. Rachel took in a greedy inhale, but there was no time to catch her breath. She twisted her right wrist and raked her knuckles firmly across the top of the man’s left hand.

      He yelped and released her. Rachel stumbled against the stove and reached for the rolling pin. Tapered on both ends, she gripped the right side. She spun on her heel just as his hand reached her shoulder. She twisted her hips and smashed the side of the rolling pin into his head. He stumbled back but remained upright.

      “Help!” Her lungs stung from the effort. Rachel took a step forward and swung the rolling pin again as the man rushed her.

      The back door burst open. James filled the doorway.

      The diversion shifted her focus, and the man blocked the rolling pin. It flew backward and smacked the edge of her shoulder before it tumbled to the ground.

      She cried out. James yelled something she didn’t register as the kidnapper snarled and charged at her. Rachel tightened her fist and threw a punch directly to the middle of his chest. The man stumbled back. Pain vibrated up her arm to her throbbing shoulder.

      His right hand reached into his jacket and pulled out a jagged knife.

      Rachel gasped, paralyzed.

      James stepped forward, and his foot whipped out a kick so fast that if Rachel had blinked she would’ve missed it. The knife soared into the hallway. The man’s fist aimed for James’s face, but her neighbor sidestepped the punch.

      In a seamless motion, James twisted the man’s wrist into an odd angle. The man cried out, and James pushed him down until the kidnapper sunk to his knees. He put a foot on his back and pressed him all the way to the ground while gathering the man’s other hand.

      James sat on his back. “I called the police on my way over here. Do you have any zip ties or rope to help hold him until they arrive?”

      Rachel tried to stop shivering, but her body refused. The adrenaline rush took control. She may have attended kickboxing and self-defense classes regularly, but it didn’t compare to facing someone wishing to harm her. “I...I might have something.”

      She ran to the garage and riffled through the few tools she had piled on a card table in the corner. Why didn’t she think to have zip ties or rope as part of her tool kit? Her stomach twisted at the shame of not being prepared. She thrust off some of the items on the vinyl tabletop until her fingertips grasped a ball of twine she’d intended to use in preparation for her first raised vegetable garden. It wasn’t rope, but it’d have to do.

      She dry heaved. Her entire body trembled. This wasn’t supposed to happen in a good neighborhood, to a church-going business owner. She’d done everything right, hadn’t she? Rachel shook her head, as if forcefully throwing the thoughts away. She ran back into the house.

      James accepted the ball, frowned, and tied up the man’s wrist and ankles.

      The man underneath James’s weight grumbled.

      “Who sent you?” James asked.

      The man went silent. Rachel’s pulse quickened. Why would James think someone had sent him? She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to calm her heart rate.

      “I asked you a question.” James almost spat out the words. His face turned slightly red.

      The kidnapper twitched but said nothing.

      “Why do you think someone sent him?” she asked, her voice weak.

      Grief crossed his features as his eyes, dark and tortured, met hers. “I want to know why they