Colton Showdown. Marie Ferrarella

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      People didn’t buy people anymore. They didn’t.

      And yet …

      And yet, she’d seen the briefcase before the lid had come down on it. There’d been money in that case. A great deal of money. Was that being exchanged for her?

      Had this man really bought her?

      What did that mean?

      Hannah could feel her soul seizing up within her as the fear she’d been trying so desperately to contain suddenly broke out of its confines and all but paralyzed her.

      Maybe this was all just a horrible, horrible dream. A nightmare. And maybe, dear Lord, if she just closed her eyes, when she opened them again, she’d be back in her safe little house with her family around her. What she wouldn’t give to hear the voices of her nieces, Katie, Ruthie and Grace—her brother Caleb’s daughters—raised in some silly little inconsequential squabble.

      Tears rose in Hannah’s eyes and she fought to keep them back. She couldn’t cry in front of this man, couldn’t risk it. She’d seen the effect that tears had on these cruel beasts who’d ripped her world apart. Mary Yoder had cried and they’d beaten her for it, seeing tears as a sign of weakness.

      She had no idea where Mary was now, or even if she was still alive.

      These men who had become an unwanted daily part of her life had no respect for weakness, no compassion or even pity. They had nothing but contempt for its display, and if anything, when they encountered weakness, it just made them crueler.

      She had to be strong, Hannah told herself. Only the strong survived and she needed to survive, needed to find a way to get back to her family again, back to Caleb, who needed her to help him take care of his motherless daughters.

      Be strong, Hannah, be strong, she silently urged herself. He knows Caleb. That has to mean something.

      Somehow, digging deep, Hannah found the strength she was looking for. Found it and clung to it for all she was worth.

      Raising her head, she forced herself to look into the tall, imposing stranger’s eyes. They didn’t look like the eyes of a cruel man. Perhaps she could talk him out of this shameful thing he was about to do.

      “Please,” she implored him. “You don’t want to do this.” Hannah took a deep breath, willing her nerves to remain steady. She congratulated herself on speaking without allowing a telltale tremor to emerge in her voice and betray her.

      Her eyes remained fixed on the stranger’s. Taking another breath, she repeated the sentence, her voice sounding a little stronger this time. “You don’t want to do this.”

      The trouble was, God help him, he did, Tate thought. It wasn’t that the undercover role he was playing had gotten to him. He found everything about this persona loathsome. Anyone who preyed on helpless girls, using money and connections to satisfy his unnatural lusts, was nothing short of despicable.

      But the truth of it was, since the very first time he’d seen her face on that DVD recording that had contained a virtual catalog of innocence for would-be bidders to view, he’d found himself almost hopelessly attracted to the abducted young woman.

      It didn’t matter. He knew he couldn’t do anything about it. Knew that to act in any way on these feelings under the pretext of playing his part was more than reprehensible. His sense of honor, or decency, wouldn’t allow it.

      But he couldn’t be anything less than honest with himself and, the thing of it was, under different circumstances, he would have attempted to find a way to at least strike up a conversation with Hannah. Hopefully, that would lead to spending time with her and then perhaps …

      Perhaps what? She was just twenty—and he wasn’t. And hadn’t been for a long time.

      Besides, he reminded himself pointedly, under any other circumstances, your paths wouldn’t have even crossed.

      And it was true. When would a career detective have any occasion to meet a sheltered young woman who spent her whole life entrenched in the bosom of her close-knit Amish community? The answer to that was simple: never.

      The tension in the room was so thick, he could almost see it. Somehow, he had to put Hannah at ease, make her relax a little by convincing her that he was not the enemy.

      Tate took a step toward her and saw Hannah instinctively shrink back. The very action made him feel terrible for her.

       I’m your friend, Hannah. Your friend.

      But how did he get her to believe that? Especially since this room was undoubtedly bugged and probably under the ring’s surveillance?

      “Have they hurt you?” Tate asked her gently.

      The young woman slowly moved her head from side to side, never taking her eyes off him, as if she was afraid that if she looked away, he would take the opportunity to jump her. It was painfully clear that she didn’t trust him to maintain the small distance between them.

      If she didn’t trust him when it came to something so basic, how was he going to get her to trust him enough to tell him what he needed to know?

      And then he recalled the nickname Caleb had told him to use. It was worth a try.

      “You can tell me,” he coaxed. “Did they hurt you, Blue Bird?” His voice deliberately dropped as he called her by the nickname.

      Her gray-blue eyes widened and he heard Hannah’s sharp intake of breath. She continued watching him as if she didn’t know what to expect.

      “Not since the last time you came,” she finally replied, speaking so quietly that, had he not been looking at her lips, he wouldn’t have even known that she’d answered.

      So, the torn bill had worked, he thought. He didn’t kid himself that the guard he’d given it to had any sense of honor, only greed, but that was all right. He wasn’t above using whatever worked.

      “But before then?” he pressed.

      The small, perfect shoulders rose slightly and then lowered in an almost imperceptible shrug. The clinging green gown rustled a little.

      “Before then,” she murmured.

      “Who?” he asked, moving closer to her.

      Tate saw the young woman automatically shrink into herself again, but this time, she didn’t step back the way she had before. This time, she remained where she was.

      “The one with the scraggly hairs on his chin,” she told him.

      The man with the goatee, Tate thought. Of the two henchmen, he looked like the more dangerous one, the more unpredictable one.

      “Did he hurt you … badly?” Tate pressed, unable to make himself ask Hannah if the scum had actually raped her.

      Somehow, phrasing it that directly seemed to just intensify the horror of the attack. He didn’t want to resurrect painful memories for her, he just needed information.

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