“Alright,” she murmured, warmth spreading through her chest. Raising her hand—still laced tightly in his—she joked, “Should we tie our hands together, just in case?”

“Great idea.”

She shot him a look, rolling her eyes in exasperation, then turned away to stare out the window again.

Time slipped by in uneasy silence until she finally whispered, “We’re in town.”

Jamison sounded surprised. “You’ve been here before?”

“When I was hurt, I came into town to see a doctor. I remember it well.” Back then, she’d hoped for a chance to escape, so she paid close attention to every turn along the way.

But she never got out.

The doctor who treated her had been a real monster. Not only did he refuse to help her call the police, but he’d tried to take advantage of her while she was weak and injured.

She’d told Jamison about it before.

So as soon as she mentioned it, his face darkened with anger.

“Do you remember that bastard’s name?”

She looked at him, wary. “What are you planning?”

“Setting things right.”

Ivy considered it—he really did deserve payback. “I don’t know his name, but I remember what he looked like.”

Her memory was sharp. She closed her eyes and summoned up the details: his height, build, the harsh set of his jaw, the color of his eyes.

Jamison turned to Derek in the front seat, instructing him to send someone to the local clinic for information.

Ivy hesitated, worried. “Won’t this cause trouble for you?”

She recalled Mrs. Ludwig’s phone call from the night before—she didn’t want to drag Jamison into more mess.

“Don’t worry,” Jamison replied. “This line of work, a lot of doctors have skeletons in their closets. It won’t take much digging—I’ll make sure he goes down, one way or another.”

Jamison was a doctor himself; he knew all too well how dirty things could get behind closed doors. Most doctors were decent people, but there were always a few rotten apples—taking bribes, gambling, worse.

If that creep had crossed a line, it wouldn’t be hard to find more dirt on him. Taking him down would be a breeze.

As Jamison finished giving Derek instructions, Ivy caught sight of the meeting point—a line of waiting vehicles.

Gallagher had made it clear: Don’t get out, don’t show your face.

This was a small town. Everyone knew everyone. Too many strangers would set off alarm bells and get the locals talking.

They were careful here. The slightest disturbance, and word would spread to every farmhouse and village for miles around.

So Ivy stayed in the car, calling Gallagher to confirm which vehicle was theirs. Once everyone checked in, the convoy rolled out, heading deeper into the mountains, toward Silverfen.

Truth be told, undercover officers had already slipped into the village the previous night, moving quietly through the darkness. But after an entire night of searching, they’d found nothing.

The villagers were too cautious. Even after the uniformed police left, no one brought the women out from hiding.

Based on what Ivy had said before, the caves up in the hills were stocked with supplies. It was possible the villagers—and the women they’d hidden—could hole up there for weeks.

After another hour’s drive, the sun was nearly at its peak when they finally arrived at Silverfen.

Ivy sat frozen in the car, a shiver running through her body as the familiar village came into view. Her eyes narrowed, sharp and vigilant. “We’re here. That’s the place.”

Jamison turned to look.

Nestled among the hills, the little village sprawled in clusters—houses perched at odd angles, some newer and well-maintained, not nearly as poor or run-down as he’d expected.

Ivy explained, “A lot of people from here go work in the city, make some money, then come back and fix up their homes. Some bring back girlfriends from outside, though honestly, that’s just another kind of kidnapping.”

The young men here knew they’d never find wives the usual way, so they’d get jobs in factories far from home. Using sweet talk and empty promises, they’d lure unsuspecting girls—often with little education—back to the village.