Mara.
I clutched my phone, praying it would light up again—and praying it wouldn’t make a sound.
Caleb picked up my laptop. “She never checks anything. Even if she saw something, she wouldn’t understand it.”
The stranger gave a quiet laugh. “You chose well.”
Caleb didn’t smile.
“That wasn’t part of the plan,” he said.
For a moment, I almost heard regret in his voice.
Then he added, “But the kid complicates things.”
My vision blurred.
Noah. Our four-year-old son, asleep miles away at Caleb’s parents’ house—or so I thought.
The stranger said, “Your parents are already moving him.”
I bit down on my knuckle so hard I tasted blood.
Caleb nodded. “Good. Once we cross into Canada, everything resets.”
The phone in my hand vibrated. I nearly screamed. A message from Mara appeared.
FBI and local police are two minutes out. Stay hidden. Do not make noise. Noah is safe. We intercepted him.
I shut my eyes as tears streamed down my face.
Safe.
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