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.
Below, Caleb’s phone rang.
He answered sharply. “Mom?”
His expression shifted.
“What do you mean they took him?”
The stranger stepped closer. “What happened?”
Caleb turned pale. “Noah’s gone. Police stopped them on the highway.”
The man cursed. Then Caleb looked up.
Not directly at me, but toward the attic.
“Where’s Elise?”
My heart stopped. He began moving down the hallway, checking rooms.
“Elise?” he called, his voice smooth again. “Baby, where are you?”
I pressed myself behind a stack of storage bins.
The attic steps creaked.
Once.
Twice.
For Complete Cooking STEPS Please Head On Over To Next Page Or Open button (>) and don’t forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
