And gratitude. It was as though God, the universe, whatever, was putting them back together.

“When did it happen?”

“Friday night. Late,” Ava said. “She was on her way home from the club. I was on the phone when it happened. I heard everything.” Her bottom lip trembled, but she breathed it back. “The good news is that they’ve reached out. The kidnappers.”

That was good news. People kidnapping carriers from wealthy families were a part of the new blood economy, and while some were, in fact, returned, others were killed, the money gone.

There wasn’t any need to share this with Ava. She had read the same stories.

“How much?”

“Twenty million,” she replied.

“You have that sort of cash on hand?”

“No, not on hand. Not even close.”

But I do, Sebastian thought. A couple of mouse clicks, and within a few minutes he could have the money wired into an account.

He said a silent prayer of thanks to God, his Higher Power. God was giving him this opportunity to do right by her so he could get back the life that had been stolen from him. This was his chance. But for it to happen, he had to find a way to bring Ava’s daughter back alive, because if she died or, God forbid, was already dead, drained, and dumped, Ava would be forever lost to him.

“Whatever you need,” he said, “I’ll help you.”

Ava took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying, but there was a fire in them, and she looked like the woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago—someone ready to do battle. Her voice, too, was clear and strong.

“Sebastian,” she began.

Hearing her say his name turned his blood into gasoline. It surged through his system, making him focus. He went into problem-solving mode. “I know someone who specializes in this area. He does a lot of work with the LAPD Blood Unit.”

“They’re already involved.”

“Who’s in charge there?”

“Alves. I don’t remember his first name.”

Mark. Detective Mark Alves, Ron’s contact in the Blood Unit. Perfect.

“The FBI is really in charge,” Ava said. “Kidnapping, I’m told, is federal territory.”

Sebastian knew that. “And Special Agent Roosevelt is heading up your daughter’s case?”

Ava shook her head. “He just drove me here. He’s driving me to all the people I’m going to ask for money. The lead agent is . . . Parker. Harold Parker. The others, I . . . I’m not sure.” She sighed, frustrated, and rubbed her face. “They’re all blurring together. I haven’t slept since Friday.”

“How many people know your daughter’s a carrier?”

“Me, my ex, and her primary care doctor, as far as I know.”

“You never told anyone about Grace?”

“No,” Ava replied, her voice firm. “Absolutely not.”

“Grace? She tell anyone?”

“I’d be surprised if she told any of her friends, even the close ones. We taught her from a very early age how important it was to keep that information private, but . . .” Ava swallowed, her face taking on that look he’d seen on so many parents over the years—a mask of denial, and hope that was slowly crumbling. “Charles—he’s my ex—he said he never told anyone, not even people in his family.”