“You don’t think so. What does that mean? Yes or no?”

“It means no.”

“You’re sure.” Not phrased as a question.

And even though I’m not sure—Beatrix is a smart kid, and she hears a lot more than Cam and I give her credit for—I nod. “Yes, I’m sure.”

He speaks into the phone. “I’ve jammed it, but monitor the scanners just in case. The second somebody’s headed this way, I need to know about it.”

He’s jammed our alarm—is that even possible?

He leans a hip against the counter and fingers his gun, watching me across the kitchen island.

“Keep me posted, will you? I want an update every fifteen minutes or so. I agree it’s worrisome, but she’s done this before, remember? Just hang in there a little longer. We can’t pull the plug on this thing, not even as a last resort. This is our last resort, remember?”

I stare at the counter, processing everything I just heard. So far he hasn’t said the first word about money—unless that was what he meant with the numbers he mentioned. Maybe post payment, he will take the cash and return to his lists and levels and whatever else this one-sided conversation has been about and disappear from our lives forever. I imagine Beatrix crawling out of her hiding place and rushing into my arms, the two of us racing across the street for Baxter. The police wrapping us in silver foil blankets and peppering me with questions while I hug my children and cry joyful, relieved tears. Maybe this day can have a happy ending.

“I know, which is why I’ve got to find this kid and get everybody back upstairs, pronto. Text me in fifteen, okay? And hang in there. In another hour this will all be over.”

At his words, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle with awareness. It’s that feeling you get right before the phone rings with bad news, that out-of-the-blue premonition two seconds before your tires hit the patch of black ice. I look up and his gaze meets mine, and that’s when I know. Every last bit of hope I allowed myself to feel drains away like muddy rainwater.

What he means is, this will all be over for us.

J A D E

6:17 p.m.

He slides his cell into the cargo pocket of his pants, his voice jolting me back into the moment. “All right, Jade. No more fooling around. Where’s the kid?”