I collapse onto the coffee table across from Beatrix, an emotional tug-of-war in my chest, vacillating between gratitude and confusion. I wasn’t expecting to stay here in the media room. I figured he’d march me across the hall and reattach me to the blue chair, but he didn’t. He’s letting me stick close to my daughter, at least for now, and I’m not about to argue.

He digs my iPhone from a cargo pocket, sinking back into the leather of the last recliner, the one Baxter was on. He unlocks the screen then pauses, his finger floating above the glass.

“Okay, here’s how it’s going to go. When Cam answers, you’re to ask where he is, how much of the money he’s got on his person and how long before he gets here. These are the only things you get to say to him, do you understand me? If he asks about the kids or anything else, direct him back to answers for those three questions. Got it?”

I nod, then shake my head. “Is Beatrix allowed to talk to him?”

He smiles. “Oh yeah. She can talk to him. In fact, missy, maybe you can tell him about how you almost got your mama killed. Special treats for anyone who can squeeze out some tears. Ready?”

Without waiting for our answer, he taps Call, then puts the phone on speaker. I stare at the phone, my heartbeat knocking against my ribs. Cam picks up on the first ring.

“Hello, Jade?”

Click. The man hangs up.

I stare at him, my mouth hanging open.

The man gives me a demented grin. “Just messing with you. Let’s do it again.”

He goes through the steps again, tapping the buttons on the screen. This time, the phone doesn’t even ring before Cam’s voice bursts through the speakers.

“Jade, are you there?”

His tone, desperate and plaintive, hits me like a sucker punch, an immediate and forceful blow that forces all the air from my lungs. Last night when he crawled into bed, I fussed at him for waking me up. Cam wanted to spoon, I wanted to sleep, and now I hate myself for it. Why couldn’t I have rolled over and told him how much I’d missed him? Why couldn’t I have shown him?

“I love you, Cam.” The words come out before I can stop them, and I know this wasn’t part of the script and I’ll probably get another broken bone or maybe worse for it, but I am beyond caring. I couldn’t stop these words even if I wanted to. These are words that have to be said. “I have since that time you came over in the middle of the night and planted all those purple tulips under my window. We’d been dating for what—three weeks?”