I snatch my phone from his fingers, prop it against the top of the steering wheel, and do my best to drive without crashing into the car in front of me. My hands are shaking so hard they’re vibrating, and it takes me a couple of tries to hit the link, but then my phone shoots me to a web page where I type in the new password, then back to the app and I’m in.

The first camera is from the smoke alarm, a bird’s-eye view of the room. Between glances at the road, I spot Beatrix’s mess of white-blond hair, and the sight of her is a gut punch. Jade is seated on the recliner next to her, alert but calm, her spine straight on the chair. I think of Bax, gorging on pizza at Tanya’s across the street—safe, thank God—and for once I don’t want to punch her.

I search the edges of the screen, but all I see are shadows.

I swipe to the next camera and get a head-on visual from the speaker on the wall. A full view of the recliners, Beatrix and Jade, a male-sized body cloaked in black by the windows. Relief starts with a tingle at the top of my head, then courses through me in a warm and glorious rush because they’re okay. They’re still alive.

And Jade...

Even with that bruised and swollen cheek, Jade is glorious. Hair wild, eyes wilder, her back straight with righteous purpose. Her hands are solid fists on her lap, and her chest is heaving. This is warrior Jade, protective and mama lioness Jade, this is Jade at her most fierce and feral. I’ve only ever seen her like this once, after Baxter’s kindergarten teacher teasingly suggested we find him a talent so he wouldn’t always live in his big sister’s shadow. I stare at the screen, and in all the eleven-plus years I’ve known her, never have I loved her more.

Her mouth is moving, flinging angry words. I keep the car on the road and fumble for the volume button.

“...because that is not okay. I get that your daughter’s sick, but in what universe does that make any of this okay? You are trading the lives of three strangers for hers, and that’s not right.” Jade’s seething voice shatters the silence in the cab.

“Shut up.” The voice comes from somewhere off camera, low and male and gruff. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. This is none of your business.”

“It is my business. The second you came into my garage and held me and my children at gunpoint, you made it my business. And you’ve already admitted Cam somehow owes you this money. It doesn’t get any more my business than that. This is my family. You’re holding our lives ransom for your daughter’s.”