The words stick to my throat, eating up all the air and smearing my vision with tears. As hard as I tried to keep them in check downstairs, there’s no stopping them now. They roll down my cheeks, burning the raw skin around my mouth, the salt lighting it on fire. I strain against the ties on my wrists, my ankles, and I sob.

I need to tell my children I love them before it’s too late.

The man backs up a few steps, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “The kids are fine. You can talk to them later. First, you and I are going to make a phone call.”

I’m listening, but my gaze is glued to the door. I suck a breath to yell out to them, then reconsider. They seem calm, for now at least. If they’re tied to a chair like I am, if they’re distracted by the television, calling out to them would only cause panic.

“Jade.” He snaps, three quick flicks of his fingers to get my attention. “Are you listening? I need you to pay attention. We’re going to call your husband, and I want you to tell him he is needed here at home—”

“Fine. But first take me to the kids. I want to see Beatrix and Baxter first.”

He sighs, an aggravated sound that rumbles in his lungs. “I already told you. The kids are fine. And you are not exactly in a position to negotiate.”

“Please.”

“We’re not talking about the kids right now. They’re not important.”

His words ignite a bonfire in my chest, and I lean forward on the chair. “What did you do to them?”

“Jade.” He bares his teeth, talking through them, low and controlled. “This isn’t about the kids. This is about you and me, don’t you get it? I need you to focus on what is happening, right now, right here in this room. On you, making the call to Cam.”

So he knows both our names. It’s an important tidbit I tuck away with all the other pieces I’ve gathered about him.

“I can’t.”

He frowns, two black-brown brows appearing from under the mask. “What do you mean you can’t?”

I wave my hands, strapped by the wrists to the chair. “I need my hands to hold the phone. You’ll have to untie me first.”

Even with both hands free, the lucite bowl would be too much of a stretch, a good five feet of air between it and my fingertips. I could never clear the space fast enough, not with the rest of me attached to this chair. He’d see me lunging from a mile away. He’d smack my arm down, go for his gun, shoot me for even trying.