Ed’s silence cannot be a good sign. It means he couldn’t talk his boss into fronting the funds for my IRA or, at best, that he doesn’t yet have an answer. Either way, I’m screwed.

Jade’s words ring on a constant loop through my head, the way her voice sounded on the phone, how fear turned it high and thin. The sound of it shoots a new jolt of adrenaline through my veins, turning me radioactive. I can’t shake the image of her beaten and bloody and tied to that chair, helpless to stop the bastard from going after the Bees—an image that breaks me.

I run a shaking hand down my face and force myself to focus.

Stick with the plan.

Get the money.

Go get Jade and the Bees.

This mantra is the only thing keeping me sane.

I pull up Ed’s contact card and tap the number for his cell, my leg jiggling against the steering wheel. To my left, a neat line of crepe myrtles flutter under a stiff wind, and I start the car and crank up the heat even though I’m sweating. Panic sweat, the kind that makes you feel cold and slightly nauseous, like you’re coming down with the flu. I gun the gas and the vents spew lukewarm air.

One ring. Two rings. Three. I suck a breath and hold it there, ready to let loose a primal scream if Ed doesn’t pick up.

On the fourth ring, a slurp of garbled static beats through the truck’s speakers, followed by a fumbling of metal against fabric and finally, thankfully, Ed’s voice.

“Hey, Cam. I was just about to give you a call.”

Relief shoots through my veins like a drug, and I settle the phone in the cupholder, then throw the gearshift in Reverse. “Ed, please. For the love of God, please tell me you’ve got good news.”

I look over my shoulder and punch the gas, swinging the truck backward into the mostly empty lot. I’ve already thought about the best way to Ed’s office, on the fourteenth floor of a high-rise on the Buckhead loop, already plugged the coordinates into Waze. I screech to a stop and shove the gearshift into Drive, but Ed’s next words freeze my fist around the stick.

“I’ve got some news, yes, but I’m not certain it’s the good news you’re hoping for.”

A sick tremor works its way across my torso. “Please, Ed. I’m begging you. I am desperate.”