Asher studied a square of foam outfitted with several cheap rings with adjustable bands, each with a different picture captured under a raised slice of resin: the Virgin Mary holding Christ, the Virgin of Guadalupe, Day of the Dead scenes, and several of Frida Kahlo. Luke had always loved Frida and liked to check out a thick book of her paintings from the library.

“Sometimes people say I look like Frida, but it’s only because we’re both from Mexico.” Adalia rolled her dark eyes and smiled. She took one item at a time and ran it over the scanner, moving so slowly. Behind her the news anchors were in deep conversation about the presidential election. “Some folks think all brown people look just alike.”

He wanted to tell her that he had to get out of there, now. But he had to remain calm. Only now did he notice the security camera in the corner of the store. So eventually they would know he and Justin had been here. No matter, really. They were still close to home. This wouldn’t give much away besides the fact that they were east of Nashville. They could go anywhere from here.

She was now openly studying his face. “I know you from somewhere.”

“I’ve got one of those faces,” he said, willing himself to smile.

“Where you all headed this early on this pretty morning?” Adalia asked.

“The ocean,” Asher blurted out, regretting it instantly. He was giving away everything.

“Gulf Shores, I bet.”

“Yep.” How easily the lie came. He had always been honest. Now he wouldn’t have that anymore, either. He would have to lie every single day.

Adalia tapped the “total” button like a pianist hitting the last note on an amazing performance. “Nine dollars and eighteen cents, darlin.” She shook her head. “All this stuff is overpriced in these gas stations. Terrible.”

Through the plate-glass window behind Adalia: a state trooper pulling into the parking lot.

Asher’s breath came out ragged. Adalia noticed; she brought her eyes up to meet his as she counted out the change.

She glanced out the window. “Rodney stops here every morning to get his coffee and a Krispy Kreme.” She shook out a brown paper bag for the groceries.

Some part of Asher thought that maybe she had pushed a button under the counter to alert the cops. He fancied she had most likely seen news of the kidnapping on the morning show—the news happened instantly nowadays, after all—just before they had come in and she’d played it cool long enough to stall them.

He could feel the pulse throbbing in his neck.

Asher’s mind raced with what he could do once the trooper came in: Fight back? Run? Surrender? None of these seemed an option.

“I tell him don’t he know he’s a walking what-do-you-call-it,” Adalia said, pausing before putting the cup of cookies in the bag.