And where will the exchange take place? And how can I guarantee the safety of Tom and Denise?

Later, I think. Later. Focus on the job in front of you. Drive to Texas with no delays, no problems.

The trooper goes back to the cruiser, and I spot something I hadn’t noticed before. The Love’s Travel Stop has a logo consisting of three overlapping hearts, colored red, peach, and yellow.

Three symbols of love.

Tom, Denise, and me.

I try to take another swallow of the Diet Coke and I just can’t. I burst into tears and sob, and bring up a paper napkin just as the Alabama State Police cruiser makes a wide turn and stops beside me.

The window rolls down. A young trooper, with her light-blond hair pulled tight in a bun at the back of her head, calls out, “Everything all right, ma’am?”

I know better than to bullshit her, because my last bullshit attempt with a member of law enforcement didn’t go well. I wipe at my eyes and say, “My husband…and my daughter. I’m worried about them, that’s all.”

“They okay?”

I shake my head. “No, they’re not…they were in an accident yesterday, and I’m driving as fast as I can to see them.”

She purses her lips, gives a slight shake of her head. “Oh, ma’am, I’m sorry. Are you all right to drive? Is there anything I can do for you?”

I blow my nose. “Ma’am, you’ve been helpful. Honest. I just need to get going, that’s all. I appreciate you checking in on me. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

She says, “Well, I know you’re probably in a hurry, so travel safe. I’ll say a prayer for you and your family. Nothing more important than family, am I right?”

“You’re one hundred percent right,” I say, wiping my fingers clean, and she gives me a wave, drives off, and it just hits me.

Denise and Tom.

That evil voice inside of me, once more.

You know what always happens to most kidnap victims…they may already be dead.

“Shut up,” I whisper, and I clean the trash off my Wrangler’s hood and get back to my mission.

CHAPTER 41

TOM CORNWALL’S catalog and memory of pain is pretty thin, ranging from a broken collarbone while playing high school football to having a jerk of a medical intern putting in two stitches without benefit of anesthesia to fix a cut finger to a piece of shrapnel that nicked him in the ribs in Syria two years back.

So he sees with horror the steady, hot flame of the hand-held torch that Pelayo Abboud is confidently holding in his right hand, and he thinks, It’ll be over soon, it’ll be over soon, knowing the pain that is coming his way will be the worst he’s ever felt in his life, and with the terror coursing through him as the strong man holds his wrist steady, another voice inside of him says: Be strong for Denise. Be strong for Denise. Don’t traumatize her any more. Be strong for Denise.