You know, I’ve never understood your feelings for Jason French, but I was around when they first appeared, so I know how strong they are. I could tell you it’s pitiful, but I won’t. And I can’t pretend I’m not a little jealous. You did, at times, fill that fatherly place in my heart. But this is where we are, and here is what will happen. You will make assurances that our disagreement is behind us. In exchange, I will release Jason’s brother unharmed. If things go the other way, the boy stars in his own production of How to Die on Videotape, and I make sure Jason knows it’s entirely your fault. I’m sure he would never forgive you.

I don’t want it to be like this, but I know the kind of man you are. If you say we have a deal, I’ll believe you. Otherwise, I’ll burn it all down, the kid and his friend, and Jason, too, but only after he learns the truth of why his little brother died. So that’s it. That’s the deal, the boy’s life for mine. Think about it, and give me a call. The warden has the number.

The screen went blank, and X spoke with his eyes closed. “Is it true that you have a number?”

His voice was soft, but the warden was as afraid as he’d ever been. One had to know X to understand. “Yes, I have a number.”

“Where is he?”

“With God as my witness, I do not know.”

“The man who delivered the tape?”

“Gone. I’m sorry…”

“Stop.” X divided his palms, his eyes still closed. “I need five minutes alone, and then I need a phone.”

“Of course.”

X breathed in through his mouth, and out through his nose. “Do your children ever disappoint you, Warden Wilson? Does your wife?”

“Disappointment is part of life.”

“How do you punish them?”

“Um … ah … I don’t.”

“Because you love them?”

“Because they’re all I have.”

“And if you can help the ones who matter?”

“I’d do anything for them.”

X nodded once, his eyes still closed. “Five minutes, please. Five minutes, and a phone.”

38

Stifling, hot, and dark, that was the world. I didn’t know where I was or what was happening. Chance’s knees dug into my spine. Something like a rivet was gouging the top of my head. Whatever the bastard’s name was, he’d wound enough duct tape around my arms and legs to immobilize someone twice as large. The tape was on my face, too. I was seriously fucking afraid, and Chance was no better off. He was sucking hard through his nose, trying to find enough air.

Three hours in the trunk?

Five?