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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.
The man rolls his eyes. “Please, I am not an idiot.” He hikes up on a hip, drags my cell phone from his pants pocket. “I’ll pull up his number, and then we’ll put him on speaker.”
“Let me see the kids first.”
“Jade. May I remind you that you are unarmed and tied to a chair?”
“Please. I’ll call Cam. I’ll say whatever you want me to say to him, but I need to know my children are okay. Let me see them,please.”
He stares at the floor, sucking his bottom lip, thinking. Dragging it out. Making me sweat. Enjoying it. The seconds stretch and dilate.
His gaze whips to mine. “If I do that, if I take you in there and let you have this little reunion you want so badly, how do I know you won’t try something? How do I know you won’t find yourself a weapon, or go for mine?” He glances over his shoulder at the gun, an ominous hunk of black metal on the dresser, as if I need the reminder. The threat is plenty clear, and the pressure in the room changes in an instant. He turns back, giving a slow, sad shake of his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I can trust you.”
“I won’t try anything. You can trust me. I swear.”
“Call me a cynic, but I don’t think I can.”
“But I told you about the cameras. I didn’t lie about those.”
He doesn’t respond. He just sits there on the edge of my guest room bed and stares me down, his eyes hard, his expression—what I can see of it—ice-cold. I tell myself to shut up, to stand down. There’s no winning this argument. And yet I can’t stop myself from begging one last time.
“Please,”I whisper, cheeks heating, eyes stinging. “Please let me see them.”
I know that I’m being reckless, putting my life, my children’s lives on the line here, but I can’t think of anything but them in the other room, knowing I’m in here strapped to a chair. They must be so terrified. I need to see with my own eyes that they are safe. To comfort them, as much as the sight of them will comfort me.
The man heaves a sigh.
“Fine, you can see them, but not until after.” He stabs the air, one gloved finger pointed to the ceiling. “Afteryou make the call,afterI know I can trust you to do what I say. If you do everything I tell you to, I will take you into the playroom for a little visit with the kiddos.”
He’s lying.
The black thought slips into my mind like a monster, ringing loud and clear in my sister Ruby’s ever-cynical voice.There’s no way he’s taking you to your kids, Jade. If you believe him, you’re a bigger fool than I thought. It hits me as a prophecy because she’s right. No matter what I do or say, he’ll never follow through. I know it with gut-punching certainty.
Bend to this man’s will, gain his trust, catch him off guard. That’s the plan. It’s not a great plan, but it’s the only plan I’ve got. I stare up at him, looking him straight in the eye. All I have to do is cooperate for now and wait for the exact right moment.
I swallow and speak the words he wants to hear. “What do you want me to say?”
J A D E
4:07 p.m.
Cam picks up on the second ring, his voice bleating from the speaker of my iPhone.
“Yo, babe, I was just thinking. With Bolling Way in ashes, why don’t we get away? Just you and me and a sunny Caribbean island. What’s the one with the pink sand again? I’ve always wanted to see that.”
“Cam.”
“There’s nothing I can do here anyway. Flavio can handle things with the insurance, and honestly, I could use a break. Everything was already so nutty, and now this fire. If I don’t take a minute to step away from this craziness, I’m going to crash and burn.”
His voice is tinny, ringing with Bluetooth and high-speed wind. I picture him flying down Peachtree in his truck, clueless I’m calling for what is essentially a ransom call. If only he would stop talking long enough for me to tell him.
“Cam.”
He yammers on—about the fire, a former sous-chef leaning out of an upstairs window, karma.
“Omigod, would youshut up?” This time I scream into the phone. I scream so hard the back of my throat catches fire.
He stops midsentence.