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Pride swells in my chest. My daughter has clearly caught this guy off guard. First escaping her bindings and now disappearing without a trace. Brave little Beatrix getting under this man’s skin.
He taps at the screen and presses it to his ear. “Hey...Yeah, I know. We’re looking for her now.”
There’s a long stretch of silence, and my mind whirs, searching for meaning. He’s talking about Beatrix, he must be, which means the person on the other end of the phone knows about the home invasion.
How? And who? A conspirator of some kind?
I stare across the kitchen at his phone, straining to hear, to understand.
“No, she’s got to be here somewhere. Give me a minute and I’ll find her.” A pause. “Yes, I know what time it is, but the longer I stand here, talking to you, the longer I’m not looking for her.”
I sit positively still, my mind buzzing. What is happening here?
He sighs. “Just tell me how it’s going there. What’s the latest?”
I take in his cryptic words, imagining some stranger stalking Cam around town the way the man-bunned man did me, taking note of his bag of cash, watching it grow fatter and fatter after each visit to a restaurant safe or the bank, reporting back on his progress. I think of all the preparation a home invasion plot like this would take, all the scouting and scheming. This operation would have demanded weeks of planning, sketching out every possibility, thinking through every potential consequence. And even the best quarterbacks have a deep bench of players and coaches to support them. Whoever’s on the other end of that phone call must be one of them.
“Lemme talk to her.” The man glances up, frowning when our eyes meet.
My gaze flits away.
“Hey, pumpkin, how you doing?”
Five little words, yet filled with so much meaning. Caring. Concern. Whoever this pumpkin is, he or she is loved.
“I know. Try to get some sleep, okay? I’ll be home soon, and I promise to come—” He pauses to listen. “I’m at work, why?” Another pause. “Because I stepped outside to call you. The kitchen was too loud.”
The wordkitchenrings like a gong through my head, and I look up. Our eyes meet again, and he holds a finger to his lips.Shh.
“Good. Now get your booty back to the couch, and put your auntie back on the phone, will you?”
The compress has started to drip icy rivers down my neck, and I pull it away from my face. The skin underneath is on fire, part smashed cheekbone, part freezer burn.
“Make sure she takes a nap,” he says, his voice going hard again, “but before that do another check of her levels. If they’ve dipped even the slightest bit then call our cousin, get her to come over. She’ll know what to do. In the meantime, watch her like a hawk, and keep me posted. I don’t like the sound of this.”
Another long pause as I wonder who this cousin is, what problem she’s coming over to solve. Surely it can’t be worse than the problem currently brewing in this house.
He frowns at the floor, and a shivery finger of dread runs down my spine. Whoever’s on the other end of that phone call, their message is not good. I rewind the conversation in my mind, stitching together the parts of it I’ve heard. Levels of something undefined. A cousin who better come over in a hurry. It’s like putting together a puzzle with only half the pieces...unless the other half is Cam. What if this cousin is the one tagging Cam?
Still, it doesn’t make sense. Why would she need to come over—and come over where? Here?
The questions flip through my mind in time with the throbbing in my cheek. I sit like a statue, watching and listening for clues.
The man reaches up as if to run a hand through the hair at his temple, then remembers the mask. His arm falls back to his side. “No. Absolutely not. That will shoot us right back to the bottom, maybe even erase us entirely. Best thing to do is just sit tight and wait this out. And keep an eye on the numbers.”
First levels, now numbers—but of what? A bank account? I can’t put the pieces together in a way that makes any sort of sense.
I think of Baxter across the street, and I wonder what’s taking so long. It’s been what—a half hour since I watched him walk down the driveway? Plenty of time for him to ring the warning bell. So what’s the holdup, then? Did Tanya not believe him? Or maybe she did and they’re coming in silent.
I wince in frustration, and my cheek throbs in response. It aches like there’s a knife stuck through it. Every movement is agony.
“Yes, I’m sure. The alarm is armed, and we checked all the doors. Every window but the upstairs ones have sensors. She could have gotten out there maybe, but she’d break her neck trying.”
If I didn’t know before, I’m certain now. Whoever is on the other end of that phone call knows why this man is here. They know about the ransom plot. They are a coconspirator. I make a mental note, add it to my growing list of clues, along with the one I just saw—that almost-swipe through his hair just now? It means he has some.
“Jade.”
I look up, but I take my time.