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Wally and Mike exchanged a glance, and then both nodded. “Agreed,” Wally said. “You need to tell your dad what we know, and he needs to tell someone in authority to get your mom out safely.”

“But how do I that? My dad hasn’t called me in over forty-eight hours. The burner phone he gave me has been silent.” I pulled it out of my pocket. “I’ve been holding it 24-7, and nothing. I’ve tried calling him back on it, but he doesn’t answer. I don’t dare try to reach him electronically in case I lead Remington right to him.”

“There has to be someone we can trust,” Mike said.

“Slash is still in Brazil, right?” Wally asked me.

“Yes, with my sister, Gwen, and Lexi. I don’t have a clue how to reach any of them, either, or if they’re even reachable. Gwen said they were going to a remote location in the jungle.”

“That’s definitely not helpful,” Wally said.

“So, who are we left with, guys?” Mike lifted his hands. “There has to be someone we can trust.”

Only one name came up, and although I wasn’t certain about it, we had no one else left to trust. “We only have one choice. Candace Kim.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

CANDACE KIM

Candace found the public parks in Maryland a source of tranquility and peace—two things that were lacking in her high-powered, high-intensity job at the NSA. So this morning, she took a detour from the office and brought her work to the park.

In normal times, she’d never have done such a thing. For one thing, her security staff would have had forbidden it. But these weren’t normal times. She no longer had a security detail due to budget cuts, and her gut told her the note was from Sinclair, so she’d decided to go. But while she always trusted her gut, she wasn’t stupid. While at a stoplight, she reached across the seat and pulled a small gun out of her glove compartment, slipping it into the pocket of her coat.

She followed directions to the park, got out of her car, and went to the instructed bench. She reread the unsigned note she’d found on the front seat of her locked car this morning, along with a burner phone. The note was brief and told her to follow the instructions exactly.

The morning was cool, with frost in the air, and other than a jogger with a dog, she saw no one else. But she knew better than to be complacent. She played her classical music playlist reasonably loudly from her regular cell and set it on the bench next to her to mask anyone else trying to listen into the call from a distance. Then she picked up the burner phone and dialed the number in the note.

Someone picked up after one ring.

“Do not say anything. I have the proof you need, but you will have to act quickly. I will text this phone with the exact time and place to pick up your proof. Be there on time or I will be gone. You won’t have this opportunity again. I’ll provide further instructions in the subsequent text.”

The phone went silent for a few seconds, and she wasn’t sure if he had hung up. Just as she was about to say something, he continued, “I want you to understand the urgency, threat, and why I am serious about resolving this quickly. They have kidnapped my wife and intend to kill her unless I turn myself over to them. The only thing that has protected her so far is they don’t know I know she’s been kidnapped. I’m trusting you’re not part of the conspiracy. If you are, I’ve just signed our death warrants.”

The line went dead. She sat there for a couple of minutes, trying to take it all in.

Sinclair’s wife had been kidnapped?

Frowning, she picked up her cell. Knowing she needed to be prepared, she made a couple of calls before heading back to the office to wait.

No one was dying on her watch.

ANGEL SINCLAIR

After Remington’s call to Sampson, we hightailed it back to the farmhouse. When we arrived, everyone was sleeping except for Mr. Toodles, who greeted me enthusiastically. I took him outside for a quick potty break, hoping he wasn’t getting spoiled with all the attention.

After setting up the monitoring stations on our laptops on the dining room table—Mike’s for Remington’s car, mine for the burner phone, and Wally’s for Sampson’s car, Mike headed off to get more sleep.

I decided I needed some sleep, as well, so Wally volunteered to take the first shift.

“Are you sure?” I asked, leaning back in my chair and yawning. “You didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“You didn’t getanysleep,” he pointed out.

“I know, but my mom and all.”

Wally typed something on the keyboard. “You’re not going to help either one of them if you’re a zombie. Go to bed, Angel.”

“Are you sure?”