the photograph of my younger brother, my hands shaking so badly that I nearly dropped my phone.
Someone had been watching him.
Someone knew where he worked, when he left, and how to reach him.
And now they were using him to threaten me.
“Jonah!” I screamed. “Look at this!”
He crossed the room in seconds. The moment he saw the photograph, every trace of color disappeared from his face.
“Call him,” he ordered.
I dialed my brother immediately.
No answer.
I tried again.
Nothing.
“He always answers me,” I
whispered. “Something’s wrong. Jonah, we have to find him!”
Jonah grabbed his car keys.
“Get your coat. We’re leaving.”
“Where are we going?”
“To get your brother. And then I’m taking you somewhere nobody can find us.”
I followed him outside, clutching my phone against my chest.
But before I reached the car, another message arrived.
Ask your husband what happened to the woman who helped his father.
I stopped walking.
“Jonah.”
He turned.
I showed him the message.
For several seconds, he didn’t speak.
Then he closed his eyes.
