My sister called me at midnight and whispered, “Turn off every light. Go to the attic. Don’t tell your husband.” I thought she was losing her mind — until I looked through the floorboards

Part 2:

I crouched in the attic with dust in my throat and fear pressing so hard against my ribs I could barely breathe.

Below me, Caleb placed the passports on the hall table.

The man in the raincoat said, “The Bureau moved faster than expected.”

My stomach dropped.

Caleb’s jaw tightened. “How close?”

“Close enough that your wife’s sister may already know.”

My sister.

Mara.

I clutched the phone in my hand, praying it would light up again, praying it wouldn’t make a sound.

Caleb picked up my laptop. “She never checks anything. She won’t understand what she saw even if she saw it.”

The stranger laughed softly. “You married well.”

Caleb didn’t laugh.

“That wasn’t part of the plan,” he said.

For a second, I almost believed there was regret in his voice.

Then he added, “But the kid complicates things.”

My vision blurred.

Noah. Our four-year-old son, asleep miles away at Caleb’s parents’ house—or so I had believed.

The stranger said, “Your parents are already moving him.”

I bit my knuckle so hard I tasted blood.

Caleb nodded. “Good. Once we cross into Canada, everything resets.”

The phone in my hand vibrated. I nearly screamed. A message from Mara appeared.

FBI and local police are two minutes out. Stay hidden. Do not make noise. Noah is safe. We intercepted him.

I closed my eyes as tears spilled down my face.

Safe.

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