Page 36

Noah shouldn’t really be seeing this, but I need to be here, and I can’t very well send a terrified nine-year-old to sleep in a strange guest room all by himself during a crisis. I wish I had another option, particularly when we hear the unmistakable sound of glass breaking violently.

“The perp broke the rear laundry room window,” Zen says in a flat tone.

Sabre’s best friend chimes in. “I’m sixty seconds out.”

I hear Sabre over their shared line. “Carol, you’re doing fine. We’re almost there.”

The next thing we hear is the roar of motorcycles through the Ring cam. It’s faint at first, then gets louder. On the feed from the security cameras, the hooded shape freezes. He’s half in and half out of the laundry room window he broke to gain access. He pulls his leg back out and starts running out of frame.

“The perp’s vehicle is a dark sedan. I was unable to get a clear plate number.”

Tusk’s voice comes over the shared comm. “I got a partial plate. R5704. That’s all I got.”

Then Talon’s voice comes through the inside cameras. He’s checking and calling rooms clear one by one.

Noah is so quiet that I wonder what’s going through his head right now.

Talon’s excited voice rings out. “We’ve got the target. She’s scared but okay.”

Noah starts crying.

Aunt Carol and Sabre video-call us on the cell phone we have about ten minutes later so she can reassure us that she’s been rescued and is safe.

Her voice is still a little shaky, but she’s managed to pull herself together. “I’m fine, honey. It’s embarrassing to be hiding in a closet with a flashlight at my age.”

“Nonsense,” I tell her. “You do whatever you have to do to stay safe during a break-in. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Sabre leans into the frame beside her and throws in his two cents’ worth. “Hidin’ in that closet was a smart move. That may have kept you alive. I hesitate to think what would have happened if you’d been foldin’ towels in that little laundry room of yours.”

***

It’s nearly midnight when the convoy reaches us. Aunt Carol’s curled up in a blanket in the back seat. There is a motorcycle ahead of and behind the van. When they help her out of the van, I run out to meet her.

Her first question is, “Where’s Noah? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. Tonight was just a lot of excitement for him. He ended up crashing out on the sofa about thirty minutes ago. He tried his best to stay awake until you got here.”

She pats my arm. “Let the boy sleep. I’ll tell him all about it in the morning.”

She crawls into one of Sabre’s guest rooms, and we leave Noah on the sofa.

That’s when Sabre lays a plastic bag on the kitchen table. It looks like the kind of bag cops use for evidence. Inside is a plain white envelope with no stamp.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“It was on the ground, faceup underneath that broken window, a fuckin’ macabre calling card of sorts.”

Through the plastic, I can read a name. Linny.

Sabre wraps one arm around my shoulders. “I assume this is an old nickname you once used.”

I nod, staring at it with fear and quiet foreboding. “My family mostly used it, but Dylan was aware.”

He reaches out with his free hand and flips it over. He’s taken out the note and positioned it so everyone can read it. Unfortunately, there’s only one chilling sentence.

You’re mine in the eyes of God.

“Does that mean anything to you? From what you’ve described about your ex being a religious nut job, I’m gonna say this seems pretty on brand for him.”