I crouched in the attic, dust scratching my throat and fear pressing so tightly against my chest I could barely breathe.
Below me, Caleb set the passports on the hallway table.
The man in the raincoat said, “The Bureau moved faster than expected.”
My stomach sank.
Caleb’s jaw tightened. “How close?”
“Close enough that your wife’s sister may already know.”
My sister.
Mara.
I clutched my phone, praying it would light up again—and praying it wouldn’t make a sound.
Caleb picked up my laptop. “She never checks anything. Even if she saw something, she wouldn’t understand it.”
The stranger gave a quiet laugh. “You chose well.”
Caleb didn’t smile.
“That wasn’t part of the plan,” he said.
For a moment, I almost heard 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 thought.
The stranger said, “Your parents are already moving him.”
I bit down on my knuckle so hard I tasted blood.
