Every time I drifted off, I felt the cold draft of the bedroom where they had locked me in.

I felt the panic of finding the door handle screwed shut from the outside.

“The police are watching the house,” Arthur reminded me, handing me a section of the orange. “They have the security footage from the driveway.”

I took the fruit but didn’t eat it. “Landon knows how to bypass the cameras on the garage.”

“Harris said they have a cruiser parked down the street anyway,” Arthur said.

I looked at my phone again.

The little digital airplane was moving across the blue space representing the Atlantic Ocean.

They were still in the air.

Three days had passed, but my body still ached from the emergency delivery.

Every step I took felt like tearing paper inside my abdomen.

Yet, the physical pain was nothing compared to the cold weight in my chest.

Detective Harris walked into the room at noon on Tuesday.

His suit jacket was off, his tie loosened at the collar.

“We just got confirmation from the airline,” Harris said, pulling a notepad from his pocket. “Flight 412 from Nassau is on approach.”