The cloning process had begun.

*Three minutes and fifty seconds remaining,* I told myself.

Chloe took a slow sip of her chamomile tea.

The ceramic mug hid her mouth, but I saw the tight strain around her eyes.

“Why would the police be involved, Anne?” she asked.

Her voice was too light, too airy to be genuine.

Outside the window, a Denver sleet was starting to smear against the glass.

The gray afternoon light made the coffee shop feel cold and exposed.

“He hasn’t been home in two days,” I said, putting a tremble in my lower lip.

I reached down and shifted my tote bag closer to my boots.

Inside the leather pocket, the receiver screen was a faint blue glow.

*Three minutes and thirty seconds,* the tiny digital timer read.

“You know how Lucas gets when he’s stressed,” Chloe said, setting her mug down with a soft click.

She adjusted her beige cashmere scarf, the one I had given her for her birthday last year.

“He probably just went to a hotel to clear his head,” she added.

“Without his passport?” I asked.