“Or someone turned it off,” I whispered.

The car bounced violently as Ethan turned onto the entrance ramp of the highway heading north toward Boulder.

The rain was so heavy that the taillights of the semi-trucks ahead of us were just dim red glows in the mist.

“Ethan, faster,” I said.

“I’m doing eighty, Claire,” he said, his voice tense. “The roads are slick.”

“If anything happens to my son,” I said, “I will make sure you and your mother spend the rest of your lives in a cell.”

Ethan didn’t reply, but his shoulders tensed even more.

We drove in silence for ten minutes, the only sound the rhythmic slapping of the wipers.

Suddenly, Julian’s phone buzzed in his hand.

He looked down at the screen, his face lighting up.

“It’s an incoming call,” Julian said. “But it’s an unknown number.”

“Answer it,” I said, leaning closer. “Put it on speaker.”

Julian swiped the screen and held the phone up.

The sound of heavy breathing filled the car, mixed with the static of a weak cellular signal.

“Olivia?” I called out.

“Claire,” a voice whispered.