It wasn’t Olivia.

It was a man’s voice, low and raspy.

“Who is this?” I asked, my heart stopping.

“If you want to see the boy again,” the voice said, “tell Ethan to stop the car.”

“Who is this?” I asked, my grip tightening on the wet fabric of Ethan’s headrest.

“Pull over, Ethan,” the voice repeated, colder this time, with the low hum of a running engine in the background.

“That’s Marcus,” Ethan whispered, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.

“He is my mother’s head of security.”

“Don’t you dare stop this car, Ethan,” I said, leaning forward until my face was inches from his shoulder.

“If you slow down, I will grab the wheel myself and drive us into the ditch.”

Julian held the phone closer to his mouth, his face pale in the blue light of the dashboard.

“We are five minutes from the Boulder cabin,” Julian said into the speaker.

“And we have already sent the clinic’s internal server files to the federal prosecutor’s office.”

That was a lie, but Julian said it with absolute, cold confidence.