My thumb was shaking so badly I had to try twice to tap it. The video loaded, a buffering circle spinning, then the image resolved.
The footage was grainy, shaky, and taken in a dim, familiar space. Beige walls. Brown carpet. A saggingcouch I recognized from surveillance photos. Her old apartment.
The camera panned left, and there she was.
Anna. On her knees on that brown carpet. Her face was pale as paper, a livid red mark blooming across her left cheek in the distinct shape of a hand. Her lip was split, a thin line of blood tracking down her chin.
But her arms—God, help me please, they wrapped protectively around Daisy, holding my daughter against her back. Daisy's small body was pressed so close they looked fused. Her face was buried in Anna's neck, her hands fisted in Anna's shirt, her entire small frame trembling.
"Wave to Daddy, Daisy." Carter's voice came from off-camera, smooth, almost pleasant. "Let him see you're okay."
Daisy didn't move. Just pressed closer to Anna, who tightened her grip.
"I said,wave." The smoothness dropped away, replaced by something sharp and violent.
"Don't touch her." Anna's voice was hoarse but clear. Her whole body angled, trying to shield Daisy. "You want me, Carter. This is about me. Let the child go. Please. She's five years old?—"
"Shut. Up." A sound I couldn't see but could imagine. A slap, a shove. Anna's head snapped to the side, but she didn't let go of Daisy. Just absorbed whatever he'd done and held on tighter.
Then Anna looked up. Not at Carter. Directly into the camera lens.
Her eyes were wide with terror so raw it made my hand bleed from my nails digging into my skin. But beneath that terror was something fierce and desperate and unbreakable. The eyes of a woman who would burn before she let go of the child behind her.
Her lips moved, barely audible over Daisy's muffled sobs:
"I'm sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry."
The video cut to black.
I stared at the screen. At my own reflection in the dead glass. The man looking back was someone I didn't recognize. Eyes too wide. Face drained of color. Jaw clenched so tight I could hear my teeth grinding.
Then something broke. Or maybe something that had been broken for two years finally, catastrophically healed in the worst possible way.
The fragile thread of my civility, of my belief in systems and laws and justice, snapped.
Clean. Irrevocable.
"Jack?" James's hand on my shoulder. "Jack, we have units en route. Tactical is mobilizing?—"
I didn't hear him. Couldn't hear anything except Carter's voice. Couldn't see anything except Daisy trembling and Anna bleeding.
I pushed past James, heading for the door.
"Jack!" He grabbed my arm. "You can't?—"
I turned on him, and whatever he saw in my face made him take a step back. His hand dropped.
"He has my daughter," I said, my voice coming from the deepest parts of my grief. Unrecognizable asmy own. "He hurt Anna. He brought them back to that apartment to make Anna relive every moment of terror."
"So here's what's going to happen. You're going to take me to that address. Your team is going to get Daisy and Anna out safely. And if Carter Wilson is still breathing when I get in that room, he won't be for long."
James stared at me.
"If you try to stop me," I continued quietly, "I will go through you. I will take your car. I will run every red light and break every law between here and there. The only question is whether you're coming with me or getting out of my way."
A long moment. Then James nodded once, sharply. "My car. Now. But Jack—we do this smart. We get them out safe. No rushed decisions or mistakes. Agreed?"
I wanted to say no. Wanted to tear out of there with nothing but blind rage and my bare hands. But James was right. Daisy came first. Anna came first.
