I watched his face change. Saw his eyes close briefly, the look of a detective receiving bad news he'd hoped wouldn't come.
"When?" he asked. Pause. "How long before someone reported it?" Another pause, longer. "Shit."
He hung up but didn't speak immediately.
"What?" My voice came out flat. Dead.
"They found the van. The one he used for the fake maintenance call. Torched in an industrial lot on the south side."
Torched. Deliberate. Professional. Erasing evidence.
"Any leads on what he switched to?"
James shook his head. "It was burned down to the frame. No prints, no fibers, no DNA. And the lot’s surveillance cameras were spray-painted over before he arrived. He planned this, Jack. Every step. Probably had some help."
Another dead end. Another door slamming shut.
Carter was a ghost. And he had my entire reason for existing with him.
"He's going to kill them." The words came out before I could stop them. "That's what this is. He's not negotiating. He's not making demands. He's just... taking his time."
"Don't." James's voice was sharp. "Don't go there."
"He burned the van, James. He's erasing his trail. He doesn't plan on being caught because he doesn't plan on keeping them alive."
My theory made sense to me.
James grabbed my shoulders, forced me to look at him. "Men like Carter—they're narcissists. They want recognition. They want you to suffer. That takes time. Which means we have time to find them."
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe him so bad.
But the look in his eyes told me he wasn't sure either.
The drive back was silent except for the radio. Thecity kept spinning. The world didn't stop because my daughter and Anna were missing.
The penthouse door opened to silence.
Not the comfortable silence of sleeping children. Not even the tense silence of the fortress we'd built after Carter’s first threat. This was the silence of abandonment. Of rooms that had held life and now held only echoes.
The reinforced door with its gleaming new locks—useless. The security monitors—useless. The panic room—useless.
All of it. Every precaution. Every measure. Every dollar spent.
Worthless.
Hour one:I authorized a reward. A number so large that James actually repeated it back to me, making sure he'd heard correctly.
Hour three:Their faces were everywhere. Daisy's school photo was on every news channel. Anna's picture from her last reading session at the foundation. "Amber Alert issued for Daisy Spencer, 5, and Anna Stewart..."
My daughter was a headline. Breaking news.
Hour five:James came back with updates that weren't really updates. No sightings. The tip line was flooded with useless calls. The city was looking. And finding nothing.
Hour eight:I found myself in the kitchen, staring at the faint ring left by Anna's tea mug on the counter.She'd had tea yesterday morning. Earl Grey with honey.
Twenty-four hours ago.
I traced the ring with my finger. A simple ghost of her presence.
