Of course, it was Carter.
The world narrowed to that voice.
"Where are they?" The words came out somewhere between a growl and a plea. "What have you done with them?"
A soft laugh. "They're comfortable. Well, Anna is less comfortable at the moment. But she's resilient. It's really quite impressive how much pain she can endure when she's protecting something."
My hand clenched around the phone. "If you hurt one hair on either of their heads?—"
"You'll what?" Carter's voice sharpened. "You'll find me? Already tried that, Jack. Fifteen years sentence, remember? Look how well that worked out."
James was frantically writing:
KEEP HIM TALKING
I forced myself to breathe. "What do you want?"
"Want?" Carter sounded genuinely amused. "I don't want anything. I already have everything that matters. I have your daughter. I have your woman. And I have time. So much time to make this hurt exactly the way it should."
"Let them go." My voice cracked. "Please. Take me instead. I'll come to you. Anywhere. Just let them go."
"That's very noble. But no. This is about Anna learning she can never escape me. This is about yourdaughter learning what monsters are. This is about you understanding that all your money means nothing."
Background noise filtered through. Faint. Distant. Water dripping?
"I'll call again soon," Carter said pleasantly. "Maybe with updates. Maybe with proof of life. We'll see how cooperative Anna is feeling."
The line went dead.
I stood there, phone pressed to my ear, listening to silence.
"Got it," James said, his phone already up. "They're running the trace now. That background noise—water dripping, maybe pipes. Could be industrial, a basement, old plumbing."
A location. Finally, a thread to pull.
But the words Carter had said, "how much pain she can endure," echoed in my head.
My phone lit up again. Not a call.
A text. From the same unknown number.
A photo.
My hands shook as I opened it.
The image loaded slowly, revealing hell in progressive strips.
Anna. Bound to a chair in what looked like a basement. Concrete walls. Bare bulb overhead. Her face was turned toward the camera, eyes closed, head slumped forward. Her shirt was torn. Fresh bruises bloomed across her arms, her collarbone, and her face.
And behind her, just visible in the shadows?—
A small figure. Daisy. Sitting on the floor, her back to the wall, knees pulled to her chest.
She couldn't see Anna. Couldn't see what he was doing to her.
Carter had positioned them that way deliberately. Making Anna endure torture while Daisy sat feet away, unable to help, forced to listen.
Below the photo, a caption:
