Grant stared ahead through the windshield, jaw tight.
Then Burke’s expression shifted suddenly.
There it is.
Grant looked over at him.
Both thinking the same thing.
Only one man in Jackson County knew more about Wade Hollis than anybody alive.
Burke hit the gas.
The truck surged onto the highway toward Scott Valley Road.
* * *
Back at Hollis Ridge, Wade stood motionless beneath the porch lights, watching the taillights disappear beyond the gates.
Then he pulled his phone from his pocket.
For the first time all night, his hand wasn’t steady.
He hit the number from memory.
The line clicked once.
“Yeah.”
Wade’s jaw flexed hard.
“Where’s my boy?”
Silence.
Then Varga answered calmly.
“Your son is alive.”
Wade looked out across the darkening ridge.
“You had no authorization to touch him.”
“We didn’t have a choice,” Varga replied. “The boy showed up during extraction.”
Extraction.
Jesus Christ.
“If anything happens to Cal?—”
“Careful,” Varga interrupted softly.
The quietness in his voice was worse than shouting.
“You seem confused about who’s giving orders here.”
Wade’s grip tightened around the phone.
