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“We’ve got three vehicles, so they can take turns. Michael and Renzo, Code and Jase, Kai and Beau.”

“He’s moving,” Nolan said.

My breath caught.

The camera feed flickered, then stabilized. I watched as the dot headed toward the freeway interchange. This was going to tell us where they were headed.

On the map, the dot moved.

South.

I leaned forward.

“I-75 South,” Roan confirmed.

Atlanta.

The room went quiet.

Simon stepped out of the conference room, already dialing. “I’ve got calls to make.”

Federal calls.

Atlanta calls.

Friends who didn’t ask questions first.

On-screen, the audio feed picked up Zarek again.

“So,” he said conversationally, like he always did when nerves made him chatty, “how long before I get to see where we’re going?”

Silence.

He tried again. “Because this whole blindfold thing is a little dramatic.”

A voice snapped back. “Shut up.”

I flinched.

The feed went quiet. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine what Zarek was going through. I heard someone walking out of the conference room, then calling in a pizza order.

It arrived in what seemed like five minutes. How could that have happened so fast, when Zarek’s silence seemed to be interminable?

I opened my eyes to see Zoe take two slices of supreme.

Trenda nudged a plate toward me. “Eat something.”

“I can’t,” I said.

“You need fuel,” she insisted.

“I need my husband alive.”

She didn’t argue with that. On the screen the dot came to a stop in I-75. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“Bumper-to-bumper traffic,” Code said. “Must be a wreck ahead.”

“We’re behind schedule,” one of the men in the car said.