I grabbed my keys, lifted Noah into the car, buckled him in with hands that didn’t shake—and drove straight toward the police station.
Halfway there, my phone buzzed.
A text from Olivia:
I forgot my wallet. I’m heading back home. Give me ten minutes, then I’ll go to the store.
Ten minutes.
My stomach dropped with the precision of a measured fall.
Whatever they planned… was scheduled. Tight. Efficient.
Like a jobsite “accident.”
And I was the target.
Before the next red light turned green, I made three calls.
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