I called his phone; it rang and clicked over, and it was not my son who answered.

“I told you not to make a scene, Jennifer,” Dax said, cold and smooth.

“The boy is fine.

For now.

Bring me Porter’s original drive — no copies, no police, no Gus Hansen — and he sleeps in his own bed tonight.” I heard myself agree to everything.

Then the line went dead, and I stood in that diner shaking, holding a phone that had just told me the monster had reached for the only thing that mattered.

Chapter 12 — Intercepted