Chapter 7

Maybe from the slap, his voice buzzed in my ear.

I caught the key points:

Noah was missing!

I was eager to sit up.

A tearing pain spread throughout the entire body when I moved.

I yelled into the phone: "My son was with your family! Now he's gone, and you ask me? Find my son now, or I'll report you for kidnapping!"

That set him off.

He cursed loudly, then said: "Amanda, are you acting? The last message from Noah's tracker was near the industrial district."

The industrial district.

My blood ran cold. That area was abandoned warehouses and factories—a known haven for illegal operations.

"How long has he been missing?"

"Three hours. Sarah's people are searching but—"

"Three hours?!" I was already on my feet, ignoring the pain shooting through my body. "And you called me now?"

"We thought he wandered off—"

"He's five years old! Five-year-olds don't wander into industrial zones!"

I grabbed my jacket, my car keys, my phone. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely grip anything.

Michael's voice shifted. For the first time in months, I heard real fear.

"Amanda, the police are on their way. Just stay—"

"I am not staying anywhere while my son is missing."

I drove. Fast. Reckless. The streets blurred past.

As I drove, I called Detective Harris, a contact from my old neighborhood days. Before I married into the Georges, I knew people. People who operated in shadows.

"Harris, I need a favor. My son. Five years old. Missing near the industrial district."

"I'll make some calls. Give me twenty minutes."

I didn't have twenty minutes. But I gave him what I had—Noah's photo, the tracker coordinates, the timeline.

Then I called Olivia.

She picked up on the first ring.

"Amanda?" She sounded surprised. "Michael told me about Noah. I'm so—"

"Did you tell anyone about Noah's schedule this week?"

"What? No, I—"

"His military training was cancelled three days ago. You knew that. Did you mention it to anyone?"

Silence. Then: "I may have mentioned it to a client. Casually. Why?"

My grip on the steering wheel tightened until my knuckles turned white.

"Which client?"

"I—I don't see how that's—"

"Which. Client."

She gave me a name. I recognized it immediately.

A rival family. One that had been trying to leverage the Georges for months.

I hung up without another word.