CHAPTER THIRTY-ONEJessica
That night at the safe house, I thrashed around in bed,
unable to sleep. Couldn’t imagine why.
The room was hot and dusty, little-used, and unkempt with only
a bed, a desk, a computer, and a bookshelf along one wall. The musty smell of
old books made me feel like I was trying to sleep in the back room of a used
book warehouse.
After 1:00 in the morning, I threw off the covers and got up. I
peered through the Venetian blinds at the quiet, dark neighborhood. Everyone
tucked safely in bed and sound asleep, no doubt. Or curled up in front of a
television watching a late night movie and munching on popcorn or drinking
cocoa.
If any of them had insomnia, it wasn’t because they’d been
called upon to be kidnapped by terrorists in order to help authorities sav
