It took exactly forty-four steps to cross the living room of his luxurious prison cell. Jake knew that because he’d already paced back and forth across the space at least ten times. His head pounded and his legs felt wobbly despite the food he’d been provided — a surprisingly decent slab of well-seasoned roast chicken breast accompanied by mashed potatoes and steamed green beans. He’d eaten because he knew he’d probably regret it if he didn’t, although the dinner didn’t seem to have done much to improve his condition.
Most likely, he should be sleeping, but he knew trying to get any rest would be a futile endeavor. How could he sleep while his thoughts raced, urgent with worry for Addie? As much as he tried to tell himself that she would be okay, that she’d already been held in this same
