“Give it back,” Mac read. “Or she’ll make sure you never see your son unsupervised again.”
He was on his feet before she finished reading it to him. She heard his chair push back through the phone, heard the shift in his breathing, the specific quality of a man who had just crossed from controlled to something harder and colder underneath.
“Where are you right now,” he said.
“Halfway to your building. I’m on the street.” She kept walking. Her pace had not changed since the text came through. She had learned a long time ago that panic was just energy pointed in the wrong direction. “Mac. I need you to listen to me before you do anything.”
“I’m listening.”
“This text is Sandra. It has to be. Peter said she would know by tomorrow that it was him but she already knows. She saw me leave th
