CHARLES FOX.
“Take me to her,” I demanded, my voice sharp with desperation. I moved closer to my mother, trying to control the rising panic that threatened to choke me. “Take me to where she is, now!”
She glanced at me with that same cold, detached look. “You’re not thinking clearly, Charles. If you want my help, you’ll need to behave.”
“I am behaving,” I snapped, though my voice wavered. “I’m trying to save her, damn it! She’s out there, tied up somewhere—God knows what’s happening to her—and you’re playing games with me! I can’t just—”
“Enough.” She held up a hand, and the room fell silent. “You’re not in control, Charles. Not of your emotions, not of this situation. You think storming in here and shouting demands is going to get you what you want?”
“I don’t care about any of that!”
