Another text.
Oliver Jaren glanced at his phone on the nightstand. It rested face down, but the light from the screen still escaped into the dark bedroom. Fifteen messages had come through in the past five minutes. He didn’t need to see the new one. It’d just be another threat, another doctored photo with the image of a possible death for his five-year-old daughter, Norah. It might be her hanging body or blood-covered face. A threat would follow the photo.
Blocked: She will cry as she gasps for breath.
They weren’t random Internet photos twisted to show his dead daughter. The person behind this had been following them, watching them for weeks. The image might be of Oliver’s mom lifting Norah into the car, only now Norah’s head was gone, or Oliver and Norah headed to the stairs of the Gu
