45
Sheena
I flew down the mountain road switchbacks in the gathering dark, praying that the dusk-colored shapes lurking on the shoulder would stay there.
The last thing I needed was to hit a deer and go off the road.
It already felt like things were spinning out of control, with that stunt I ’ d just pulled putting Dad ’ s watch in the bag of cash. Did they suspect anything?
No. They wouldn ’ t. Why would they? It looked just like a real Rolex.
Even so, I couldn ’ t shake the dread that built with every passing mile. Every direction I looked, failure lurked in the brush.
There were no headlights behind me yet. In the past ten minutes, I ’ d only passed two other vehicles headed the opposite direction, toward Little Eddy. But there was only one highway that bisected these mountains. And unless the kidnappers planned on driving the opposite direction down I-55—deeper into the national forest for a hundred miles—they would be right behind me as soon as they got the money.
That ’ s what I was counting on, anyway. Because if they were planning on using their cell phones to check whether I ’ d complete the Bitcoin transfer—the real ransom compared to fifty-thousand dollars they asked for in cash—they couldn ’ t stay in the forest.
Please, God, they couldn ’ t stay in the forest.
If they did that, that watch wouldn ’ t help anyone.
Every few seconds, I glanced at the SOS-ONLY message on the screen of my phone, begging it to give me a single bar.
“ Come on ,” I finally screamed in frustration.
And, as if it had just been waiting for me to ask, the bar appeared.
“ Fuck yes,” I hissed.
I could track them now.
I slammed the brakes and started scanning for a forest-service road, anywhere I could pull off and tuck my car out of sight for a few minutes to look at my phone.
I didn ’ t know what the kidnapper’s vehicle looked like. However, I was sure they knew mine. If they saw me stopped along the side of the road instead of hurrying home to transfer the Bitcoin—everything would go fully off the rails.
The pale dirt of a narrow gravel road appeared in my headlights a moment later, and I hit the brakes so hard the tires squealed.
I managed to make the turn, then pulled around a bend flanked by pines and undergrowth until I was certain my car would be out of sight from the main road. Then I killed the headlights, cracked the driver ’ s side window an inch, grabbed my phone, and turned the brightness down low.
I still had that one bar of service.
“ Please work,” I muttered in a shrill whisper, fumbling through the apps on the screen until I found the familiar icon of a gold watch face.
I held my breath while it loaded, hoping for the best but bracing myself.
I hadn ’ t bothered to charge Dad ’ s watch at night since the clasp had broken yesterday and he ’ d gone to stay at Cherished Hearts.
Surely it still held at least a little juice, though.
The faint sound of tires on the road—followed by a flash of headlights—brought my eyes up. Was that the kidnapper? My heart banged in my chest as the sound and lights disappeared without any sort of wobble that might indicate they ’ d seen my car.
I darted my eyes back to the loading app. “ Come on, hurry up,” I begged.
After a few long, agonizing seconds, the login screen appeared. I scrambled to type in my password, mercifully getting it right on the first try—and stared as the splash page loaded.
My eyes moved to the notification in the top corner that read LOW WATCH BATTERY—8%.
I let out a soft gasp. There was still some juice left in the watch.
This was going to work. But I didn ’ t have long.
I stared at the dot on the main screen that showed the word DAD, above a rapidly-moving dot on ID-55.
1.4 miles away.
My breath caught in my throat. The car that just blazed past me had been the kidnapper. And there was zero indication they knew I ’ d pulled off here. I ’ d been wondering all day whether I was being followed. Now I knew it was an empty threat.
Fresh tears welled up in my eyes and I wiped them away furiously, reaching for the ignition.
My car hummed back to life, and I pressed my foot to the gas pedal, keeping one eye on the road and one on that tiny moving dot as I brought my car up to speed and closed the gap to one mile.
No matter how much I wanted to floor the gas pedal and drive like a maniac to overtake it, I didn ’ t dare get any closer.
For one thing, there were hardly any other cars on this lonely highway right now, and the second the kidnappers turned off somewhere—and I followed—it was only a matter of time until they started paying attention to the car behind them. And then they sure as hell weren ’ t going to lead me to the kids.
For another, I couldn ’ t count on the watch battery.
I looked at the moving dot on the app screen again. Seven-percent battery. The longer the watch ’ s connection with the app was active, pinging between my device and GPS to give me its position, the faster the battery would drain.
Swallowing hard, I forced myself to shut down the app and drew in a shaky breath, flicking my eyes to the speedometer.
This would work. If I didn ’ t give into panic with my need to constantly check, and run down the watch ’ s battery, it would work.
Dad ’ s tracker ran on GPS, which meant that the range was excellent—but the battery drained pretty quickly when it was actively being used by the app. The website where I ’ d ordered it a couple of months earlier had explained all the advantages and disadvantages of different tracking devices. GPS meant that I could track the watch almost anywhere it went—as long as the charge held. With a full battery, that meant hours. With a tapped battery, that meant minutes.
I decided to open the app for a few seconds at a time only, taking screenshots of each location. As long as the kidnappers kept that watch with them, they were creating a literal map for me—and police—to follow.
I just couldn ’ t let that battery run down.
I gripped the steering wheel and held the car steady, resolving not to reopen the app again for at least five minutes.
Each time I felt the panic rise up in me, the urge to stomp my foot down on the accelerator, I thought about that beautiful blue dot waiting to guide me to my daughters.
If I lost that connection, I was back to square one—relying on a psychopath ’ s word that she would return the children safely.
I shook my head and focused on the road. For right now, the only thing I needed to think about was doing what the ransom note had asked. Complete the instructions. So I would rush back home and make the Bitcoin transfer.
And then I would—what? Call the police, even though the note had explicitly warned me not to?
After the Bitcoin transfer, I wasn ’ t sure what my next move would be. That terrified me. I didn ’ t know what the hell I was going to do, but I was going to have to figure it out soon.
Just before the mountains opened up into foothills and the pinprick of lights from the first houses on the outskirts of the Treasure Valley, my headlights bounced off a deer moving into the road.
“ Shit. ”
I slammed on the brakes. The animal lifted its head and stared into the headlights, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. A doe.
“ Move, please move,” I begged her, hitting the gas again to inch the car forward, in hopes I could startle her into running away. With the mountain road behind us, it was anyone ’ s guess where the kidnappers would go next, and I was desperate to check their location again. What if they were planning to drive all the way to Kuna or Caldwell, twenty miles beyond Sunset Springs?
The deer shuddered but planted her feet and stayed where she was, swinging her head back toward the shoulder of the road.
“ Move, goddammit! ” I screamed and hit the horn. I ’ d come this far complying with their every demand. Before I could go off-script, I needed to drive straight home and make that transfer.
Because there was still a chance they ’ d let the children go when I did.
And, if they didn ’ t, I had their location—but only as long as the watch kept pinging.
Movement from the weeds of the steep embankment drew me back from my desperate, frazzled thoughts.
Two gangly fawns—maybe a few months old—trotted to follow their mother into the middle of the road in front of my high beams. As soon as her babies were by her side, she picked up her feet and disappeared into the brush on the other side of the highway.
The horror of the near-miss sent a sharp prickle down my neck. I blew out a shuddering breath, wiped the fresh tears running down my cheeks, then pushed the car back up to speed in the direction of the first city lights.