Chris watched Michael jog across the parking garage toward the stairs, and he felt like a big pussy. He was going to have to face the senator. Soon. But waking him up first thing in the morning didn’t seem the right way to accomplish it. And they needed to see Cecilia. Chris had already lost one set of parents after not seeing them for years. He wasn’t going to let that happen again. If Cecilia was as ill as Michael said, Chris needed to see her now. She deserved to know her son was still alive.

Had he done the right thing? Should he have contacted them years ago?

He blew out a lungful of air and relaxed into the seat. The soft breathing in the backseat calmed him.

He’d done what he had to do. Sure enough, the Ghostman had proved that he’d still been out there and had been keeping an eye out for him. If he’d suddenly decided to tell the world who he really was, he could have risked the lives of all the Brodys.

But now he was going to put an end to the Ghost. He and Michael weren’t going to give up until Jamie was back and the Ghost was gone. Then Brian would be safe.

Chris frowned. Would there ever be a time he could let Brian out of his sight and be relaxed? He couldn’t keep an eye on the boy forever. What if Michael wanted to take him out for ice cream? Would he let Brian go?

Chris’s stomach churned.

But this was Michael. Michael would protect the boy with his life. Chris had no doubt. But would he be diligent in watching him?

It just took one second. One second where your gaze was distracted and things happened to a child. He rubbed his wet palms on his shorts. Christ. He needed therapy.

If he was going to jump back into the mainstream, he would need to let Brian have some space. He’d taught him well. The boy knew how to be careful and not to trust strangers.

But he’s a child.

Chris closed his eyes and tipped his head against the seat. What he really wanted to do was bang it against the wall. He knew what was right. He knew what to do. But the thought of doing it was making him ill. Time to grow a pair.

A faint thumping sound made his eyes open. He turned to look at Brian. All quiet.

The sound thumped again. Twice.

He scanned the parking garage, every nerve in his body on alert. Who else was in the garage? The garage was well lit, brighter than the hazy morning outside the walls. No one moved.

Thumping.

A movement out of the corner of his eye jolted his gaze to the adjacent sedan. Did that car just move? No one was in the seats. Chris stretched a bit to see down into the foot area of the backseat, but couldn’t. He glanced at Brian and opened his door.

The car rocked slightly in time to two thumps.

He slowly slid out of the SUV, leaving his door open, took three steps to the sedan, and peered through the windows into the darkness of the backseat. The car was empty. No one in the backseat.

Someone’s in the trunk.

Instant sweat moistened Chris’s armpits and upper lip. “Fuck,” he whispered. He stared hard at the trunk. The car was a newer American sedan.

He waited for more thumps.

All quiet.

He moved behind the sedan and bent over the trunk, listening hard.

Nothing.

Had he imagined the noise? No. He’d definitely heard something and had seen the car vibrate with the sound. He held out a hand four inches above the trunk, as if he could hear better through his palm. Still quiet.

He straightened. Now what?

He looked at Michael’s SUV and couldn’t see through the privacy glass to Brian in the backseat. His passenger side door hung open, waiting for anyone to hop in the vehicle. He strode back to the SUV and cupped his hands around his eyes against the glass to see his son.

Brian was sleeping. Head sideways, mouth ajar.

Chris commanded his heart rate to slow.

Thumping shook the car behind him. Chris whirled around and saw the movement. He walked to the back of the car and pounded on the trunk. “Hey! Someone in there?”

Frenzied thumping answered him.

And faint screams?

“Jesus Christ!” Chris ran his hands along the back edge of the trunk, his fingers frantically feeling for the release mechanism. He pushed and tugged at each little piece of metal until he felt the trunk give a popping sensation. The lid smoothly eased open, and Chris stared into his sister’s wild eyes.

The bright lights blinded Jamie. She dug her face into the carpet at the pain in her eyes. It hadn’t been too dark in the trunk since he’d opened the access hole, but now little knives stabbed at her eyes. A shadow hovered over her.

“Jamie?” It spoke and strong hands covered her, tugging at her bindings, feeling the tape on her mouth. “Oh my God!”

Chris? She squinted up at the form as it morphed into her brother. He got his fingernails under the tape over her mouth and tugged. Every minor hair ripped out from around her mouth, along with the outer skin cells of her lips. She cried as the tape came off.

“God damn it,” Chris said. “How in the hell…?” He felt her bindings at her wrists and ankles. “I need something to cut these. Hang on.” He darted away.

Jamie panted in the clean air and blinked away her tears. She breathed deep and rested her head. “Chris,” she croaked.

“Hang on.” He didn’t sound too far away.

He reappeared with a Leatherman-type tool. He fumbled with it, searching for a blade. “How in the hell did you get in there? Is this the Ghost’s car? You’re okay, right?” He hammered her with questions, not waiting for an answer. He found a blade that satisfied him and went to work on the binding around her wrists.