My stepfather, a jealous police officer, put me

“Lieutenant Hale,” he said, “place the firearm on the floor.”

Frank’s eyes flicked toward Kyle, as if the boy who had been recording me could somehow save him now.

That was when Kyle finally understood what he had captured.

His grin was gone. His hand shook so badly the video on his screen blurred, and the phone made a tiny clicking sound against the countertop.

Then my mother saw the red mark on my cheek and the cuffs cutting into my wrists. She reached for the stove to steady herself, missed it, and sank against the lower cabinet like her legs had simply stopped taking orders.

One of the people from the SUVs crouched beside the satellite phone but did not pick it up yet.

Instead, he looked at Frank and said, “Before you say another word, you need to understand what was transmitted from this room…”

If you don’t see it, switch to Newest/All.