Chapter 22
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I burst into the secure residential suite, followed closely by Mike, who had caught my panicked sprint on the security cameras and rushed inside from his post. The room was neat, the small amount of luggage Nora had managed to escape with tucked neatly into the corner closet.
"Tear the bags apart," I ordered, my voice tight with controlled urgency. "Check the linings, the zippers, the soles of the shoes. He planted a tracker. We need to find it right now."
Mike and I systematically dismantled every piece of clothing and luggage Nora had brought. We checked the seams of her denim jacket, the hidden compartments of her purse, and the plastic soles of Sam’s small sneakers.
Nothing.
I stood in the center of the room, my frustration mounting. Thorne was arrogant, but he was incredibly precise. He wouldn't risk planting a tracker on something Nora might throw away. He would plant it on something she would never leave behind.
Just then, Amy walked into the room, holding little Sam by the hand. Sam was clutching a worn, thoroughly loved stuffed brown bear.
I looked at the bear. Sam held it against his chest like a shield.
"Sam," I said, crouching down to his eye level and forcing my voice to remain soft and non-threatening. "That is a very cool bear. Does he have a name?"
"Barnaby," Sam whispered shyly, hiding slightly behind Amy's leg.
"Barnaby is a great name," I smiled. "Did your dad give him to you before you left?"
Sam nodded slowly. "Dad said Barnaby would keep me safe on the trip."
I exchanged a dark, knowing look with Amy.
"Sam, can I borrow Barnaby for just one second?" I asked gently. "I think he has a little tear in his back that I need to fix."
Reluctantly, Sam handed me the stuffed bear. I took it over to the desk, grabbed a small pocket knife, and carefully slit the thick stitching along the bear's spine. I dug my fingers into the synthetic cotton stuffing.
Deep inside the bear’s chest cavity, my fingers brushed against a small, hard plastic square.
I pulled it out. It was a military-grade GPS micro-tracker, equipped with a long-lasting lithium battery. The small green light on the circuit board blinked steadily, silently broadcasting our exact coordinates to a monster sitting in Nashville.
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"I'll smash it with a hammer," Mike growled, stepping forward.
"No," I stopped him, holding the tracker up. A sudden, dangerous strategy formed in my mind. "If we destroy it, Thorne knows we found it, and he attacks immediately out of desperation. But if the tracker is still active... we control exactly where Thorne thinks they are."
