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out of your mouth.”
    I listen as Beckett exhales long and slow. The steel muscles in his thighs flex under me, unsettled, powerful. He makes me feel so small, so cherished.
    But if anything happens to Jordan, I don’t know if I will want to live.
    I glance at the detective who leans with arms crossed against the far wall; the clock ticks over his head and a stack of worn magazines sit on the small table next to him.
    Northrup catches my eye and I can feel Beckett’s glare, laser focused across the room, making him squirm. It's a battle of wills. And like all battles, Beckett wins.
    “I’m sorry, Promise. I didn’t mean to upset you. Forensics is going—” He stops short when Beckett tips his head to the side and makes a sucking sound through his teeth. It's a clear signal for the detective to stop talking. He falls silent.
    “Good. Okay, let’s start over.” Beckett licks his lips before continuing. “I need to know any information you have on Louis and Jordan’s flight, any other information you have about where they are headed once they land. And anything else. Whether or not you think it’s pertinent.”
    “Sure,” Northrup says, scrubbing a hand down his face. He shrugs. “It's not a secret. I’ll get you the file. But Mr. Spicer has not committed any crime by leaving the country. He’s the boy’s legal guardian. He is well within his rights to take him wherever he wishes.”
    My muscles tighten along with Beckett’s arms around me. Squeezing.
    I don't want to ask the question. I don't want to know the answer. But I have no choice. I have to know. “Are you saying if he doesn’t come back, there is nothing we can do?” I turn toward Northrup, inching out of Beck’s lap, slipping down into a spot on the vinyl covered bench next to him. “No recourse at all?”
    “Ma’am, there’s nothing legally I can do, no. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “Even if Mrs. Henderson’s—your mother’s —allegations are true, the statute of limitations has run out. However.” He stops to lick his teeth and look up at the ceiling, making me want to scream at his dramatic delay. “If he did, in fact, falsify the evidence against Mr. Rendell, then that is a crime.”
    “So then you will be able to go get him?” My heart beats faster for a moment. My head swivels to look at Beckett, but he lets out a defeated sigh.
    “No, babe. They won’t extradite him for that.”
    Northrup nods toward us before continuing. “Mr. Spicer is a dual citizen. He still maintains his Egyptian citizenship so we’re hamstringed even if we do bring charges.”
    He clears his throat and I realize how much I despise the brown and gold plaid tie he’s wearing. I hate it more than is appropriate, but I hate it nonetheless.
    “The good news,” Northrup clears his throat, “is we can’t find any criminal activity in Mr. Spicer’s past.” He continues flipping open one of the files and settling it on the desk. “His business is completely legit. His home is owned outright. He doesn’t even have a late payment on a credit card. And he has no family we can find.”
    “He was an orphan.” Beckett nods at me then the detective. “That’s what he insinuated anyway. He never wanted to talk about his past. All I know is that he grew up on the streets in Cairo, then he came to America. Maybe in his late teens? From the little bits he shared, his childhood was ugly.”
    Northrup grunts and nods. Then pulls a toothpick from his shirt pocket and starts to pick at something between his bottom teeth. My uneasy stomach churns.
    “What about my mother? What does she have to do with all this?”
    Northrup shakes his head. “We're still talking to her. Trying to, anyway.”

Beckett
    As we left, we caught a glimpse of Holly–Promise's mom–screaming her way through the precinct.
    Northrup left us sitting for a half hour, so I cut our little meeting short, and there she was, making a ridiculous show of herself before I could get