A delivery boy stood nervously, holding a medium-sized box. “Package for Mr. Jones.”
I tore it from his hands, shoving him away before slamming the door. Setting it on the table, I ripped it open.
My world stopped.
Inside was an urn. Cold, gray, heavy. And a letter taped to the side.
“Since you failed to deliver the money, here are the ashes of your daughter.”
My knees weakened. The room spun.
“No…” My voice cracked. My hands trembled violently as I held the urn. “No, this isn’t real… this is a joke. A sick joke.”
My breath came in shallow gasps. My daughter. Sienna. My baby girl.
Dead?
I refused to believe it. They were bluffing. They had to be. Kidnappers used fear—it was their weapon. They wouldn’t just kill her. They wouldn’t—
But what if they had?
“No,” I muttered, shaking my head over and over. “She’s not dead. She can’t be. They’ll give her back. They’ll—”
My phone rang, jolting me. Unknown number. I answered immediately, voice ragged. “Hello? Sienna? Is she alive?”
The voice on the other end was calm. Too calm. “Is this Mr. Aldrin Jones?”
“Yes!” I snapped. “Why are you calling me?”