Chapter 6
The small airport was on the edge of town, surrounded by cornfields and empty warehouses. It was mostly used by crop dusters and rich businessmen flying in for hunting trips. There were no security lines, no metal detectors, no one checking passports unless you were flying international. It was the perfect place for a man like Michael to disappear.
Dad skidded into the parking lot, the truck throwing up gravel.
Three police cars were already there, lights flashing. Detective Carter was standing by the entrance, talking to a uniformed officer. He ran over to us as we jumped out of the truck.
“Any sign of them?” Dad yelled before Carter could say anything.
Carter shook his head.
“Airport manager says a private jet filed a flight plan for Cancun thirty minutes ago,” he said. “Paid in cash. No passenger names. The plane’s still on the tarmac. Pilot’s doing pre-flight checks. But no sign of Michael or Jake.”
He held up a warrant.
“We have permission to search the plane. But if Michael’s not on it, we have nothing. No proof he was ever here. The daycare director is already backtracking. Says she might’ve been mistaken about the man’s description. Michael’s lawyer is already claiming he was at his parents’ house all afternoon, has a dozen witnesses to prove it. If we don’t find Jake in the next twenty minutes, Michael gets away with it.”
We ran onto the tarmac.
The sun was starting to set, painting the sky orange and red. The private jet was silver, small, sitting at the end of the runway, its engines starting to whir. Two police officers ran ahead, pulling their guns, yelling at the pilot to shut down the engines. The pilot complied, holding his hands up.
We boarded the plane.
It was empty.
No Michael. No Jake.
Just a few empty seats, a small bar in the back, a folded blanket on one of the chairs.
I sank down onto one of the seats, my legs giving out. He was gone. He’d had Jake for forty minutes now. He could be anywhere. On a different plane. In a car driving to the border. Hiding in one of the empty warehouses nearby.
“Emma,” Carter said, kneeling down in front of me. “Think. Where else would he go? He has a son with him. A seven-year-old. He can’t just disappear into thin air. Is there a place he used to take you? A cabin? A friend’s house? Somewhere no one would look?”
I thought hard.
Michael had grown up in this town. He knew every back road, every abandoned building, every hidden spot. There was the old farm his grandparents used to own, out by the river. There was the hunting cabin he’d told me about once, up in the hills. There was the warehouse where he’d said he and his friends used to party in high school.
But none of those felt right.
Michael was running. He wasn’t gonna hide somewhere everyone knew. He was gonna get as far away as possible as fast as possible. But how? If the jet was still here, how was he gonna leave?
Then I thought of Mia.
The envelope. The flight itinerary. I’d given it to Dad, who’d given it to Carter. I pulled out my phone and called Mia. She answered on the first ring.
“Emma?” she said, her voice panicked. “I just saw the news. He took Jake? I’m so sorry. I never thought he’d do it this early.”
“Mia,” I said, my voice urgent. “The flight plan was for Cancun. But the jet’s still here. He didn’t take it. Is there another way out? Another plane? Another airport? Something I don’t know about?”
Mia was quiet for a second. I heard her flipping through papers on the other end of the line.
“Wait,” she said. “There’s a second flight. I saw it in his emails but I didn’t think it was important. A charter flight out of the regional airport, an hour north of here. Leaves in forty-five minutes. Destination: Phoenix. Then a connecting flight to Tijuana. He used a fake name. John Smith. One adult, one child. It’s a commercial charter. Smaller. Less security. Easier to get a fake kid through.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Mia, thank you.”
I hung up and told Carter.
He radioed his officers, told them to head north to the regional airport. He called ahead to the airport security, told them to hold the flight, to be on the lookout for Michael and Jake.
We ran back to the cars.
The drive north was a blur. Dad drove ninety miles an hour down the back roads, siren blaring behind us. I stared out the window, my mind replaying every moment of the past seven years. Every time I’d stayed when I should’ve left. Every time I’d believed Michael’s lies. Every time I’d put Jake in danger because I was too scared to be alone.
It was my fault. All of it. If I’d left the first time he hit me, none of this would be happening. Jake would be safe. We’d be happy. I’d never have met Michael. Never have married him. Never have let him destroy our lives.
I closed my eyes and thought of Jake.
His laugh when he rode his bike without training wheels for the first time. The way he’d sneak into my bed at night after a bad dream, his feet cold against my legs. The way he’d stood up to Michael in court, brave as a lion, just to protect me.
I couldn’t lose him. I wouldn’t lose him.
We pulled into the regional airport forty minutes later.
Two more police cars were waiting by the terminal. Carter ran inside, Dad and I right behind him. The airport was small—only two gates, a snack bar, a few rows of plastic chairs. A handful of people were waiting for their flights. No sign of Michael. No sign of Jake.
Carter ran up to the ticket counter.
“Flight to Phoenix,” he said, showing his badge. “John Smith. One adult, one child. Did they check in?”
The ticket agent typed on her computer.
“Yes,” she said. “Checked in twenty minutes ago. They’re already at the gate. Boarding now.”
We ran to the gate.
The door to the tarmac was open. The small charter plane was sitting just outside, its door open, stairs down. A flight attendant was standing at the top of the stairs, checking tickets.
Carter pulled his gun.
“Police!” he yelled. “Nobody move!”
The passengers waiting in line froze. The flight attendant stopped, her eyes wide.
We ran down the stairs and onto the tarmac.
A man was standing at the bottom of the plane stairs, holding a little boy’s hand. He was tall, brown hair, carrying a black duffel bag. But it wasn’t Michael. The little boy wasn’t Jake. He was maybe five, red hair, crying for his mom.
Carter lowered his gun.
“John Smith?” he said.
The man nodded, scared. “Y-yes? What’s this about?”
“ID,” Carter said.
The man pulled out his wallet. His ID said John Smith. From Des Moines. He was just a guy on a business trip with his son. Wrong place, wrong time.
I sank down onto the tarmac, the asphalt hot through my jeans.
He wasn’t here. He’d tricked us again. The second flight was a decoy. Just like the custody hearing was a decoy. Just like everything else. Michael was always three steps ahead.
“Emma,” Dad said, kneeling down next to me. “We’ll find him. He can’t hide forever.”
But I didn’t believe him.
I stood up, brushing the dirt off my pants. I looked around the tarmac, my eyes landing on a car parked near the edge of the runway. It was Michael’s truck. The one he’d told me he’d sold six months ago. The one Detective Carter had said was used in the jewelry store robbery.
I ran over to it.
The driver’s side door was unlocked.
I pulled it open.
The inside was empty. No Michael. No Jake. But on the passenger seat, lying there in the dirt, was Jake’s favorite stuffed T-Rex. The one Lila had given him at the courthouse. The one he never went anywhere without.
I picked it up. It was still warm.
They’d been here. Just minutes before.
I looked out across the runway, toward the cornfields stretching out into the dark. Somewhere out there, Michael was with my son. Somewhere out there, Jake was scared, calling for me.
Then my phone rang.
It was Michael.
I answered, my voice shaking with rage.
“Where is he?” I screamed. “What did you do with him?”
Michael laughed on the other end. It was the same cold laugh I’d heard a hundred times before.
“Relax, Emma,” he said. “He’s fine. For now. We’re going on a little trip. Just me and my boy. Father-son bonding. You always said I didn’t spend enough time with him.”
“Bring him back,” I said. “Please, Michael. I’ll do anything. Drop the charges. Let you have visitation. Whatever you want. Just bring him home.”
“Too late for that,” he said. “You had your chance. You should’ve let me have him. Now you’re never gonna see him again. And you know what the worst part is? Everyone’s gonna think you did it. Everyone’s gonna think you lost him, or hurt him, or gave him away. You’re gonna spend the rest of your life wondering where he is. Wondering if he’s okay. Wondering if he still remembers you. That’s your punishment, Emma. For leaving me. For turning my son against me. For everything.”
The line went dead.
I looked at Carter, at Dad, at the police officers standing around me. I held Jake’s stuffed T-Rex tight to my chest.
“He’s still close,” I said. “The T-Rex is still warm. He didn’t get far. We have to find him. Now.”
May you like
Carter nodded, barking orders into his radio. Search parties. Roadblocks. Helicopters. Every officer within fifty miles was being called in.
But as the sun set completely, and the dark settled over the cornfields, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were too late. That Michael had already won. That I’d never see my son again.
