“My son is back there.”
“And if whoever did this sees you panic, we lose our only advantage.”
Maya stared at him.
Eight years earlier she had been trained to make decisions at seven hundred miles per hour.
She had once believed fear was something disciplined people could control.
Motherhood had taught her otherwise.
“Who is sitting beside Lucas?” Reeves asked.
Maya searched her memory.
When they boarded in Seattle, Lucas had taken the window seat. Maya had originally been assigned 18B, but an elderly passenger traveling with his wife had asked whether she would exchange seats so the couple could sit together.
Maya had moved to 22C.
Lucas had laughed.
“I’m fourteen, Mom. I can survive four rows without supervision.”
She remembered the empty middle seat beside him.
Then, just before departure, someone had taken it.
A man.
Baseball cap.
Gray jacket.
Nothing memorable.
That was what frightened her most.
