We turned onto the airport perimeter road, and in the distance, I could see the low-slung buildings of the private terminal.

Beyond the chain-link fence, a white twin-engine jet was slowly moving down the taxiway.

My phone suddenly lit up in my lap.

It was an unknown number.

I picked it up with trembling fingers and pressed it to my ear.

“Emily,” a voice said on the other end.

It was Grant.

“If you ever want to see your daughter again,” Grant said, his voice frantic and breathing heavily, “you tell Nathan Cole to back off his security team right now.”

I gripped the phone, my heart pounding against my ribs.

“Grant, where are you?” I demanded.

“Tell them to move their trucks,” Grant screamed over the sound of the engines. “Or I swear to God, you will never see her face again.”

Before I could answer, the line went dead, and the white jet in the distance began to accelerate down the runway.

“Stop the plane!” I screamed, grabbing Nathan’s arm.

Nathan was already on his phone, his voice loud and commanding over the roar of our SUV’s engine.