“Logan, if you want any mercy from the prosecutor, you stay right where you are,” Jake said into the phone.

“I can’t go to jail, Jake,” Logan whimpered. “Please.”

Jake hung up the phone without another word.

He looked at me, his jaw set in a hard, tight line.

“We need to go,” Jake said.

“We should stay here where it is safe,” Major Hayes warned, rising from her seat.

“No,” Jake said. “That is our home. I am not letting him destroy it.”

We strapped Owen into his car seat and ran out to Reyes’s SUV.

The drive through the snowbound streets felt like it took hours.

The tires spun on the icy patches, throwing up gray slush against the wheel wells.

I clutched Owen’s carrier tight against my knees, watching his small chest rise and fall.

When we finally turned onto our street, the red and blue lights of three police cruisers and a fire truck painted the snow in bright, flashing colors.

A technician from the gas company was standing near the outer meter, holding a long wrench.