I looked out the side window, trying to spot the gray sedan through the falling snow.

The headlights of the cars behind us blurred into a steady stream of yellow and white.

Marco took a sudden, sharp turn off the highway onto a darker, secondary road.

The SUV slid slightly, but Marco corrected the steering with practiced ease.

“We’re three minutes out,” Marco announced over his shoulder.

My tablet buzzed again in my hand.

This time, it was a text from an unknown number.

*The courts will have the kids by morning, Ryker. Don’t make this difficult.*

“Voss is pulling strings with the local police,” I said, showing Ryker the text. “He’s going to use the emergency custody order to force our hand.”

“He can try,” Ryker said.

We turned onto a private, winding road lined with tall pine trees.

Up ahead, the heavy iron gates of Ryker’s suburban estate came into view.

The stone pillars on either side of the entrance were dusted with fresh snow.

Marco pressed a transmitter on the visor, and the gates swung open slowly.