Adrian didn’t raise his hands.

He kept the phone pressed to his ear, his eyes squinting against the glare.

“Miller,” Adrian said into the receiver, his voice dead calm. “Tell the deputy from the McHenry County Sheriff’s department to stand down.”

“You’re in no position to dictate terms, DeLuca,” Miller’s voice crackled.

“If he pulls his gun, I hang up,” Adrian said. “And the hard drive with every offshore routing number goes into the lake.”

The officer took another step forward.

His boots crunched loudly on the frozen gravel.

“Sir, step away from the woman and put your hands on the guardrail,” the officer ordered.

I held my breath, pressing my cold hand against my stomach.

The baby kicked, a small, sharp reminder of what we were running for.

“Miller,” Adrian warned. “Three seconds.”

The officer reached for his shoulder mic, his eyes darting between us.

Then, the radio on his chest burst into static.

A high-pitched squelch cut through the cold air.

The officer stopped.

He raised the radio to his ear, listening to a voice that sounded urgent and distant.