“He was shouting on his cell phone,” Donald said. “He said he was going to get his daughter.”

The line went dead with a sharp beep.

I turned to look at Lily, my heart stopping as the car sped through the crowded intersection.

My hands shook as I reached down to check the straps on Lily’s car seat.

She was sleeping, her tiny chest rising and falling beneath her pink fleece blanket.

“He doesn’t know where we are,” Grace said, her voice tight but controlled. “He thinks you are still at the apartment.”

“He has keys to the apartment, Grace,” I said. “If he goes there—”

“My associate is already there with two security guards to secure your things,” Grace interrupted, her eyes fixed on her tablet. “Adrian is running out of options, Vivian. He is acting on instinct, and that makes him sloppy.”

The driver swerved around a delivery truck, the tires screeching slightly on the damp asphalt.

Outside, the gray stone facade of 60 Centre Street loomed ahead of us, its massive Corinthian columns dark with rain.