The afternoon breeze shook the white silk canopy overhead, sending a drift of white rose petals across the table.

Adelaide took a step backward, her high heel catching on the edge of the flagstone.

Chloe Vance quietly lowered her glass onto a passing waiter’s tray, her eyes darting toward the side gate.

“Don’t move, Miss Vance,” one of the other agents said, stepping into her path.

My husband’s face went entirely slick with sweat under the bright California sun.

“This is absurd,” Victoria whispered, her perfectly manicured hand shaking as she reached for her purse.

“Leave the bag on the table, ma’am,” the lead agent said.

He stepped behind my husband and grabbed his right wrist.

The metallic click of the handcuffs echoed over the silent terrace.

I stood there, my hand still resting on my belly, feeling the sharp kick of my baby inside.

The lead agent looked at me, then at the man he had just restrained.

“Your name isn’t Tyler Callahan,” the agent said.

The lead agent, whose gold badge read Miller, pulled a black leather folder from his breast pocket.