The baby kicked hard, a sharp, sudden movement that made me gasp.

“Are you alright?” Adelaide whispered, looking back over her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I said, though my lower back throbbed with a dull, persistent ache.

We reached the bottom of the stairs and burst out into the damp Beverly Hills night.

A black sedan sat idling by the curb, its headlights dark.

Adelaide pointed toward the main street.

“Get to the avenue, Natalie,” she said, her voice trembling.

“What about you?” I asked.

“Victoria will know I helped you,” she said, her eyes vacant.

“I have to disappear before she realizes what is missing from her safe.”

She didn’t wait for my response.

She turned and ran down the shadow-drenched alley, her camel-hair coat flapping behind her.

I stood alone under the dripping fire escape, holding the key to the Callahan empire.

I walked quickly toward the glowing neon signs of Wilshire Boulevard.

My phone buzzed in my coat pocket.

It was an unknown number.

I answered it, pressing the cold glass to my ear.

“Natalie,” a voice said.

It was Julian.