The tires gripped the asphalt as I accelerated out of the school parking lot.

Sirens began to wail in the distance, echoing off the brick suburban homes.

“GPS tracker on her backpack is dead,” the dispatcher’s voice came through my earpiece. “They must have tossed it.”

“Check the local traffic feeds,” I commanded, swerving around a slow-moving delivery truck. “They are heading south toward the highway.”

My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white.

The heater blasted dry, hot air into my face, but my skin felt ice-cold.

“Evelyn, we have a visual,” Miller said. “An automated toll reader just flagged the plate on E-470.”

“Where are they going, Miller? Grant doesn’t have the stomach to run overland.”

“We checked Grant’s bank accounts again,” Miller replied. “A shell company registered to Vanessa Vale cleared a wire transfer to a private charter company twenty minutes ago.”

My blood ran cold at the mention of Vanessa’s name.

“Where is the flight scheduled?” I asked.

“They booked a hangar at the private executive strip near Centennial Airport,” Miller said. “An unregistered Learjet is waiting.”