I saw the subtle shift in Nathan’s stance.

He was a tech developer, but he was also a father who had spent his life protecting what was left of his family.

He wasn’t going to let them walk up those stairs.

But he was outnumbered, and these men were trained for violence.

I looked up at the darkened gallery of the second floor.

Somewhere up there, in the quiet of the nursery wing, four five-year-old girls were sleeping.

They had no idea their world was about to be torn apart.

“Nathan,” I whispered, touching his elbow.

I tried to catch his eye, trying to convey the silent message.

We couldn’t fight them here in the open foyer.

We needed a barrier.

We needed time.

Nathan’s gaze flickered to me for a fraction of a second.

He saw the milk bottle in my hand, and then his eyes shifted toward the back of the house.

The master suite was on the second floor, but it was built like a vault.

Claire had designed it after a stalking incident three years ago.