It was the old delivery exit that opened out into the garden.

Nathan pushed the rusted latch upward.

It resisted for a second, then gave way with a dull scrape.

He shoved the small door open and crawled through into the cold night air.

I scrambled right behind him, my knees scraping against the rough gravel.

We emerged into the wet rhododendron bushes behind the main house.

Rain was beginning to fall, cool drops hitting my face.

“This way,” Nathan whispered, keeping his head down.

We ran through the dark gardens, keeping to the shadows of the stone walls.

We reached his car, which he had parked on the gravel shoulder of the public road.

The engine started with a low rumble, and we pulled away into the dark Connecticut night.

My hands did not stop shaking until we reached a small, quiet motel thirty miles away.

We sat on the edge of the double bed under the harsh glare of a single overhead bulb.

Nathan’s phone rang.

He looked at the screen, his face turning pale.

“It is my attorney,” he said.