I grabbed my purse, my fingers slipping on the leather strap as I turned and ran toward the double doors.

Renee Whitaker was right behind me, her low-heeled shoes clicking rapidly against the terrazzo floor of the hallway.

Behind us, I could hear Grant’s voice rising in a desperate argument with Carroway, but their words faded as we hit the heavy glass doors of the courthouse.

The Knoxville air was damp and cold, a grey mist hanging over the Tennessee River in the distance.

“We’ll take my car,” Renee said, unlocking her sedan with a quick beep. “I know the shortcut past the interstate.”

I scrambled into the passenger seat, my hands shaking so violently I could hardly pull the seatbelt across my chest.

“He’s terrified, Renee,” I said, staring out the windshield as the wipers started their rhythmic slap against the glass. “Nolan doesn’t hide unless he feels completely cornered.”

“We’re going to get him, Claire,” Renee said, her voice steady as she put the car in drive and pulled out into the midday traffic. “You have the legal custody papers now. Grant can’t touch him.”