We waited, frozen in the darkness.

A shadow appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.

It was tall, silhouetted against the dim kitchen light.

Marco lunged forward, grabbing the figure and slamming them against the wall.

A muffled cry echoed in the room.

“Wait!” a voice gasped.

It was a woman’s voice.

Ryker clicked on a small flashlight, shining it directly into the person’s face.

My eyes widened in shock.

It was not Marissa.

It was Hannah Brooks, her glasses fogged up and her coat covered in snow.

She was panting, her face red from the cold.

“Let me go,” she gasped, struggling against Marco’s grip.

“Marco, release her,” Ryker commanded.

Marco stepped back, though he kept his body between Hannah and the children.

Hannah leaned against the wall, catching her breath.

“How did you find us?” Ryker demanded, his voice dangerously low.

“I followed you,” Hannah said, adjusting her glasses.

“I knew you would not stay in Chicago.”

“And I know about your sister’s cabin.”

“You are in serious trouble, Ryker.”

“The police are on their way.”