“Is it his mother’s?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“No,” Marco said. “The license plate belongs to a private security firm.”

“Whitmore’s people,” Dominic muttered.

“Who is Whitmore?” I asked.

“The federal judge who signed the emergency custody order,” Dominic said, his voice flat. “He’s a close friend of my mother.”

He turned to look at Lucia, who had fallen into a light, exhausted sleep.

“He went around the family court system to grant her temporary custody,” Dominic said. “It shouldn’t have been legally possible.”

“How did she get him to do that?” I asked.

Dominic didn’t answer immediately.

He opened his laptop, the blue light of the screen illuminating the sharp angles of his face.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” he said.

He began typing rapidly, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Marco, take the transverse through Central Park,” Dominic ordered. “Lose them in the dark.”

“Yes, sir,” Marco said.

The SUV accelerated, the engine humming low as we veered into the dark, tree-lined curves of the park.

The rain was heavier now, drumming against the roof of the car.