Michael didn’t let go of my wrist, but his eyes flicked toward the phones.

Daniel picked up his phone, his face turning pale as he read the screen.

“Dad,” Daniel whispered, his voice shaking.

“What is it?” Michael asked, his grip tightening on my arm.

“It’s Mom,” Daniel said, looking up with wide, terrified eyes.

“She’s not at the station anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Michael asked.

My phone was still ringing in my pocket, the vibration pressing against my thigh.

“She just posted bail,” Daniel said.

“And she’s on her way here.”

Before Michael could speak, we heard the sound of car tires screeching in the driveway outside.

Michael’s grip loosened just a fraction as the headlights swept across the living room wall.

I yanked my arm back with all my strength, twisting my wrist out of his grasp.

My hand closed around the green folder on the coffee table, the cardboard rough against my palm.

“Elizabeth, stop!” Daniel yelled, lunging toward me.

I evaded him, stepping backward into the kitchen and toward the side door.

The front door rattled, the brass knob turning violently.