It showed the entrance of the private terminal at O’Hare.

Below the photo was a single line of text: *I’m waiting.*

I showed the screen to Gabriel.

His face hardened, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

“He knows we are leaving,” Gabriel said.

“How?” I asked.

“Vanessa,” Gabriel said quietly. “She knew about the flight. She must have told him before the police took her in.”

I sank back into the leather seat.

My sister had chosen her side, even at the very end of everything.

“We’re not changing the plan,” Gabriel said, looking at Vance. “Call the airport police. Tell them we have a confirmed location on the escapee.”

“On it,” Vance said, lifting his radio.

We drove in silence for the next twenty minutes.

My hands were cold, and my chest felt tight.

Gabriel reached over and covered my hand with his.

His palm was warm and dry.

“We finish this tonight, Claire,” he said.

“I know,” I said.

The SUV slowed down as we approached the outer perimeter of the airport.

Vance bypassed the main commercial terminals, steering the vehicle toward the private hangar access road.