He reached into his pocket and took out his phone again, dialing a number.

“Get the car ready,” Vincent said into the receiver. “We are leaving through the basement.”

But before he could finish the sentence, the phone in his hand vibrated with an incoming text.

He looked down at the screen.

The text was from Dr. Hale.

*The clinic was breached. They were not looking for the ledgers. They had your safehouse address.*

Vincent stared at the message, his jaw tightening so hard the muscles bunched under his skin.

Outside, the iron gate creaked open.

I heard the heavy sound of footsteps walking quickly up the stone steps toward the front door.

A key turned in the lock of the front door, the brass mechanism clicking loudly in the quiet hallway.

Vincent grabbed my upper arm, his grip tight enough to leave bruises, and yanked me away from the hallway’s line of sight.

He dragged me behind the heavy oak partition that separated the foyer from the study.

“Quiet,” he breathed against my ear.

His skin smelled of rain and cold tobacco.