“He spent money that my father earned.”

“And now, he’s going to prison for it.”

Nolan looked at the plane, then at me, then back at the plane.

“We can still leave,” he muttered to his mother, his voice frantic.

“The pilot is ready.”

“We can fly to Canada.”

“We have the cash in the bag.”

He reached for the door of the plane, but before his hand could touch the handle, a loud siren began to wail in the distance.

Two black SUVs with tinted windows tore through the main gate of the airfield.

They kicked up gravel as they skidded to a halt, blocking the runway.

Four men in dark suits stepped out, followed by two uniformed local police officers.

Nolan froze, his hand still hovering near the plane’s door.

“Nolan Pierce?” one of the men in suits called out, walking toward us with a leather folder in his hand.

“Federal Marshals.”

“We have a warrant for your arrest.”

Nolan looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of terror and realization.

“Evelyn,” he whispered.

“Please.”

I did not answer.