She was running toward her Mercedes parked near the old oak tree.

“We need to get out of here,” Daniel said, grabbing a heavy iron tire iron from the wall rack.

He slammed it against the padlock on the side door.

The metal shrieked under the force of the blow.

He hit it again, sparks flying in the dim light of the carriage house.

On the third strike, the old brass lock shattered, and the door swung open.

Cold rain stung my face as we stepped out into the dark yard.

The red headlights of Claire’s car flared as she started the engine and tore down the gravel driveway, leaving us behind.

“She’s abandoning him,” I said, wiping the rain from my eyes.

“Or she’s running because she knows what Ethan is about to do,” Daniel said.

We ran across the wet lawn toward the main house, our shoes sinking into the mud.

The historic Craftsman sat in the darkness, only a single light burning in the library upstairs.

We pushed through the heavy wooden back door, entering the dark kitchen.