“He took my registration,” she said.

Mr. Vance stepped between Sloane and the elevator door.

“You need to stay right there, Ms. Vale,” Mr. Vance said.

“The authorities know you are in this unit,” he said.

“If you attempt to leave, security downstairs will detain you,” he said.

The elevator doors began to slide shut, cutting off Sloane’s frantic protests.

The last thing I saw was her standing in the middle of my family’s penthouse, looking small and abandoned.

Then the elevator began its descent, the smooth motion making my stomach drop.

I leaned against the brass handrail, my forehead pressing against the cool mirror.

“How far apart are they?” Margaret asked, looking down at her watch.

“Five minutes,” I gasped.

“Maybe less,” I said.

“The storm is making the cell service spotty,” Margaret said, looking at her screen.

“But I have my partner coordinating with the local precinct,” she said.

“They have a patrol car headed to Nathan’s office,” Margaret said.

“And his club,” she said.

“He won’t get far, Elizabeth,” she said.

I shook my head, another cramp tightening my lower back.