“And prep the SUV,” Ethan added. “We are leaving for the Chicago office in five minutes.”

He hung up and looked at me, his gray eyes steady despite the exhaustion shadowing them.

“You need to come with me, Grace,” he said.

“The children,” I said, looking back at the cribs where the triplets slept under the soft green glow of the monitor.

“Mrs. Gable and three armed guards will be inside this wing,” Ethan said, grabbing his wool coat from the hook. “Nobody gets through the perimeter tonight.”

I nodded, my heart hammering against my ribs as I reached for my sweater.

We walked down the back staircase, avoiding the grand foyer with its tall windows.

The air in the garage was cold and smelled of gasoline and damp concrete.

We climbed into the back of the armored suburban, and the driver, a silent man named Marcus, hit the garage door opener.

As we cleared the gates, I saw a dark sedan parked under the oak trees across the street, its headlights off.

Two of Ethan’s security guards were already walking toward it, flashlights cutting through the Lake Forest mist.