“Nora,” I whispered. “The drive.”

“Sixty percent,” she said, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“We have to go,” I said.

“If I unplug it now, the data will corrupt,” she said.

The man walked closer, his boots splashing in the puddles.

He was ten feet away now.

He stopped next to the driver’s side window of the car parked beside us.

He bent down, peering through the glass.

“He’s looking for her,” I said. “He thinks Clara is in one of these cars.”

“Hold your breath,” Nora whispered.

The transfer bar hit eighty percent.

I pulled my coat collar up around my neck, trying to blend into the dark leather of the passenger seat.

My mind raced back to Clara upstairs in her hospital bed.

Her fractured wrist, the bruises on her collarbone, the sheer terror in her eyes when she told me she had to run.

If Julian took my bakery and froze Clara’s money, we would have nothing to fight him with.

We would be completely at his mercy.

And the Thornes did not have mercy.