“Where is the vehicle?” Rowan asked.

“A quarter-mile down the old service road,” Marcus said. “But we have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” I asked, stepping closer to him.

Marcus looked at me, then down at the baby in Rowan’s arms.

He pulled a rugged smartphone from his pocket, the screen casting a pale light over his grim expression.

“The tracker I placed on Tessa’s personal phone,” Marcus said. “It’s not moving.”

“She’s probably still in the nursery,” Rowan said. “Waiting for the guards to clear the stairs.”

“No,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “She isn’t chasing us. She isn’t even trying to.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because she just authorized a live broadcast to every major news outlet in the state,” Marcus said.

He turned the screen toward us.

The display showed a live video feed, illuminated by the flickering emergency lights of the compound.

The camera was panning across the nursery we had just escaped.

But the room wasn’t empty.

On the far side of the nursery floor lay a second, smaller bassinet that had been hidden behind the privacy screen.