Hector, his head of security, walked in.

Hector was a tall, thick-necked man who moved with the quiet confidence of a former police officer.

Alvaro pointed a finger at the computer screen.

“Trace this,” Alvaro said. “I want the IP address. I want the routing path.”

Hector leaned over the desk, looking at the screen.

“It is routed through three different VPNs,” Hector said, his voice calm. “It will take time.”

“I don’t have time,” Alvaro shouted.

He slammed his fist onto the mahogany desk, rattling the brass pen holder.

“She has the children, Hector,” Alvaro said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “She has them.”

Hector looked up, his expression neutral.

“Where was the email sent from?” Hector asked.

“The server is in Switzerland,” Alvaro said. “But she is not in Switzerland.”

“We have a team at the Segovia cottage,” Hector said. “They just breached the door.”

I leaned closer to my laptop screen, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“And?” Alvaro asked.

“The house is empty,” Hector said. “But we found the assistant.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“Matthew?” Alvaro asked.