Fifteen minutes before leaving for the airport, my 6-year-old daughter clung to my neck and whispered: "When you travel, mom puts drops in my juice and then films me."

The rain began to fall over Greenwich at dusk, sweeping across the manicured lawns and heavy slate roofs like gray sheets.

Marcus moved through the dense hemlock hedges at the rear of his four-acre estate, dressed in a black waterproof jacket, his boots silent against the wet mulch. The security perimeter sensors had already been looped by Liam from the van parked half a mile down the road. To the master security panel in the kitchen, the rear property line read completely clear.

He reached the French doors of the ground-floor playroom.

He tapped the glass three times in a precise rhythm: two shorts, one long. It was the secret code he had used with Lily since she was three years old.

A shadow moved behind the sheer curtains.

Lily appeared. She was wearing her favorite red dinosaur sweater, her small hands pressed against the glass. When she saw Marcus’s face through the rain, her eyes widened, but she didn't scream or make a sound. She was a soldier’s daughter; she had learned early how to read her father’s warnings.

Marcus unlocked the door using his physical master skeleton key—the one lock Sarah couldn't alter digitally. He slipped inside and pulled the door shut behind him.

"Daddy," she whispered, throwing her arms around his neck.

Marcus hoisted her into his arms, burying his face in her hair for three long seconds, inhaling the sweet, innocent scent of baby shampoo, feeling the fierce, hammering rhythm of her little heart. The urge to break Sarah’s neck with his bare hands burned in his throat, but he swallowed it down.

"Listen to me carefully, Lily-bug," Marcus whispered in her ear. "We're going on a secret mission. Right now."

"Is Sarah coming?" Lily’s voice trembled with sudden, visceral terror.

"Sarah is never going to touch you again," Marcus said, looking directly into her eyes with absolute, unyielding certainty. "Do you hear me? Never again. Grandma Evelyn is waiting at the back gate. You are going to stay with her at the farm in Maine for a few days."

"What about you?"

"Daddy has to stay behind and clean the house," Marcus said softly.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, plush velvet rabbit that had belonged to Hannah. He handed it to her. "Take Barnaby. Keep him safe. When you get to Grandma's, don't drink anything unless Grandma pours it from an unopened bottle. Can you do that for me?"

Lily nodded solemnly, clutching the rabbit to her chest. "Sarah put drops in the milk an hour ago, Daddy. She said I had to drink it before dinner."

Marcus felt the temperature in his blood plummet. "Did you drink it?"

"No," Lily whispered proudly. "I poured it into the potted fern behind the television like you taught me when I don't like the medicine. Did I do good?"

Marcus pulled her tight, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "You did brilliantly, my brave girl. You did better than anyone in the world."

He carried her through the darkness of the service corridor, out the side door of the mudroom, and ran low through the rain-slicked trees to the rear iron fence.

Waiting on the other side of the stone pillar was a black Range Rover with tinted windows. The rear door swung open.

Evelyn sat inside, wearing a heavy tweed coat, her silver hair pulled back, her eyes like chipped flint. She reached out her arms and took Lily from Marcus without a word, pulling her granddaughter into the warm, leather interior.

"She's untouched," Marcus said through the window, the rain dripping from his jawline. "Thorne has the lab results on the juice. Synthetic scopolamine and stimulants. Julian Moreau is inside my house."

Evelyn’s knuckles tightened until the skin went white. "Julian? That thieving bastard? I should have shot him in Monaco ten years ago."

"Take her to the safe house in Camden," Marcus ordered. "Liam has four armed men covering your convoy. If anyone follows you, do not hesitate."

"Marcus," Evelyn said, grabbing his wrist with surprising strength. "Don't let them walk out of that house."

"They won't," Marcus said coldly.

He shut the Range Rover door and watched the taillights disappear into the gathering storm.