Chapter 8
The world tilted.
"Over my dead body," I whispered.
"That's the problem." Eleanor gripped my arm. "If Julian is planning to run with her, he's not going to let anything stop him. Not the courts. Not security. Not you. We have forty-eight hours before the first unsupervised visit. We need to move. Now."
My father was already on the phone, barking orders to his security team. "I want eyes on Julian twenty-four/seven. I want every airport, train station, and bus terminal within two hundred miles watched. I want the penthouse locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Nobody gets in. Nobody gets out. Especially not with my granddaughter."
He hung up and turned to me.
"Pack a bag. You and Lila are going to the compound in upstate New York. It's completely private. Fenced. Guarded. Julian won't get within five miles of the place."
"No." I shook my head. "I'm not running. Not from him. Not anymore. If I run, he wins. He'll spend the rest of his life chasing us. I'm staying right here. And I'm going to make sure he never gets close enough to take her."
My father opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He saw the look on my face. He knew that expression. It was the same one he saw in the mirror every morning.
Stubborn. Unbreakable. Hale through and through.
"Okay," he said. "Then we fight. But we do it my way."
Over the next forty-eight hours, the penthouse was transformed.
Bulletproof glass was installed on every window. A state-of-the-art security system with cameras and motion sensors was wired into every room. Six armed bodyguards moved in, working rotating shifts around the clock. The nursery was reinforced with a steel door that could be locked from the inside in seconds.
My father hired a former CIA operative to run the security detail. A man named Carter who never smiled, never spoke unless he had to, and looked like he could kill a man with a coffee mug if necessary.
"Julian Vance is desperate," Carter told us in a briefing. "He has no family left. No money that we can find. No reputation. Nothing to lose. Men like that are the most dangerous kind. They don't care if they die as long as they take what they want with them."
He laid photos on the table. Photos of Julian. He looked terrible—gaunt, unshaven, eyes wild. He had been staying in a cheap motel in Queens, paying cash, moving every two days.
"He's been watching the building," Carter said. "Our guys spotted him three times in the last twenty-four hours. Different cars. Different hats. He's casing the place. Looking for a weakness."
"Let him look," my father said. "He won't find one."
The day of the first unsupervised visit arrived.
The court order said Julian had the right to pick Lila up at ten in the morning at the penthouse. He was supposed to have her until Sunday evening.
At nine forty-five, the intercom buzzed.
Carter checked the camera. "It's him. Alone. Driving a rental car."
My heart hammered against my ribs. I looked at Lila, playing on the floor with her toys, completely unaware. She was six weeks old now. Strong. Healthy. Smiling all the time. She had no idea her father was a monster.
"Remember the plan," Carter said. "You bring her to the door. You hand her over. My team will follow him everywhere. Every step. Every turn. He won't be alone for one second. If he so much as drives toward an airport, we move in and take her back. He won't get across state lines. He won't even get across the Hudson."
I nodded. I picked Lila up. She snuggled into my shoulder, her little hand fisting my shirt.
"Mommy's got you," I whispered into her hair. "I promise. You're coming home. I swear it."
I walked to the door. Carter stood behind me, his hand resting under his jacket where I knew he had a gun. Two more guards flanked the entrance.
I opened the door.
Julian stood there.
He looked nothing like the man I had married. The expensive suits were gone. He wore a faded hoodie and jeans with holes in the knees. His hair was greasy. He had lost twenty pounds. His eyes were bloodshot, ringed with dark circles.
But when he saw Lila, something in his face shifted. For half a second, I saw the man I thought I had married. The man who had cried when we saw the first ultrasound. The man who had held my hand through every fertility treatment.
Then it was gone.
"Give her to me," he said, his voice rough.
"She's been fed," I said, handing over the diaper bag. "She needs to eat every three hours. There's pumped milk in the cooler. Formula if she won't take the bottle. Her favorite blanket is in there. Don't let her sleep on her stomach. And—"
"I know how to take care of my own daughter, Clara." He reached for her.
Lila, who had been staring at him, suddenly scrunched up her face and started crying. She turned her head away from him, burying it in my neck.
"She's just tired," I said, my throat tight.
"Sure she is." Julian's jaw tightened. He reached again, and this time he took her. She screamed louder, her little face turning red. He bounced her awkwardly, but she wouldn't stop.
"She'll settle down," he muttered. "Once she's away from you."
He turned to leave.
"Julian," I said.
He stopped.
"If anything happens to her—"
"You'll what?" He turned back, and his smile was terrifying. "You'll send Daddy after me? You'll have me arrested? Go ahead. I've got nothing left to lose, Clara. You took my parents. You took my company. You took my name. You took everything. The only thing I have left is her. And nobody is taking her from me. Nobody."
He walked to the elevator. The doors closed.
I stood in the open doorway, listening to Lila's cries fade, until the elevator dinged and I knew he was gone.
Then I collapsed against the doorframe, sobbing.
My father was there in an instant, holding me up. "He won't get away with it, baby. Carter's people are on him. Every second."
For the next fifty-six hours, I didn't sleep.
I sat in the security room, watching the live feed from the trackers we had hidden in Lila's diaper bag, her blanket, even the buckle of her car seat. I watched Julian drive to a small cabin he had rented in the Poconos. I watched him carry her inside. I watched him pace the floor with her, trying to get her to stop crying.
She cried for twelve hours straight.
The tracker audio picked up everything. Her screams. Julian's frustrated pleas. Then, finally, his anger.
"STOP CRYING!" he shouted at one point. "STOP IT, YOU LITTLE BRAT! YOU'RE MINE! WHY CAN'T YOU JUST BE MINE!"
I jumped up, ready to drive there myself, but Carter held me back.
"Not yet," he said. "He hasn't done anything illegal. Yelling isn't kidnapping. We wait. We watch. We get proof that he's unfit. Then we hit him with everything."
So I waited.
I watched him feed her. Change her. Pace with her. I watched him talk to her, his voice alternating between gentle and furious. I watched him sit in the dark, holding her while he cried, whispering over and over, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. Daddy's here now. I'll never let anyone hurt you again. Not even her."
It was the most disturbing thing I had ever seen.
On Saturday night, the audio picked up a phone call.
Julian was whispering, but the microphones were sensitive.
"...Yeah. Everything's set. The passports are done? Good. We leave at four a.m. Drive to Montreal. Take the private jet from there. Once we're in the air, they can't touch us. The money's already in the Caymans. We'll be gone before anyone even notices we're missing... Yeah. Yeah, I know. She's my daughter. She'll adjust. Kids are resilient... Just be there. Don't be late."
Carter was already moving. "He's running. Tonight. Four a.m. Montreal."
My father grabbed his phone. "Call the state police. Call the FBI. Tell them we have a kidnapping in progress. I want roadblocks on every highway heading north. I want the airport in Montreal notified. I want that jet grounded before it even starts its engines."
He looked at me. His face was set in stone.
"Let's go get our girl."
We left immediately. Three SUVs. Sirens blaring. State police cars joined us on the highway, forming a convoy. The drive to the Poconos took two hours. Two of the longest hours of my life.
We arrived at the cabin at three forty-five a.m.
Lights were on inside. A car was parked by the door, packed with suitcases. Julian was loading the last bag into the trunk. He had Lila in a carrier on his chest, zipped inside his coat to keep her warm.
He looked up as the first police car skidded to a halt.
His face went from tired to terrified in a heartbeat.
He dropped the suitcase. He ran for the driver's side door.
"JULIAN VANCE!" Carter shouted through a megaphone. "STEP AWAY FROM THE VEHICLE! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR CUSTODIAL INTERFERENCE AND ATTEMPTED KIDNAPPING!"
Julian froze.
He looked at the police. At the FBI agents pouring out of the cars. At my father. At me.
And then he did the unthinkable.
He reached into his coat and pulled Lila out. He held her in one arm, and with his other hand, he pulled a gun from his waistband.
He pressed it to her temple.
"STAY BACK!" he screamed. "STAY BACK OR I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL KILL HER!"
The world stopped.
Every gun in the clearing was suddenly pointed at Julian. Carter had his weapon drawn, his face calm, his hands steady.
"Julian," Carter said, his voice low and even. "Put the gun down. Put the baby down. There's no way out of this. Just let her go, and we can talk about this."
"TALK?" Julian laughed, and it was the sound of a man who had completely snapped. "You think I'm going back to prison? You think I'm going to let her raise my daughter to hate me? No. No way. If I can't have her, nobody can."
He looked at me. The gun didn't move from Lila's head.
"You did this, Clara. You and your father. You took everything from me. Now you're going to watch me take the only thing that matters. And then I'm going to put the gun in my mouth, and we'll all be free of this nightmare."
Tears streamed down my face. Lila was crying again, confused and scared, squirming in his arm.
"Julian," I said, my voice breaking. "Please. Don't do this. She's your daughter. You love her. I know you do. Put the gun down. We can work this out. Please."
"WORK WHAT OUT?" He screamed, and the gun wavered for just a second. "My parents are in prison for the rest of their lives! I'm going away for kidnapping! I have nothing! NOTHING!"
"You have her!" I took a step forward. Carter hissed at me to stop, but I kept going. "You have Lila. She's yours. She's part of you. Don't you want to see her grow up? Don't you want to watch her take her first steps? Hear her say 'Daddy'? Go to her wedding? You can have that, Julian. But only if you put the gun down. Only if you choose her over your pride. Over your anger. Over everything else."
I took another step. I was ten feet away from him now.
"Choose her, Julian. Please. Choose your baby."
He looked at me. Then he looked down at Lila. At her tiny, red, crying face. At the way her little hand was reaching up, grabbing at his shirt, searching for comfort.
And I saw it.
The last tiny piece of the man I had married. The piece that had somehow survived everything.
His hand started to shake. The gun moved away from her temple. Just an inch. Then another.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "God, I'm so sorry."
His arm dropped.
The gun fell into the dirt.
Carter moved faster than I had ever seen anyone move. He was on Julian in a heartbeat, yanking Lila from his arms, slamming him face-first into the hood of the car. The police swarmed him. Cuffs clicked. He didn't fight. He just lay there, sobbing, while they read him his rights.
I ran to Carter.
He handed Lila to me.
She was screaming. She was cold. She was scared. But she was alive.
She was mine.
I held her so tight I was afraid I would hurt her. I kissed her face, her hair, her hands, every inch of her, over and over.
"Mommy's here," I sobbed into her neck. "Mommy's got you. You're safe. You're safe. I'll never let anyone take you again. Never."
My father wrapped his arms around both of us.
Behind us, Julian was led to a police car. He looked over his shoulder at us one last time. There was no anger in his face now. No hatred. Just an ocean of regret.
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"Tell her I'm sorry," he said quietly as they put him in the back seat. "Tell her I loved her. In my own way... I loved her."
The door closed.
