They burst into laughter the instant I stepped onto the graduation platform carrying a newborn in my arms. Someone seated behind me even muttered, “Just like its mother…” But the principal’s next words instantly silenced everyone.

"Evelyn, take the decoy vehicle out through the eastern service tunnel," Julian ordered instantly, his voice cracking like a whip as the red alarm lights continued to pulse against the white marble walls. "Make them believe you have Clara and the baby. Drag them toward the state line."

"And what will you do?" Evelyn asked, already pulling a spare coat from the closet.

"We take the boat," Julian said, turning toward the hidden elevator at the back of the foyer. "The coastline is foggy tonight. My father's men expect us to run by land. They won't expect us to navigate the cliff waters in a heavy storm."

I looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Ocean waves were slamming viciously against the jagged rocks below the estate, sending white foam roaring thirty feet into the air. Rain had begun to pour, hammering against the glass like a volley of bullets.

"Are you insane?" I yelled over the sound of the rising wind. "Navigating that ocean in this weather with a newborn?"

"It is either the rough water, Clara, or a state prison cell while my father takes Noah," Julian snapped, grabbing a waterproof tactical carrier from a storage compartment. He expertly secured the padded, insulated harness across his chest. "Put him in here. It’s thermal-lined, shockproof, and completely water-resistant. I promise you on my life, he will not get wet."

I hesitated for a single second, looking into Julian's steady gray eyes. There was no deceit there—only a fierce, desperate determination to protect his blood. I carefully transferred Noah into the secure harness against Julian's chest. Noah let out a tiny whimpering noise, but the warmth of the thermal lining quickly lulled him back to sleep.

Down in the subterranean boat launch beneath the cliff, the roaring sound of the ocean was deafening. A thirty-foot black high-speed interceptor craft swayed violently in the rising tide inside the rock cavern.

Suddenly, the steel door at the top of the concrete stairs echoed with a violent BOOM. Arthur’s men were breaching the estate.

"Move!" Julian shouted, pulling me down the slippery stone steps toward the boat.

We threw ourselves onto the vessel just as the heavy wooden doors above us burst open. Tactical officers with bright flashlights appeared at the top of the stairs, shouting orders.

"Stop! Federal agents! Freeze!"

"Hold on!" Julian roared, slamming his hand onto the twin-engine throttles.

The boat erupted with a terrifying mechanical roar, shooting out of the narrow rock cavern directly into the raging, pitch-black sea. A wave of ice-cold ocean spray slammed into my face, blinding me for a moment as the boat launched off the crest of a massive swell and slammed back down into the trough.

Behind us, gunshots rang out, swallowed almost instantly by the thundering howl of the storm and the roar of the engines. Searchlights swept across the dark waters, but within seconds, the thick New England fog enveloped our boat, hiding us from the shore.

I clutched the stainless-steel handrail, my knuckles turning white as Julian navigated the treacherous, rocky shoals by memory and GPS radar alone. Water crashed over the windshield, but inside the sealed cockpit, Noah remained completely shielded, his tiny body secure against Julian's chest.

"Are you alright?!" Julian shouted over the roar of the supercharged engines.

"I've been better!" I yelled back, pushing wet hair out of my eyes. "Where are we landing?!"

"A private dock in Plymouth!" Julian replied, his eyes fixed on the radar screen as a blinking red dot appeared behind us. "We have a problem! They launched a cutter from the harbor! They're matching our speed!"

I wiped the seawater from my face and stared at the radar. The blip behind us was closing in fast. Arthur Sterling wasn't just trying to catch us—he was using heavy military-grade equipment to hunt us down.

"They're going to ram us before we reach the bay!" I realized, analyzing the intercept vector. "Julian, turn toward the shallow rocky reefs at Black Point!"

"That's a suicide run!" Julian shouted. "The draft on this boat is three feet! We'll tear the hull open!"

"Their cutter is a heavy-displacement vessel with a five-foot draft!" I countered, relying on the nautical geography maps I had memorized during a maritime legal internship. "If we hit the reef channel at high tide, we make it through! They will ground themselves on the granite!"