Vanessa tore Mia’s princess dress in front of the whole school.

The rain began falling in torrential sheets as Daniel’s four-wheel-drive pickup truck tore through the winding roads of Blackwood Gorge. Lightning cracked across the jagged peaks of the mountains, illuminating the swollen, violent river rushing through the canyon hundreds of feet below.

Hayes was driving his cruiser three lengths behind us, his emergency lights off to avoid alerting any spotters Vanessa might have posted along the ridge.

In my lap sat the heavy cedar music box.

My fingers were bleeding from where I had frantically pried the interior velvet lining away in our attic five minutes ago. Resting in my palm was the bronze cylinder—barely the size of a thumb, carved with intricate music pins that played a haunting melody when spun, but hiding a high-capacity encrypted drive within its core.

"Twenty minutes left," Daniel said, his knuckles white against the steering wheel as the truck slid slightly on a slick patch of wet gravel before the tires gripped and surged forward. "Hayes coordinated with an FBI tactical squad out of Albany. They have a chopper en route, but with this fog, they won't be able to drop operators into the canyon for at least another forty minutes."

"Mia doesn't have forty minutes," I said, clutching the drive tightly. "Vanessa won't wait. She wants the spectacle. She chose the water plant for a reason."

"I know," Daniel murmured grimly. "That’s where Julian died."

The old Oakridge Water Purification Plant was a monolithic concrete relic built over the gorge in the 1930s. Long abandoned, its rusted catwalks hung suspended directly over the roaring spillway, where millions of gallons of churning black water plummeted into the rocky abyss below.

As we rounded the final hairpin turn, the headlights cut through the driving rain, illuminating the rusted iron gates of the facility. The heavy chain had been cut with bolt cutters, swinging loosely in the wind.

Parked just inside the dark compound were two sleek black SUVs with tinted windows.

Daniel killed the headlights, coasting the truck into the shadows of an overgrown concrete retaining wall. Behind us, Hayes did the same, his cruiser rolling silently into the ditch.

Hayes jogged up to Daniel’s window, rain pouring off the brim of his tactical cap. He handed Daniel an extra semi-automatic pistol and slipped a kevlar vest over my shoulders, pulling the velcro straps tight across my chest.

"Two guards on the exterior perimeter," Hayes whispered, pointing toward the silhouettes standing near the SUVs. "Armed with automatic carbines. These aren't local thugs, Daniel. These are private military contractors."

"I'll take the guards," Daniel said without hesitation, checking the chamber of his weapon. "Hayes, flank around the eastern pipe bridge and try to reach the upper catwalk. Sarah... you take the main loading ramp. Show them the drive. Buy us ninety seconds."

"Daniel..." I reached out, grabbing his soaked sleeve. The terror that had paralyzed me this morning was gone, replaced by a desperate, fierce love. "Bring our daughter home."

Daniel leaned across the console, his hand cupping the back of my neck, and kissed me fiercely. "I will die before I let them hurt her. Now go."

He slipped out into the rain, vanishing into the darkness like a phantom. Hayes sprinted low toward the eastern pipe run.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I stepped out of the truck into the freezing downpour. I held the bronze cylinder high above my head, stepping directly into the glare of the exterior floodlights that Vanessa had rigged around the loading dock.

"Vanessa!" I screamed into the thunderous roar of the waterfall. "I have what Leo left! I have the keys!"

From the high, rusted catwalk suspended eighty feet above the roaring spillway, a spotlight snapped on, blinding me.

Standing directly in the center of the narrow steel bridge, holding Mia by the collar of her torn jacket, was Vanessa.

Mia was shivering violently, her hair plastered to her skull, dangling halfway over the rusted safety railing. Below her feet, the black gorge churned like a watery grave.