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Heather had done what she had to do. She kept telling herself that as she climbed. She was good at climbing. Most Colesons were. Cashlyn and Samia hated heights, but Heather and Hope and Crispin and Summer—they had all liked climbing things.

She was going to climb. There were those windows right up there. She was going to get out and get back to her daughters.

That she was leaving two men’s bodies behind her, maybe even a third—well, that was what she had had to do to get back to her family. To her babies. Frankie and Ember were waiting for their mama right now.

Heather just kept climbing.

Frankie had another speech therapy appointment tomorrow. Heather had to get home. Her daughter needed that therapy, and it wasn’t cheap. They charged you no matter what, even if you had to cancel. She would have to call them, explain about…what had happened. Beg if she had to. Frankie needed speech therapy. Heather was going to get it for her somehow.

And Ember would be needing fed soon. They were probably out of milk at home by now. It had been hours. Heather needed to pump. Her breasts were sore, and she needed to pump. To make sure her baby girl had enough to eat.

Her daughters needed her.

Heather just kept climbing.

Until her hands reached the first window.

She tried to push. It wouldn’t budge. A sob escaped.

She kept trying. And trying. The sixth window. It was broken, though. Just enough, she could wiggle her hands into the track. Heather pushed as hard as she could.

Smoke was building near the ceiling. She coughed, sobbed. Her eyes burned.

She was getting back to her babies. And she was going to make sure Powell had gotten away too. She was telling herself Powell had made it back to Gunnar. Powell and Gunnar were going to have a baby together and Gunnar would be happy. Get his second chance at a life.

Because Gunnar deserved to be happy. Gunnar was good.

He deserved to be happy. Good people deserved to be happy, damn it.

Heather was going to convince him to quit the TSP. To go into private security or something. Maybe she’d join Gunnar and they’d build a private security firm or private investigations together. Then, they wouldn’t be the TSP’s or Daniel McKellen’s puppets any longer.

That was what she was going to do. And she’d convince Miguel and Hope to join them. Hope could be safe and right there with Miguel fawning over her forever. That was what Heather was going to do.

Heather hated the TSP so much. So much. She hated Daniel Butthead McKellen so much too.

She heard someone yell behind her. Beneath.

Heather looked down.

He was there. The one Heather had not gotten a really good look at, in the dark that way. The one Powell said had been in Wyoming. The really evil one. The one who hated her the most. The one she hated the most.

And he was angry. He had a gun too. He fired. But missed. He wasn’t very good with a gun. Even Cara was probably better than him, and Cara refused to even try to learn how to fire a gun properly. She just covered her ears and said, “No, no, no, it’s too loud!” every time Heather or Norm tried to teach her.

Sometimes Cara needed Heather to take care of her too. Heather was getting back to her niece, no matter what. Her girls. Her sisters. Her nephews, so surrounded by girls everywhere in the family. She wanted her family. Even wanted the chance to get to know Quade now too. To answer the endless questions her new nephew with her dad’s beautiful smile kept emailing her now. She wanted her family.

Nothing was going to stop her from getting back to them. Nothing.

Heather pulled her hips through the window. She clung there, for a moment, perched on the smallest ledge. What was she supposed to do now? She had to hurry. If he ran around to the outside, he could get to her before she got down. But the warehouse was huge. It would take him a moment or two.

If she let go, she was going to fall. Twenty feet. That could kill her. Do a lot of damage.

But there was a tree there.

Five feet away. Maybe…maybe she could do this.

Heather reached out with one hand. Until her fingers, bruised and probably broken, cut and burning, wrapped around the first branch.

She could do this.

She was a Coleson.

Colesons never gave up. They just didn’t.

She was getting back to her family. No matter what.

Heather did what she had to do.

She would climb now.