A bleeding stranger held a gun beneath my chin and ordered me to let him and his infant twins die in a Boston alley. He claimed the police had shot him—but by sunrise, I would discover that Daniel wasn’t running from the city’s most powerful men. He was one of them.

The shadow beneath the pantry door stopped moving.

For one breathless second, the entire kitchen went silent except for the rain hammering the alley-side windows and the thin, frightened whimpers of the twins in my arms.

Then the man outside spoke again.

“Daniel. We know you’re in here.”

His voice was calm.

That was worse than shouting.

I looked down at the bleeding stranger on the flour sacks. Daniel’s face had gone nearly colorless beneath the blood streaking his temple. His chest rose shallowly. One of the babies—both impossibly small, both wrapped in cream-colored blankets—made a tiny hiccuping sound.

I pressed a finger to my lips.

The baby stared at me with huge blue eyes.

The pantry handle turned.

Locked.

Thank God.

“Check the back,” another man said outside. “He came through here.”

A refrigerator door opened. Metal shelves rattled. Someone kicked over a trash bin.

I needed a plan.

Unfortunately, my plan-making experience mostly involved deciding whether rent could wait until Friday and which customers at Ali’s Diner were likely to complain about cold fries.

I shifted the twins against my chest and crawled toward Daniel.

“Daniel,” I whispered. “Wake up.”

Nothing.

I shook his shoulder once, gently at first.

Then harder.

His eyes fluttered open.

For a second, they were unfocused. Then his hand shot toward his waist.

The gun was gone.

His expression changed.

“They’re here,” I breathed.

“I know.”

“You’re losing blood.”

“Also aware.”

“You need a hospital.”

“No hospital.”

“Then tell me what to do.”

His eyes focused on the babies.

“Are they hurt?”

“No. Scared. Cold.”

“Good.”

“Good?” I hissed. “You are lying on flour sacks with a bullet wound, and armed men are tearing apart my workplace.”

His mouth twitched weakly, almost like he wanted to smile.

“Your name?”

“Anna.”

“Anna, listen carefully.” His voice was low and rough. “There’s a service vent behind the shelving unit. It opens into the old laundry room next door.”

I stared at him.

“You want me to crawl through a vent with two babies?”

“I want you to live.”

“What about you?”

Daniel’s eyes hardened.

“They’re looking for me.”

“I figured that part out.”

“They won’t leave until they find me.”

A heavy impact struck the pantry door.

The twins began to cry.

I froze.

“Daniel!” a voice called. “You can make this easy. Give us the files, and the children don’t get hurt.”

Files?

Daniel’s jaw clenched.

I looked at him. “What files?”

“Not now.”

The pantry door shook again.

“Anna,” he whispered. “Take the babies. Go through the vent.”

“No.”

His eyes flashed. “That was not a request.”

“And this isn’t your diner, your pantry, or your life to order around.”

For a moment, his stare was so intense I almost regretted saying it.

Then another sound came from the kitchen.

A police radio.

“Clear the rear exit,” someone said. “No witnesses.”

My blood ran cold.

Daniel heard it too.

“The police,” I whispered. “Those are cops.”

“Not cops,” he said. “Men wearing police uniforms.”

The pantry lock cracked.

Daniel grabbed my wrist with surprising strength.

“Anna. Please.”

That one word changed everything.

Not command.

Not threat.

Please.

I looked at the twins.

Then at the vent.

Then at Daniel, bleeding onto the sacks of flour while people hunted him through my kitchen.

“Fine,” I said. “But I’m not leaving you.”

The shelf was heavy, but panic gave me strength. I shoved it aside just enough to reveal a rusted metal grate near the floor. Daniel pulled a small knife from inside his boot and pried at the screws.

The door splintered.

The babies wailed.

“Go!” Daniel ordered.

I crawled into the narrow vent first, dragging one baby ahead of me and keeping the other pressed against my chest. The metal scraped my knees. Dust filled my mouth. Behind me, I heard the pantry door burst open.

“Found him!”

A gunshot exploded.

I screamed.

Then Daniel’s voice roared through the chaos.

“Run, Anna!”

I crawled faster.

I did not look back.

I could not.

But as I reached the end of the vent and kicked open the grate into the abandoned laundry room, I heard a second shot.