The clock was ticking.
48 hours.
That was all we had before the authorities arrived — before Harrington’s evidence, before warrants, before everything we had built on this island could be ripped apart.
I paced the bedroom, heart racing, one hand pressed to my belly as the baby kicked restlessly. Daddy stood by the window, staring out at the dark ocean, his shoulders tense, jaw clenched. The gun on the nightstand felt like a warning.
“We can’t fight the law,” I whispered, voice trembling. “Not even you can stop them if they come with papers and badges.”
Daddy turned slowly, his gray eyes burning with fierce, almost feral intensity. He crossed the room in three strides and pulled me into his arms, holding me so tightly I could barely breathe.
“I don’t need to fight the law,” he growled
