She waited until nobody was watching before hiding a piece of leftover bread beneath her coat, but the millionaire who followed her into the freezing storm soon realized hunger wasn’t the only secret she was carrying.

Panic flared in Daniel’s chest, but he refused to let Arthur see him flinch.

Without another word, Daniel slammed his fist into Arthur’s jaw with all the force of his built-up fury!

Arthur let out a shocked grunt, staggering back against the mahogany table, knocking silver serving platters and china cups to the floor with a deafening crash.

Before the older man could recover, Daniel turned and sprinted out of the dining hall, slamming the heavy oak doors shut and sliding the iron decorative bolt into place from the outside!

Outside the doors, Arthur began pounding furiously on the wood, his muffled screams echoing down the hall. “Break it down! Get the guards to the West Wing!”

Daniel didn't wait. He tore through the marble corridors of the estate, his heart hammering in his chest like a war drum.

He reached the West Wing, pulled his master key from his pocket, threw open the door to his private study, and slammed it shut, turning the deadbolt.

Mara was standing near the fireplace, holding a iron poker like a weapon, her body trembling. Little Jamie was sitting up on the sofa, wide-eyed and terrified by the distant shouting.

“Daniel!” Mara cried out. “What’s happening?”

“Arthur brought his private security team,” Daniel panted, dragging a heavy oak bookshelf across the floor to block the study door. “They’re inside the house. We have five minutes before they cut through the lock.”

“Oh God,” Mara gasped, dropping the poker. “They’re going to kill us.”

“No, they’re not,” Daniel said firmly, walking over to Jamie and picking the boy up into his arms. “We’re leaving through the archives.”

Mara looked confused. “The archives?”

Daniel walked over to the grand stone fireplace. He reached inside the carved wooden mantelpiece, pressing a hidden iron spring latch buried within the mahogany rose carving.

With a low, grinding sound, the brick back wall inside the fireplace swung inward, revealing a pitch-black stone staircase leading deep into the foundations of the estate.

“The old Whitmore cellar,” Daniel explained, pulling a flashlight from his desk drawer and handing it to Mara. “It connects to the old icehouse near the frozen lake half a mile away. My grandfather built it during Prohibition. Arthur doesn't know it exists—only my father and I had the blueprints.”

Mara stared at the dark passage in disbelief. “Can we make it through the snow?”

“We have to,” Daniel said, wrapping Jamie tightly in his heavy winter coat once more. “Take the flashlight. Go first. Stay close to me.”

A sudden, violent explosion echoed from the hallway outside!

BANG!

The heavy oak doors of the study shuddered under the force of a breaching charge. Dust rained down from the ceiling plaster.

“Move! Now!” Daniel ordered.

Mara stepped through the narrow stone opening, shining the flashlight beam down the steep, damp stairs. Daniel followed right behind her, carrying Jamie close to his chest, and pulled the stone wall shut from the inside just as a second explosion blew the study doors off their hinges upstairs.

The heavy thud of tactical boots echoed above them, followed by Arthur’s enraged voice barking orders through the ceiling.

Down in the dark, the air was cold, damp, and smelled of earth and old stone. The flashlight beam cut through thick cobwebs hanging from the low ceiling.

They moved rapidly down the narrow passage, the sound of their frantic breathing echoing off the stone walls. Jamie clung to Daniel’s neck, his small face buried in Daniel’s shoulder.

“Are you scared, buddy?” Daniel whispered gently to the boy as they hurried through the dark.

Jamie shook his head against Daniel’s collar. “No,” the little boy whispered faintly. “You look like my dad. My dad said nothing can hurt me when he’s here.”

Daniel felt a profound wave of emotion hit his chest. He tightened his grip around his nephew, pressing a gentle kiss against the boy’s dark hair.

“Your dad was right, Jamie,” Daniel vowed softly in the dark. “Nothing is going to touch you.”

They reached the end of the stone tunnel after ten minutes of intense navigation. A heavy iron door, rusted around the hinges, blocked their path.

Daniel set Jamie down for a second, gripped the rusted iron wheel latch on the door, and grunted with supreme physical effort. The metal groaned, screeching in protest, before finally giving way with a loud CLANK.

Daniel pushed the door open.

A burst of blinding daylight and freezing air rushed into the tunnel.

They stepped out into the ruined interior of the old stone icehouse, situated on a high bluff overlooking the vast, snow-covered expanse of Pine Crest Lake.

The storm had cleared entirely now, leaving behind a crisp, cloudless blue sky and blinding white snow that stretched for miles.

Mara stepped out onto the snow, squinting against the harsh glare. “Where do we go now, Daniel? The road to town is five miles away!”

Daniel looked down at the icy lake below.

Parked near the boat dock at the edge of the water was his private high-speed snowmobile—the one he used for winter rescues on the estate.

“We take the lake trail,” Daniel said, his eyes narrowing with cold determination. “Dr. Marcus Thorne—my childhood friend and county sheriff—has his department headquarters on the south shore. Once we reach him, Arthur’s men can't touch us.”

Suddenly, the roar of a heavy engine shattered the silence of the woods behind them!

From the treeline above the icehouse, three black snowmobiles burst onto the ridge, carrying armed men in black gear!