“I just wanted to tell you that the contractions have begun and that Emma needs you here now.”

Not now.

“Is it possible for you to come?”

He pulled his hand across his mouth and looked at Mia, then at the police officer sitting in the car at the railing, lights flashing.

He wanted to say that he couldn’t come, that he was sitting in a helicopter, but he knew deep down what his answer should be. He would never forgive himself if he disappointed Emma now.

“I’m coming,” he said, hanging up and turning toward Mia.

“What is it?” Mia asked.

“I have to go to the hospital. It’s time.”

“She’s in labor now?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

“Yes!”

“Well, get out of here then. Hurry!”

Henrik got out of the helicopter, saw the pilot turn yet another control and push down a pedal. The man next to him picked up a map and laid it on his knee. The engine began to thunder, and after a moment, the rotor blades began to move, spinning faster and faster. It made a deafening roar. The pilot gripped the throttle and lifted off. The helicopter went straight up, slowly and softly, then tipped forward and sped up. It flew past the railing, up over the city.

Henrik stood alone, trying to understand what he was looking at, why he was standing there. Worry spread through his body, and he told himself to be calm. But his body wouldn’t listen.

Focus, he thought.

Focus on Emma, the baby.

His heart was pounding as if it was having a hard time moving the blood through his body.

He buttoned his jacket and began running.

* * *

Danilo was already upon her.

Jana backed up, knowing that the best defense against a knife was distance. The best counter was a barrier. But there was nothing on the pier that she could hold up against him.

He attacked again. His hands were low, and he swept the blade in small, dangerous arcs.

Jana backed up again.

She was near the edge. Just a few more steps and she would end up in the water.

He began coming toward her, moving side to side in a crescent moon–shaped path as he approached. The knife in his hand mirrored the movement.

A memory came to her. The two of them, in another place, in another time, when they were children, maybe seven or eight years old. They’d moved in half circles around each other, practicing, training, fighting for survival. Just like they were doing now. The memory impacted her so strongly that she became completely still. Her thoughts whirled around while she attempted to collect her strength and appraise the situation. But instead of stepping backward, she let him come even closer.

He feinted with his left hand and swung with his right. The knife blade sliced through the air. She moved, following his movements. Snow whirled up around them.