Malcolm looked at the license plate through the rain.

“It’s registered to Pierce Logistics,” he said.

“Sloane’s family business.”

Before I could reply, the metal door of the warehouse swung open.

A figure in a dark raincoat emerged, carrying a wooden wine crate.

Even through the sheet of gray rain, I recognized the profile immediately.

It was Sloane.

And she wasn’t alone.

Another figure stepped out from the shadows of the loading dock, holding a crowbar.