The man with the flashlight took three slow steps toward the fence, his face obscured by the hood of his coat.

Then, he stopped and lifted a hand, gesturing for us to approach.

I looked at Victor, whose brow was furrowed in confusion.

“That’s not Miller,” Victor whispered.

The phone in my jacket pocket began to vibrate against my ribs.

I pulled it out, my thumb sliding across the screen to answer the call from an unknown number.

I pressed the receiver to my ear, keeping my eyes fixed on the man standing by the fence.

“Drive through the side gate,” a voice said on the other end of the line.

It wasn’t Tony’s voice, and it wasn’t Miller’s.

It was Marcus.

“He’s waiting for you inside,” Marcus said, and the line went dead.

I lowered the phone and let it drop onto the passenger seat.

The rain hammered against the windshield, blurring the hooded figure by the fence.

“What do we do?” Victor asked, his hand hovering over his holster.

“We go in,” I said.

I shifted the car into drive and let the engine roll us forward.