“I’ll sign a full confession,” Adrian said. “Every name. Every route. Every bank account. I’ll give you Leo Vance and the entire Chicago operation.”

There was a long silence on the line.

The spotlight from the police cruiser stopped.

It was pointed directly at the guardrail where we were hiding.

The car door opened with a slow creak.

A heavy boot stepped onto the snowy asphalt.

The officer began to walk toward us, his flashlight raised.

“Adrian,” I whispered, my heart freezing.

“I’ll call you back with a location,” Adrian said to Miller.

“If you hang up, the deal is off, DeLuca,” Miller said.

The officer stopped ten feet away, the bright beam of his flashlight hitting Adrian directly in the face.

Adrian didn’t move.

He looked into the light, his phone still pressed to his ear.

“I’m not hanging up,” Adrian whispered.

The officer’s hand went to his holster.

The snow falling between us looked like static in the beam of his flashlight.

“Hands where I can see them,” the officer called out.

His voice was muffled by the wind, but the authority in it was sharp.