His voice on the wiretap was wild, stripped of the calm confidence he usually wore like a tailored suit.

“I built this!” Leo screamed, followed by the rapid pop of a handgun. “I’m not giving it to the feds, and I’m sure as hell not leaving it to you!”

Another burst of rifle fire from the FBI team drowned him out.

I heard the heavy thud of a body hitting metal stairs on the audio feed.

“Cease fire! Cease fire!” an agent yelled.

The shooting outside died down to sporadic pops, then stopped entirely.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the low hiss of the car’s heater and the distant wail of more sirens.

I raised my head slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The snow was still swirling through the open door of the warehouse, lit by the red and blue strobes of the police cruisers.

Smoke drifted out of the building, smelling of sulfur and burnt rubber.

“Miller?” I called out, but there was no one near the car.

I scrambled up onto the leather seat, my limbs stiff and shaking from the cold.