But the elevator was at the other end of the basement, near the main wine cellar.

“If you come with us, you live,” Marcus said.

“If we have to drag you out, I can’t guarantee you’ll be in one piece when we hand you over.”

“Who is paying you?” I called out, trying to keep him talking.

“Is it my father?”

“Richard Callahan?” Marcus laughed. “Your father doesn’t have two coins to rub together.”

“He’s a parasite.”

“No, this goes much higher than him.”

I heard his footsteps enter the storage room.

The wooden floorboards creaked under his weight.

“But your father did help us,” Marcus added.

“He told us exactly which route you would take tonight.”

A cold knot of anger tightened in my stomach.

My father had sold me out again.

“He always was cheap,” I muttered under my breath.

“Where is he, Marcus?” I asked louder.

“Safe,” Marcus said. “Waiting for his cut.”

“He thinks he’s getting his old life back.”

“He’s a fool.”

The shadow of Marcus’s long coat fell across the gap between the cabinets.

He was looking at the rows of shelving.