Outside, the sky over the bay was turning the color of bruised iron.

A storm was rolling in from the Atlantic.

I knew Victor would be trying to reach Brooke.

She was his only shield left.

If she had the offshore money, he had a chance to flee.

I took the next elevator down to the garage.

The air in the concrete parking structure was thick with exhaust and heat.

My silver SUV was parked in the designated executive stall.

Across the aisle, Victor’s black sedan was gone.

I got into my car and sat in the dark.

The leather seats were hot against my legs.

I started the engine and turned the air conditioning to maximum.

My hands were shaking so hard I could barely grip the steering wheel.

I drove out into the blinding Miami sunlight.

The traffic on Brickell Avenue was gridlocked.

Pedestrians in light linen suits scurried across the crosswalks to beat the rain.

I drove toward the high-rise condo building where Brooke lived.

It was a sleek, blue-glass tower overlooking the marina.

Victor’s sedan was parked illegally in the circular driveway out front.